She remembered the taste of blood first.
Sharp copper filled her mouth as her body crumpled forward, slammed against the steering wheel. Her head spun. Her limbs wouldn't move. The world around her—a rainy city road shimmering with headlights—tilted, then blinked out.
The accident.
"Sia…?"
Was that her voice? Or someone else's?
She couldn't tell. The pain was too much. Her chest burned. She couldn't breathe.
And then… nothing.
The second time she opened her eyes, the world was wrong.
No car. No glass. No burning rubber. No sirens.
Instead, she was staring up at a carved canopy ceiling, silken curtains swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of lavender water and wax candles floated through the air.
She jolted upright.
Her hands flew to her chest, expecting blood, bruises, something. But her skin was smooth. Unscarred. She blinked rapidly. Her heart pounded, breath ragged.
This wasn't a hospital. This wasn't her room.
And this—this wasn't her body.
Her hands were slender, her nails neatly shaped. Her skin was paler, her wrists thinner. A mirror stood across the room, framed in blackwood. Slowly, shakily, she stumbled toward it.
And what she saw—
White-silver hair, cascading past her waist. Skin like porcelain.
Violet-gray eyes, wide and full of light.
A face out of a dream. Or a nightmare.
Not Sia.
"No…" she whispered. "No, this can't…"
But the image didn't change. She raised her hand, and the girl in the mirror copied her.
"This isn't real."
Then, like a slow wave crashing over her, the memories came.
Not her memories.
Hers. Luna's.
The name echoed like a chime in her skull.
Luna Eirwen Caelora.
Daughter of a noble house. A side character in a novel she had read and reread obsessively—Chains of Crimson. A beautiful, tragic girl who was blind since thirteen. The kind of character Sia had always cried over.
And now… she was her.
"No," she whispered again, stumbling back from the mirror. Her heart pounded, her chest tightening. "This can't… I can't be…"
A knock on the door cut through her spiraling thoughts.
"Miss Luna?" a cautious voice called. "Are you awake?"
She froze.
That name again.
The door opened slowly, revealing a girl in a gray dress with a white apron. Mid-teens, maybe. Her reddish-brown hair was pinned up in a messy bun, her eyes warm and round with worry.
"S-Sorry, miss," the maid said quickly, setting down a tray of warm water. "The steward said you hadn't come out of your room all morning. I didn't mean to intrude."
She stared at the girl blankly.
Maela. That was her name. The maid from the novel. Quiet and loyal, deeply attached to Luna.
"You're… Maela?" she asked, voice uneven.
The girl froze, then nodded. "Y-yes, miss. Do you… feel unwell again?"
Again?
Luna blinked, mind spinning. She had no choice but to lean into the role. "I… think I had a strange dream. And… I feel strange."
Maela looked even more concerned now. "I'll summon the physician."
"No," Luna said quickly, then softened her voice. "I don't need one. I'm just… tired."
Maela hesitated. "Should I read to you again? You always say it helps when you—"
Luna raised a hand instinctively to decline—and stopped.
Because Maela had just said read. And the real Luna had been blind.
She looked directly at the maid, heart thudding. "Maela… do you think I can see?"
Maela paled. "Miss…?"
"I asked if you think I can see," Luna repeated, slowly.
The maid fidgeted nervously. "Forgive me, but… of course not, Miss Luna. You've… you've been blind since the carriage accident, four years ago. Ever since… your parents…" Her voice trailed off, eyes lowering.
Of course.
That horrible day. The day Luna's parents died in a mysterious "carriage accident" that had taken their lives and stolen Luna's sight. And now that memory from the novel—the way Serion, her brother, took over the title at just eighteen to protect her. The guilt that had crushed him. The potion he'd eventually find.
The potion that would destroy her.
But now she could see.
Maybe it was because she had been reincarnated. Maybe because the soul that once belonged to Sia had overwritten the damage.
Either way—this wasn't in the book.
This was new.
This was her chance.
"I see," Luna murmured carefully, as if tasting the weight of the words.
Maela blinked. "...Miss?"
"I mean… I understand. Thank you. I'll rest now."
Maela nodded, still flustered. "Yes, miss. I'll bring you a warm compress later."
Once the maid left, Luna collapsed into the chair beside her window. The manor outside stretched into rolling silver-grass hills, kissed by the early sun. Birds chirped, and wind fluttered through the lace curtains.
All of it—visible.
A small, bitter smile tugged at her lips.
In the book, Luna had died without ever seeing this world.
But Sia… Luna… whoever she was now—she would not repeat that fate.
Later that afternoon, she sat at the piano bench in the west parlor.
She pressed a single key.
The note echoed. Soft. Familiar.
Luna had been taught to play despite her blindness, relying on memory and touch. But now—now she could see the notes. Her fingers glided over the ivory keys, uncertain at first, then steady.
"This world thinks I'm still blind."
She played a gentle, melancholic melody—one she remembered from a tragic scene in the novel.
And as the notes rang through the room, she made herself a promise:
"I won't be your vessel.
I won't be a tragedy.
This time… I will find out who killed them.
Who gave Serion that potion.
And I will never let this body fall to a devil."
Somewhere in the capital, hundreds of miles away, a man sat behind an obsidian desk—ice blue eyes narrowed, a letter in his hand.
Serion Caelora.
The youngest Marquess in the empire. He was reading reports from the trade negotiations, but his eyes lingered on the final line of the steward's message.
Miss Luna has begun behaving oddly since your departure.
She looked out the window this morning.
And asked if she could see.
His fingers curled around the letter.
"...what," he muttered.
Then he stood.
"Prepare the carriage," he told his aide. "I'm going home."