Two: Elena Fortaine

Lana's eyes flew open with a sharp inhale, air burning its way down her throat like fire.

"Nina!" she cried out, the name bursting from her lips before her mind could even catch up. Her body shot upright as though yanked by invisible strings, her heart thundering in her chest like a war drum. Her lungs screamed, aching like she just clawed her way to the surface from deep underwater.

Her chest heaved, her throat clenched as she looked around wildly, frantically but Nina is not here

A cold, clammy sweat broke across her skin, collecting at her temples and the base of her spine. The silence that filled the room was dense, almost suffocating. It wrapped around her like a wool blanket, heavy and wrong.

"Nina…" she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of the name. It came out softer this time, barely a breath, barely a hope but no one answered.

Only silence.

And what unsettled her more than her best friend's absence…was the room. Golden morning light filtered through towering, arched windows shrouded in sheer white curtains. The light fell across the space like soft gold, warm and lovely but not familiar.

This is not their room, not even close.

Gone were the tangled heaps of laundry on the floor, Nina's overflowing tote bags and the shared collection of neon post-its stuck to their corkboard wall. The ceiling didn't sag with old water stains. There were no fairy lights dangling overhead. No mismatched bedsheets, no tacky K-pop posters smiling down from the walls. The chaos they built together..gone.

In this place, the room was so pristine, so breathtaking, it didn't seem real. She sat on a massive bed, easily twice the size of hers back home. The sheets beneath her were cool and impossibly smooth, like sleeping on melted silk. The golden frame rose high around her, carved with roses and thorns that shimmered faintly in the light that thick, embroidered curtains hung from the bedposts, partially drawn back like stage drapes.

Above her, the ceiling arched upward into a dome of pale cream paint, trimmed with gold filigree and crowned with a faded fresco of angels and clouds. It was the kind of ceiling you only saw in palaces or expensive period dramas. Slowly, Lana swung her legs off the edge of the bed, letting her bare feet drop onto the floor, the marble was cold. Smooth. Too clean.

A sharp chill climbed up her spine, but it wasn't the cold that shook her, It was the creeping realization that she had no idea where she was or how she got there.

Where am I? And here the hell is Nina?!

She stood, legs shaky and uneven beneath her. Her knees wobbled as she took a cautious step forward, eyes roving over the room like it was some kind of set built for someone else's life.

There were antique wardrobes carved from dark mahogany, with curled handles and little golden keyholes. A matching vanity gleamed beneath a large mirror framed in vines and roses. On one wall, oil portraits hung in a row stoic figures dressed in ruffled collars and pearl earrings, gazing out with stiff expressions and lifeless eyes and then, the desk. Elegant and small, perched against the far wall, with parchment neatly arranged beside a crystal inkwell and feathered quill. No pens, no notebooks, no wires, no phone chargers, not a single trace of the modern world.

She turned toward one of the tall windows and walked slowly across the polished floor. Her fingers brushed the edge of the curtain before she pulled it back and what she saw made her breath catch in her throat. No streets, no neighborhood, no cars or apartment blocks, not even a power line cutting across the sky.

Instead, she was overlooking a breathtaking garden. Endless hedges shaped into spirals, swans and mythical creatures. White marble fountains rose from flowerbeds bursting with color. Butterflies drifted lazily through the air, their wings so large and patterned they looked like stained glass. The grass was too green, too perfect like something painted rather than grown.

It was beautiful and absolutely wrong.

Lana staggered back from the window, her heartbeat hammering in her ears.

"What… is this?" she whispered to no one. Her voice felt distant, small.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, felt the chaotic rhythm of her heart beneath her palm. This isn't real, she told herself. It can't be, This has to be a dream. Some strange, vivid dream, maybe Nina will wake her up soon but the air smelled too strong of lavender and something waxy, sweet and old as the marble was cold against her feet, her skin prickled, she couldn't wake up. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, deeply.

Maybe she got kidnapped, what worse could be happen

Get a grip, Lana, Think. Think

Click.

The door, a quiet, careful sound someone unlocking it. Panic slammed into her like a wave as she spun, instinct lurching ahead of thought, her gaze darted, under the bed, behind the curtains, searching for a place to hide.

Hide, Lana. Hide!

But the door was already opening, she froze. Her whole body stiffened, her breath caught in her throat. A woman stepped inside, she was tall, severe with an air of polish that didn't belong in this century. She wore a black and white maid's uniform, crisp and flawless, with silver buttons and lace cuffs. Her dark hair was tied back in a perfect bun, not a strand out of place.

