: Memories

Darkness. All I see is darkness. I'm surrounded by darkness, with no visible path forward despite my attempts to walk. It's as though I'm trapped in an endless void.

Confusion sets in as I recall the last thing I remember. I was drifting off to sleep in Csille's room after meeting with the King and Queen. Could this darkness signify a transition of some kind? Will I wake up as a fourteen-year-old Csille?

"Ysavel," Lena's voice echoed through the darkness, prompting me to stop in my tracks. Despite my efforts to search for her, the darkness made it impossible to see anything. I tried to call out Lena's name, but no sound emerged from my lips.

The voice continues. "Ysavel, where are you? Come back home now. I miss you." Then, I heard Lena's sobs echoing in the darkness.

I miss you too , Lena. I wish I could return home right away, but I'm uncertain how. I feel lost in my own story, unsure if I can even return. I wish I could. I miss you terribly.

I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face as I wished to return home. The desire to go home consumed me completely. Lost in my sobs, I was startled when a voice echoed through the darkness.

"Look, dear. Look at our daughter. She's so lovely," a familiar voice exclaimed, accompanied by the soft cries of a baby in the background.

"She looks just like you," a familiar male voice responded. "We will name her Csille Lauretré, the daughter of Count Waltier Lauretré and Countess Marcelle Lauretré. The future heiress of the noble Lauretré family. I hope you grow up to be a great person." The sounds fade away.

Csille? Is this the moment of Csille's birth? But I've never written these scenes. Why am I hearing them?

"I am Csille Lauretré, the daughter of the Count and the Countess. And the only heiress to the Lauretré family." Suddenly, a small voice broke through the darkness, sounding like that of a five-year-old child. Laughter followed the words.

"You're daughter looks so adorable, Countess," another familiar voice said, resembling that of the Queen.

"You're flattering me, your majesty," my mother replied.

The Queen then called for Crown Prince Fraser. The Queen begins to introduce the Prince to Csille. Following that, there was only silence.

I think I understand now. It must be the first meeting between Prince Fraser and Csille. However, there's one aspect I don't comprehend. Why am I hearing these conversations?

A cute voice suddenly echoed, "You look adorable, Csille. I like you." I couldn't discern who spoke, but it sounded like a child of five years old or younger.

I wait for a few minutes, hoping for another sound to break the deafening silence, but none comes.

I stand up from the floor and begin to walk, my steps aimless in the darkness. I continue walking until my legs can no longer bear the weight of my body.

I sit down, feeling utterly exhausted. All I want is to return home, whether it's to the modern world or the world of my novel. I don't mind it all. I just want to lie down in bed and sleep. 

As I struggled to catch my breath, a piercing high-frequency sound defean my ears.

A minute later, the entire space was engulfed in a blinding light, so intense that it overwhelmed my senses. Confused and disoriented, I lost consciousness after.

As the high-frequency sound persisted, I felt my body becoming lighter, as though I were floating in mid-air. Suddenly, a searing pain tore through my head, as if my skull were being split in two. Agonizing minutes passed before the pain abruptly ceased, and a flood of memories play through my mind. Overwhelmed, I lost all sense of awareness.

As I regained consciousness, a maid stood before me. Before I could gather my thoughts, my mouth spoke involuntarily, "What are you doing here? Get out!" The words startled me, and I tried to apologize, but my mouth remained stubbornly shut.

    "I heard you shouting while sleeping. That's why I woke you up, Miss. I was worried you're having a nightmare," the maid responded, her head down and hands trembling slightly.

"Get out!" My mouth shouted again, against my will.

The maid immediately left the room. I glanced around, searching for any changes, but everything appeared just as I had left it yesterday, undisturbed.

"Yesterday?" I murmured to myself, a sudden realization hitting me. Yesterday marked the beginning of the first scenario I'd written in my novel. But now, I pondered, am I still a child today, or have I aged five years since then?

    The reflection in the mirror answered my question. The reflection staring back at me from the mirror remained that of the nine-year-old Csille.

