Mirabelle sat in her room, curled into one of the large, soft armchairs, and stared out through the open balcony doors.

Before her stretched a valley, dense with forest, winding along a wide, slow-moving river and climbing up into the mountains on either side.

Those same mountains once formed a natural border between the two kingdoms.

But since the war, they had seemed to the former Mirabelle like a gate to hell, creaking open.

Metaphorically speaking. There was no concept of hell in this world.

Birdsong echoed through the air, the wind played with the leaves, and her ears even caught the quiet rush of the river.

’Why am I here?’

Mirabelle knew the stories — Truck-kun, transmigration, all those concepts.

But none of them really applied to her.

’Did I die in my sleep? Or is this a dream?’

Once again, she pinched herself. At the same time, a hiss slipped from her lips.

Nope.

A dream did not feel like this.

Slowly, it dawned on her that this might actually be her life now.

’Manifestation? Did I want Mr. Right so badly that I ended up here?

Would that mean I’m more likely to find him here than in my old world?’

The thought was so absurd that she laughed.

Unnoticed, an older woman stood beside her, watching her lady’s shifting emotions with concern. Two attentive mouse ears rose from her graying hair.

Tara had known the heir of Luchsenstein since she was young. But the behavior she had shown in the past few hours was unusual.

She slouched in the chair, chewing on a fingernail, one leg drawn up so that it slipped from beneath her robe, left exposed.

She would never have presented herself like this before.

Beastfolk took pride in having left behind the crude, vulgar ways of life and dress. That was what set them apart from animals.

The old woman worried that the hunger strike might have caused damage. Everyone knew that a female without regular food would fall ill.

She cleared her throat respectfully.

Like a startled cat, Mirabelle jumped up. Her hair stood in all directions, making her curls look even wilder.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stood on the armchair and stared at the mouse woman who had suddenly appeared beside her.

’Shit, where did she come from?’

She had been so lost in thought that her sensitive senses blocked everything else out.

She had not heard her. Not a step, not a breath — nothing.

Her inherited memories told her that this was Owen’s mate, Tara — a mouse woman.

In her hands, she carried a tray with a delicate tea set and small roots sweetened with honey.

"I brought afternoon tea, Lady Mirabelle."

"Now?" Mirabelle blurred , her voice slightly unsteady.

"As every day."

She walked around the chair and set the tray down on the small table between the armchairs.

Mirabelle forced herself to suppress the adrenaline and climbed down. Then she smoothed her robe and her hair.

With a soft sound, the tea poured into the cup.

A floral scent filled the room.

"Would you not like to get dressed?"

Mirabelle looked down at herself and realized that, to the servants, she must appear very unusual.

So she stood and went to the dressing room — but not before taking a sip of the tea. It flowed smoothly down her throat, and her nerves settled almost immediately.

She loved tea.

Tara padded after her.

’I can dress myself.’

But Mirabelle suppressed the urge to say it out loud.

"What do you feel like wearing?"

"Something loose."

She now knew that females without a mate wore tight, high-necked clothing. Only after taking their first mate did their wardrobe become more varied — and more revealing.

But for Mirabelle, there was nothing worse than tight clothing.

"That will be difficult." Tara began to search through the garments.

Frustrated, the lynx woman looked around.

’How can someone own this many clothes and none of them are comfortable?’

While she waited for Tara to find something acceptable — both for her and for societal etiquette — Mirabelle asked about Owen.

"That is kind of you to ask. He is already doing better. His meridians were strained while trying to block the aura. The healer said it is nothing a level three feral core cannot restore. Duchess Luchsenstein was kind enough to provide one."

At the mention of her new mother, Mirabelle stiffened. The memories connected to her were entirely positive, yet Mirabelle found the situation uncomfortable.

She had lost her own parents early in an accident, and now there was a new woman who expected to be called mother and to receive affection.

The former Mirabelle had adored her mother, and that feeling seemed to have been mutual. She could not bring herself to betray the previous owner of this body by acting indifferent now.

It felt wrong to step into a role that was not hers — and yet, refusing it felt just as wrong.

"Your mother wishes to see you at dinner."

’Of course she does.’

Mirabelle was given no grace period to mentally prepare for this encounter.

She hummed in agreement.

In the end, she wore a pair of suede trousers that fit tightly. But at least the white blouse was loose.

She studied herself critically in the mirror.

’A bit like a pirate.’

At least she did not feel like she was suffocating.

Tara pursed her lips but said nothing. It was still better than the robe.

A/N: Please comment. Would love to hear from you.