Their eyes met and the woman gasped, Lana thought this is her end

"Lady Elena!" she exclaimed, voice thick with emotion. Before Lana could even process the name, the woman hurried across the room and cupped Lana's face with both hands, eyes shimmering with tears. Lana flinched, lips parted, heart roaring.

Lady Elena?..

She wanted to speak, wanted to explain but her voice caught. Her body wouldn't obey her.

"The god have blessed us," the maid breathed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. "The miracle has come, my lady has returned."

Returned? Returned from where?Lana's thoughts spun wildly.

"I must inform the Count and Countess," the maid said in a breathless whisper and then she turned and disappeared out the door. Lana staggered back, almost stumbling

Count? Countess?

None of this make sense

The maid will properly come back with others or maybe even with guards. She turned to the window again, inching toward it but as she peered down, dread bloomed in her chest, three floors, maybe more. No balcony, no ledges, no vines to climb. Just a straight drop onto manicured stone paths that She will die instantly.

She turned toward the door again, maybe she could run and maybe she could make it out before the maid come back. Without hesitation, she run towards the unlocked door, hand wrapped around the golden doorknob but then, her eyes unintentionally glance at the mirror that made her paused

The mirror.

It stood quietly in the corner, elegant and looming, framed in gold leaf like it belonged in a royal hall and the reflection, a woman, long, deep red hair framed a porcelain face. Her skin was smooth, unblemished. Lips full and softly tinted rose. Bright green eyes blinked back at her, eyes Lana had never owned.

Her instinct urged her forward, a quiet, pulsing whisper beneath her skin, telling her to step closer to the mirror and confront the heavy suspicion pressing against her chest. She let go of the doorknob, the plan to escape already slipping from her mind, forgotten in the face of something far more urgent. For a moment, she stood still then slowly, almost unwillingly, she began to walk toward the mirror, drawn by the terrible knowing that something wasn't right.

The reflection moved closer, mimicking her steps as she approached the mirror, each movement perfectly aligned and despite the disbelief tightening in her chest, she kept walking, unable to stop herself. Step by step, until she stood before the mirror, face to face with the reflection that felt a breath too delayed or a breath too alive.

She reached up and touched her face, her fingers trembling and the reflection did the same, perfectly, precisely, each movement mirrored with unsettling accuracy. A wave of terror rippled through her, it was copying her, every motion, every blink, as if it were her.

But the woman in the mirror was too perfect, her skin like porcelain, eyes too bright, posture too graceful. It wasn't just strange, it was impossible that this is not the face she woke up with every day, the one marked with small flaws and traces of sleepless nights.

This is not me!

The thought hit her hard, sinking deep even as her mind clawed to reject it. This is not me.

"What the hell is happening?!" she gasped, her voice cracking with panic. Desperate, she began slapping herself, hard and fast, trying to snap herself out of whatever twisted dream this was. Her skin stung, her cheeks flushed red but she didn't stop. Maybe her mind just playing tricks, she thought

"Wake up!" she shouted, again and again. "Wake up!"

The door creaked open behind her, but Lana didn't move and didn't stop. She was too far gone, swallowed whole by the storm in her mind. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her cheeks still burning from the sting of her own hand, eyes locked on the impossible reflection.

"My dear!"

A hand caught hers mid-air, stopping her before she could land another slap. The voice was calm, almost tender, and it sliced through the fog clouding her mind.

Lana's eyes widened as the world around her came back into focus, her breathing was shallow, chest rising and falling too fast and her cheeks throbbed from the blows she had already delivered. Slowly, she turned her head and the three figures now stood in the room.

A man in his forties, tall with graying hair and the commanding presence of someone used to being obeyed, looked at her with furrowed brows beside him, a woman, elegant, perhaps in her thirties, watched with a hand lightly resting on her chest, concern softening her sharp features and near the door stood the maid from earlier, eyes darting nervously between them all.

The man kneels beside her "Why are you slapping yourself, my dear?" the man asked, voice low and gentle, like he was afraid she might break if he spoke too loudly.

Lana just stared at him, at all of them. Her mouth opened but nothing came out, the words, the reason if there even was one, were buried beneath layers of confusion and disbelief...she didn't answer.

The man caresses her face gently then he pulled her into a quiet embrace. His arms wrapped around her like he had been waiting a long time, warm, protective, almost desperate. Lana didn't move, she didn't know how to and when he pulled back, his eyes were glassy with tears, a fragile smile trembling on his lips.

"You are really here," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself. "We thought we had lost you."