   "I haven't aged, but what happens now? I didn't write anything beyond the announcement of the engagement. I thought time would fast forward. Does this world not follow my novel? It doesn't make sense. If it doesn't, then why am I here?"

I stared at the reflection in the mirror. "Why did I become Csille Lauretré? Why did I hear those voices in my dreams?" Sudden memories flooded my mind—all the memories of Csille, even those I hadn't written about.

    I can now recall all of Csille's memories. But why? Do I have to remain here? For how long? Can I still return?

I made my way to the study table and sat down. If I can't return, what are my options? Will this world adhere to what I've written in my novel? Speaking of which, I didn't even get the chance to finish it. What will happen then?

It's possible that the reason I have limited control over my body is because I portrayed Csille Lauretré as a cruel person to the maids and others of lower social class in my novel.

I was lost in thought when a knock at the door interrupted me. "Miss, the Count and Countess are waiting for you in the dining room."

My mouth replied on its own. "Get lost!" Afterward, I heard quick steps outside. I've probably scared the maid again.

I sigh in frustration. I am now regretting why I made Csille inherently evil. I am currently paying the price for that decision.

_____________

    The breakfast went by without incident. Later, my mother invited me to join her in some charity work. From the memories I've regained as Csille, I know that charity is a longstanding tradition of the Lauretré family.

Today, my parents decided to visit one of the orphanages they support, where they planned to distribute gifts and food to the children. It's just one of the many orphanages my parents have established. Every month, my mother makes it a point to visit one of these institutions and engage in various activities with the children.

  "Are you feeling tired, my dear?" My mother inquired as I took a break after distributing gifts to the children.

My mother and our people were busy serving food to the children. Pausing for a moment, my mother offered me some food as well.

   My head nodded involuntarily, and my lips formed a pout. Oh, come on, let me take control of this body. I'm not tired. How could I be tired when I see these children so happy? "I want to go home, Mother," my mouth said.

But I didn't! I didn't want to go home.

   My mother smiled at me and patted my head. "Just wait, dear. It will be finished. You could take a break first, okay? I need to go back now." She kissed my head and returned to serving the children.

As I watched the children happily receiving the gifts and food, I couldn't help but empathize with them. I understood their joy because, like them, I had once been an orphan. I grew up in an orphanage, left at the gate with nothing but a blanket. There was no letter or clue to my identity or my parents, as if they had completely abandoned me.

   I could feel my eyes welling up with tears as I stood up from my seat and made my way to the back of the orphanage where an old swing stood. Sitting there, my tears flowed freely as memories from my childhood flooded my mind—memories of Ysavel.

I couldn't help but envy Csille for having a loving family, unlike me, Ysavel, who grew up as an orphan. While there were moments of happiness in the orphanage, playing and talking with friends, there was also pain. Pain from watching my friends being adopted one by one, leaving me behind, alone once again.

After turning eighteen, I made the difficult decision to leave the orphanage and start living independently. It wasn't easy. I faced many challenges. There were days when I could only afford to eat once because I couldn't find a job that would provide enough income for my daily needs.

Fortunately, luck was on my side when I met Lena. She became my savior, helping me in countless ways. Lena assisted me in securing a college scholarship, and after graduating, she continued to support me by helping me find a job.

   "Lena, I miss you. I want to go home now." I cried. I was busy shedding tears when a handkerchief suddenly appeared, seemingly out of thin air.

"I didn't know you're a crybaby," a little voice remarked. Startled, I lifted my head to see who had interrupted my moment of sorrow.

   "Prince Fraser?!" I exclaimed, hastily wiping away my tears and offering a slight curtsy. "This Count's daughter greets your majesty, the Crown Prince."

As Prince Fraser approached, I kept my head bowed. He then gently lifted my chin, meeting my gaze directly. "I don't understand why you keep referring to yourself as 'that count's daughter.' It's just the two of us here. You can call me Fraser. I thought you didn't hate me?" He then reached out with his hand, using the handkerchief to wipe away the remaining tears from my face.

  "I couldn't do that, Prince Fraser. It would be disrespectful to the royal family," I replied, maintaining my respectful demeanor.

