Transmigration

A resounding ache pulsed through her head as consciousness slowly returned.

She found herself lying awkwardly in a bathtub, the cool porcelain pressed against her back, her limbs askew in the tepid water, and the crown of her head resting on the lip of the tub. The faint scent of jasmine and magnolia filled the air, mingling with the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off marble walls.

Blinking slowly, her eyes tried to make sense of her surroundings. "Where… Am… I?" She muttered, the last syllable echoing softly in the spacious bathroom.

She sat up carefully, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. She could feel the weight of an expensive soaked robe covering her skin. The water sloshed around her as she righted herself in the tub, pulling her limbs toward herself, before gripping the edge and slowly lifting herself out, her muscles aching as if she strained something bad.

The bathtub itself was an elegant clawfoot design, ivory colored, with gold legs and faucet, set against a bathroom that exuded opulence—marble floors, gilded fixtures, and an ornate chandelier casting a soft warm glow from above the sinks.

This was far from her modest apartment she remembered. Her heart raced as her own fragmented memories surfaced—the blaring horn of a truck, screeching tires, the sudden jolt of impact. She remembered the sensation of being flung forward, then nothing. "I... I was in an accident. I died," she whispered to herself, disbelief coloring her tone.

Standing on the marble tiles, she steadied herself, reaching up to touch her throbbing head, her fingers brushing against silky strands of wet hair—not the shoulder-length dark hair she was used to, but long waist-length curls of ashy rose gold.

Frowning, she pulled a strand forward, watching as it shimmered softly in the glow of the warm light. "What on earth?"She questioned herself again, noticing that even her hands looked different—slender fingers with perfectly manicured nails; Not the rough hands she gained after thirty years of laboring.

Her gaze shifted around the room and landed on the mirror across from her. She was fully upright as she steadied her feet firmly, walking towards it. Each step of hers through the puddles echoed in the silent chamber, there was enough water on the floor to justify her thoughts that she—whatever body she entered—had slipped and fallen into the bathtub, knocking herself hard enough on the head that she had died.

Stopping in front of the mirror, the face that stared back at her was both familiar and entirely foreign.

She saw a young woman of ethereal beauty—deep gold eyes that seemed to hold galaxies, framed by ashy green eyelashes and eyebrows that added an otherworldly touch to her alabaster features. Her ashy rose gold hair cascaded in long waves over her shoulders, reaching down to her waist, brushing over the top of her rear. This lady was truly a beautiful visage.

"This can't be real," she whispered, her fingers tracing the delicate contours of her new face. Recognition slowly dawned on her. "That's… Delphia Vosswell?"

She took a step back, her wet robe squishing beneath her feet to remind her where she currently was, her mind racing to piece together the impossible. "Okay, think. I was in an accident, and now I'm... here. In the body of a character from The Rose of Avalon." The weight of the situation pressed down on her, and for a second, she wondered if this was all just an elaborate dream.

Delphia was the Villainess of the story, destined for a tragic end. But perhaps, with her own mind now in control, she didn't have to die.

Again.

A sharp knock on the bathroom door jolted her from her thoughts.

"Miss, are you okay? I heard a loud noise," an elder woman's voice called from the other side. Delphia hesitated a moment, her mind trying to calculate the best response. "I... fell." She replied, her voice steady despite the circumstances.

"…Shall I come in to assist you?" The voice asked, unfamiliar with the situation.

Her eyes darted around the unknown space. The last thing she needed was a stranger—or perhaps someone who wasn't—to see her in this state. "No!" She quickly interjected, then softened her tone. "No, thank you. I'm quite alright; Just a slight bump."

"Very well, Miss. Breakfast will be served shortly. His Grace has requested your presence in his office once you're able." The voice on the other side of the door responded. "Thank you. I'll be there soon," she replied, trying not to let her uncertainty show through her voice. Hearing footsteps retreat down the hall, she exhaled slowly.

"Alright, be calm. Don't panic." She comforted herself, breathing in and out deeply a few times. Losing it would only make things difficult for me, she thought.