The woman followed her husband, her steps quick and unsteady. Tears were already spilling down her cheeks as she reached for Lana, pulling her into a soft, trembling embrace. She held Lana tightly, her voice shaking as she spoke through sobs.

"My beloved daughter… the God truly heard my prayers every night." Her hands gently cradled Lana's face as she pulled back, eyes filled with overflowing emotion.

"I will never grow tired of thanking the God for bringing you back to us," the woman whispered, her voice thick with tears.

She turned to her husband, their gazes meeting, both are tearful and caught in the same impossible joy as if they had just been given a miracle.

Everything was moving too quickly, too sudden, too unreal. Lana felt like her head was going to burst from the storm of emotions and questions piling up inside her. One moment, she was staring into a mirror that didn't belong to her and the next, strangers were holding her like family, crying, calling her daughter.

It was suffocating. Confusing.

Her heart raced, her thoughts tangled. This is all too much for one day, too much for one person to feel in just a few hours that felt more like a minutes

Lana jerked back and tearing herself from their embrace, her hands trembled. The couple froze, their arms still half-raised, their smiles slowly unraveling into confusion.

"I don't know any of you," Lana said, her voice hoarse and barely steady, that was all she could say

Those words hit like a stone as the man's shoulders stiffened, his face draining of color and the woman stared at her, wide-eyed, the joy she held moments ago slipping away, replaced by something hollow and devastated. In that silence, it felt like the room cracked open like something precious had been lost all over again.

The man rose slowly, the weight of the moment pressing into his shoulders. He didn't speak right away, just stared at the floor for a breath before turning to the maid.

"Fetch the physician," he said, his voice quiet but edged with urgency.

The maid lowered her head in a deep nod, eyes wide with unspoken worry. She didn't ask questions, she simply turned and slipped out of the room. The door closed gently behind her, but the silence she left behind felt louder than anything.

A few minutes passed before the door opened again. The physician entered, the maid closed behind him, head slightly bowed. The room that once filled with joyous tears, now carried only tension and confusion. The Count and Countess looked up at the doctor with anxious, pleading eyes like he might be the one to pull them back from a nightmare.

"Our daughter started acting like this… we don't know what to do," the Count said, his voice unsteady, cracked with helplessness. The doctor approached Lana slowly, hands raised in a calming gesture, like one might approach a startled animal.

"I won't hurt you," he said gently. "I only need to examine you, my lady. Please, can you let me?"

Lana hesitated, her body tense, eyes darting between all of them. Maybe she did need a doctor, maybe this was all in her head, some breakdown, some hallucination. Hearing she had gone mad was better than accepting the impossible.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

The doctor examined her carefully, his touch light but precise. After a few quiet moments, he finally spoke, turning to the Count and Countess.

"There are signs of trauma to her head likely from a fall, it may have caused damage to her memory."

"She has lost her memories."

The Countess gasped, her hand flying to her chest as her knees gave out beneath her. The Count caught her before she fell, holding her up as his own face paled with shock.

Lana watched them in silence, still numb, still trying to process it all. For the first time, she saw more than just strangers, she saw people hurting. People who looked at her like she meant everything.

Was the face she saw in the mirror earlier… their daughter's?

The thought hit her like a punch to the chest then her head began to throb, a dull ache pulsing behind her eyes. She needed to be alone, away from all of this, just to think, to breathe, to understand what was happening

"I need to be alone," she said softly, her voice barely stronger than a breath.

There was a pause, long and tense but then the doctor gave a silent nod, and the others filed out slowly, glancing back with hearts in their eyes and hope heavy in their footsteps. When the door clicked shut, the silence that followed was unbearable.

Lana sat still for a moment, every sound sharpened to a blade, the ticking of a faraway clock, the whisper of wind through the curtains, the soft pulse of her heartbeat in her ears.

Lana sank to the floor, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees and burying her face in them. Her whole body trembled. She felt like a glass about to crack.

"Elena Fortaine."

The voice echoed, soft like a whisper that carried by wind, barely brushing against her ear. She snapped her and looked around quickly, searching for whoever spoke but there was no one else in the room. Just her, alone, with the echo of that name still ringing in her ears.

Suddenly, It hit her out of nowhere, a chilling flicker of recognition. That name wasn't new. It shouldn't mean anything and yet, it did.

Elena Fortaine, the character Nina's favorite

"No… no no no…" she whispered, panic rising.

Don't tell me…

She pressed her hands against her face, shaking her head.

Did I wake up as the perfect heroine I hated?!