Prince Fraser paused in his actions and frowned. "I'll be upset with you if you continue to address me that way," he said firmly.

 I wanted to refuse, but I've seen how serious he is right now. How could I forget? Prince Fraser is quite a stubborn person. "How about this, your highn-" I stopped at what I'm saying when I saw him raised his eyebrows at me. "Prince Fraser. How about we compromise? I'll only call you Prince Fraser-"

"Fraser," he interjected, insisting on what he wants.

"I'll only call you Fraser if we're alone. If there are other people, I'll call you again, your highness, Prince Fraser. Is that okay?"

Prince Fraser smiled and ruffled my hair. "Okay, that's a deal." He then extended his hand towards me, as if asking for a handshake. I raised my hand too and shook it.

   I sit back on the swing, and Prince Fraser takes a swing beside me. I begin to swing gently, lost in my thoughts.

"Why are you crying?" Prince Fraser's voice breaks through my reverie. I ignore him, continuing to swing. How do I even begin to explain? Would he understand if I told him I miss my home? That I'm burdened by memories of my real self?

  "Why are you crying, Csille?" Prince Fraser's voice pierces through the air, louder this time.

I halt my swinging and glance at him. Offering a smile, I shift my gaze to the sky. I want to be truthful, but I know revealing my true identity as someone from another dimension would only confuse him.

I shake my head softly. "I just feel a deep sadness for these children. Why would anyone abandon their own flesh and blood? Don't they care for their offspring?" Tears well up once more, streaming down my cheeks.

   The Prince looks at me. "I don't know. We can't truly understand their circumstances. Perhaps they felt they had no other choice. It's easy for us to question from the outside, but we can't judge without knowing the full story."

I shake my head, struggling to contain my emotions. How can he say that? Am I not in their shoes? I want to shout that I am, but I hold my tongue. "Acceptable reason? They shouldn't have brought a child into the world if they couldn't take care of them," I retort, trying to keep my composure in front of Prince Fraser.

  The Prince nods sympathetically. "I understand your perspective, but sometimes circumstances force people into difficult decisions. They may have hoped for a better future for their child, despite their current struggles."

I wipe away my tears, frustrated with the situation. "But bringing a child into this word despite their circumstance, is irresponsible. They should have considered that before having a child," I insist, struggling to comprehend the complexities of human choices.

Prince Fraser rises from the swing and sits in front of me. One of his knee is on the ground. Taking his handkerchief out, he tenderly wipes away my tears. "I didn't realize it would upset you so deeply. I'll refrain from discussing it further. Please, stop crying now, alright?" he murmurs gently.

I pause and then wrap my arms around him tightly. Startled, Prince Fraser loses his balance, and we both tumble backward, landing on the ground. I continue to sob, resting my head on his chest.

   If Lena found that I cried on the chest of a nine year old boy, she probably arrested me by now. I even feel embarrassed just imagining it. However, I'm still in the body of a nine years old Csille.

   Prince Fraser remained patient and didn't protest, allowing me to cry. He offered comfort by gently patting my back and running his fingers through my hair.

   I didn't expect Prince Fraser to be this kind to Csille. It's just unfortunate that in the end, he won't choose her.

   After a minute or so, I lifted my head and met his gaze. His eyes were filled with concern.

"Are you feeling better now?'"

   I nodded and rose up. Extending my hand to help him up, he accepted it, his eyes meeting mine with a smile.

"You look beautiful even when you cry, but I hope you won't shed any more tears now. It makes me sad to see you like that."

   The Prince helped me back into the swing, making sure I wasn't injured from our fall. "Good thing you're okay. Next time, don't startle me, okay?" he said, checking for any bruises.

I nodded and held his hand as he settled into the other swing. "Thank you, Fraser," I murmured.

The Prince laughed and tousled my hair. "If you really want to thank me, just smile at me, Csille."

I glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, and offered him a genuine smile—one of the most sincere I've ever given.

Thank you, Fraser. I never expected that the character I created would be the first to comfort me besides Lena. I'm grateful.