Glancing down at the soaked silk nightgown clinging to her form, then back up and around the lavish bathroom, she paused. "If I'm Delphia now, I need to act the part to some extent. Be the noblewoman they expect, but I don't have to be the Delphia they knew." She mumbled to herself.

Her calm exterior bellied the whirlwind of thoughts within.

Her eyes caught hold of the wardrobe adjoining the bathroom and she made her way towards that, discarding the wet robe from her body to the floor before grabbing a large towel to cover herself with. Cinching the towel, she selected a gown that instantly caught her eye—a soft lavender dress with delicate silver embroidery. Carrying it, she made her way into her chamber and placed it on the bottom of the bed after exiting the wardrobe. She stood in the center of the room for a beat, her mind racing as she took in her surroundings.

The bedroom was as grand as the bathroom—a testament to Delphia Vosswell's status. Large windows draped in heavy, navy curtains framed the morning light streaming in. A large canopy bed with intricate carvings dominated the space, and every piece of furniture looked like it had been designed to exude wealth and power. This was the life of Nobility.

She let out a slow breath, "Delphia… Vosswell…"

The name conjured images from the novel—the manipulative and emotionally volatile villainess who had been obsessed with the Crown Prince, Alaric Aramore, and hell-bent on sabotaging Calista Faremont, the story's heroine. Well, that's definitely not going to be me, she thought, shaking her head slightly. She pulled the towel tighter around herself, before walking towards the tall cabinets and opening them to look for underwear of some kind.

She remembered reading The Rose of Avalon out of sheer curiosity due to the hype surrounding it, driven only by the intrigue surrounding Archmage Zypher Thorne, the book's enigmatic villain. She had skimmed through most of the angsty melodrama between Alaric and Calista—plus her numerous suitors—unimpressed by their over-the-top love triangle, yet she'd always admired Zypher's cold and calculated persona. He was the only reason she continued the book after the first plot point.

Alaric? She couldn't care less about him. The Crown Prince had been arrogant and entitled, his romance with Calista filled with more brooding misunderstandings than actual development. And, Calista? The so-called heroine had been too melodramatic, too naïve, too easily swept away by the whims of love and betrayal. "Overdramatic, dumb, and frustratingly emotional," she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes at Calista's numerous outbursts in the novel.

Then there was Delphia, the tragic Villainess—an antagonist whose downfall had been inevitable, caused by her own obsessive jealousy and rash decisions. At the time of reading, she had felt a shred of sympathy for Delphia, but in the end, even she herself admitted that Delphia's ruin was self-inflicted.

But now… Now, she was Delphia. And there was no way she was going to follow the same path. "Survival," she murmured. "That's all that matters." Her laisséz-faire attitude kicked in immediately.

She accepted that she had died and is now Delphia Vosswell. Wonder how Thomas did with his presentation? She thought with a scoff.

She could quickly adjust to responding to Delphia's name when called, since it started with the same consonant, and for the fact that she never really liked her own name to begin with. If she stayed out of the way, avoided unnecessary conflicts, and steered clear of the story's focal points—odds are—she could make it through without facing the tragic fate Delphia had in the novel. She had no interest in pursuing Alaric or competing with Calista—she just wanted to live.

After all, why waste this unexpected second chance she was given?

She glanced at the lavender gown she had laid out on the bed. It was simple but elegant—perfect for blending in without drawing too much attention. She could play the part of a noblewoman, but she refused to play the part of 'Delphia' as she had been written. There was no need to be volatile, no need to be jealous, and definitely no need to obsess over Alaric.

A soft knock came again, this time more tentative, from the bedroom door. "My Lady, shall I help you prepare for the day?" A new, younger voice asked. The new Delphia needed time to process everything, but knew she couldn't avoid interacting with the household staff. "Yes, you may." Delphia stated calmly. She had found a form of underwear in one of the drawers, changed into it, and was now sitting on the edge of her bed with the clothing laid out next to her, thinking.

The maid opened the door quietly, hesitating as she took in Delphia's unusual demeanor.

Typically, upon entering the Miss's chambers, she would find her poised before the balcony doors, gazing pensively over the yard and quietly muttering. Today, though, something felt off. The maid was torn between her instinct to inquire and her duty to remain silent, as she cautiously approached the bed. Delphia stood up, allowing the maid to begin the intricate process of dressing her, yet the air was thick with unspoken tension.

Since she didn't seem to acquire any of the original Delphia's knowledge, the new Delphia guessed that this happened to be her personal maid based off her actions towards her. She paused before speaking, "I just fell in the bathtub and hit my head quite hard, so everything is still slightly delayed. Can you remind me the date it is today, as well as what your name is?" She stated in a calm voice so as to not startle the girl.

Her maid's hands stalled in the motion of tightening her undergarments and slip before resuming, "Avys, my Lady. And today's date is the 28th of November, 1552." Delphia's own mind slipped away, reflecting that spring was well underway and now she'll be dealing with snow for how many months to come.

The second layer of under-skirts fit snugly, but not suffocatingly tight, then came the petticoats on top of that, as Avys smoothed out any creases in the top fabric. Coming around to the front, she put the lavender colored dress on and buttoned multiple small buttons securing it to the layers below, before asking, "Are you still feeling uncomfortable, my Lady?"

Delphia smiled at her question, unsure whether she asked out of obligation or concern, "There's still a slight ache in my head, but I should be fine if I don't strain myself." Avys nodded in response before the both of them walked towards the vanity.

Once dressed, Delphia sat at the vanity to address her appearance. The reflection still startled her, but she pushed aside the disorientation. Her logical mind took over: If I have a slight headache from the fall, that could explain any changes in behavior I show.

Avys then began to brush her wet hair, "How would you like to style it today, my Lady?" Delphia paused, assessing herself in the mirror. "Down, but can you pull back the sides to pin?"

Following those instructions, Avys started drying her hair with both a soft towel and a device that served the same purpose as a hairdryer she was accustomed with. When her hair was damp, Avys put in a cream to help with the natural curls before continuing drying. Once her hair was sufficiently dry, Avys grabbed jasmine scented hair oil and smoothed a drop in before loosely pinning the sides back with a pretty studded hairpin.

A knock sounded at the door. "Miss, may I enter to assist you?" The same voice she heard after she woke up inquired. "Yes, you may." She replied calmly. An older maid entered carrying a tray, curtsying politely. "Good morning, my Lady. I've brought some remedies for your headache."

"Thank you." She responded calmly with a placid smile, watching the maid place the items onto the vanity next to her, the small tray containing a teacup and a vial of herbal tincture. Delphia watched the older maid as she began to tidy the room, and seized the opportunity to gather information from her maid behind her. "Avys, could you remind me of the plans for today? I seem to have muddled my schedule."

"Of course, Miss; After breakfast with the family, Lady Seraphina requested your presence to discuss the final event list for the upcoming tea party the Vosswell Estate will host."

Lady Seraphina Vosswell—Delphia's stepsister, younger than her by two years; While her stepbrother was only a year younger than her. The new Delphia recalled that their relationship was strained at best. "Ah. Of course," she said easily. "It's been such a busy week; Things are starting to blur together."

Avys smiled sympathetically, "Understandable, Miss. With all the preparations, it's been quite hectic."

"Yes," she agreed easily.

"Will there be anything else, my Lady?" Avys asked.

"That will be all for now," Delphia replied. "But could you please inform Seraphina that I would like to reschedule our time to later this evening? I'd like to take some time to rest and recover from my little mishap after breakfast."

"Certainly, Miss. I'll let her know," Avys said with a reassuring smile before exiting the room. The older maidservant also followed Avys out after a moment.

Adding the tincture to the cup, she downed the cooled herbal tea, allowing herself a moment to strategize. "So, Seraphina is also expecting me. That gives me some time to prepare for interactions. I need to present a calm, logical demeanor—classic 'noble behavior' without 'Delphia's' notorious temperament."

Setting the teacup aside, she took a deep breath and stood. "Time to face the Duke."