(2) THE FIRST VERSE: THE HIDDEN PAIN

The dining hall of the Miravale estate was opulent, yet the atmosphere was thick with a nervous, forced cheer. Annie, inhabiting the body of Zaria, sat rigid in her chair, the linen napkin heavy in her lap. The elaborate chandelier above cast a sickly yellow light on the silver cutlery, making the wine in the glasses gleam like blood.
Her ‘family’—Mathius, her twin, and the current Lord and Lady Miravale—watched her with an unnerving intensity that made Annie want to bolt. She was playing a part, and tonight, the stage was too brightly lit.
“It is truly wonderful to have you back at the table, Zaria,” Lady Miravale said, her voice dripping with careful warmth. “Tell us, darling, how do you feel? Being reunited with your family after such a long time away?”
Annie managed a polite, tight smile—a practiced gesture of the original Zaria. “I feel quite well, Mother. The journey was long, but… necessary.”
Lord Miravale nodded sagely. “Necessary indeed. We are all so relieved you agreed to return. We missed you, especially your mother.”
Mathius, sitting directly opposite, leaned forward, his face alight with genuine, unrestrained affection. He was handsome, with Zaria’s sharp features softened by a more easygoing temperament.
“I’m just glad to see you’re eating properly,” Mathius said, gesturing toward her plate. “But tell me, Zaria, seriously. How was your training? How did you become so strong? I saw you today, you were barely winded after the sparring session. You were always so… fragile when we were younger.”
He took a nostalgic sip of his wine, his gaze softening as he reminisced.
“Honestly, sometimes it felt like you were my little sister,” Mathius continued, oblivious to the silence he was creating. “You used to cry so much after Mother and Father died. But look at you now! You look so healthy and powerful.”
The moment Mathius uttered the word ‘died,’ the dining room went instantly cold.
Annie—the soul of the writer who knew Zaria's life story intimately—felt a sudden, searing wave of the original Zaria's raw grief and struggle hit her. It was a phantom pain that stole her breath.
Mathius instantly regretted his words. Lord and Lady Miravale stared at him with identical expressions of horrified rebuke. Their eyes then shifted, settling on Annie, searching for the crack in her composure. The collective weight of their concern, their pity, and their intrusive scrutiny felt like a physical blow.
Annie was out of the zone, the sophisticated dinner and the concerned faces blurring around her. She was adrift in the sea of Zaria’s memories: the orphans' struggle, the relentless, unforgiving training, the quiet determination to survive and protect Mathius after the trauma.
The original Zaria. The one whose body Annie now inhabited. She hadn't just 'trained' to be strong; she had fought her way out of an abyss of despair, forging her delicate body into a weapon against weakness.
Lady Miravale’s voice cut through the fog, sharp with anxiety. “Zaria? Are you quite alright, darling?”
Annie snapped back to the present, focusing on the chandelier’s light, forcing her expression into one of fatigued control.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Annie said, placing her knife down with a deliberate clink. “I am a little more tired than I thought after the long journey. I think I will retire now, if you’ll excuse me.”
A Daughter's PromiseShe stood, gathering the strength of Zaria’s resolve around her like a cloak. She looked directly at Mathius, offering him a tender, knowing smile—a genuine gesture from Annie's heart that honored the original Zaria's love for her twin.
“I am perfectly well, truly,” Annie announced to the family, making her voice strong and steady. “And please, don't worry about the past. I’ve moved on from their deaths. In fact, I’m only stronger now because I intend to complete their dreams. I will do everything they—we—ever hoped for. Good night, everyone.”
With the final, powerful declaration, Annie executed a flawless, dignified bow and retreated, leaving the Miravales staring at the empty seat, a mixture of awe and residual fear on their faces.
The Scars and the CharacterLater that night, alone in Zaria’s opulent bedroom, Annie felt the burden of her new life—and the old one she was trying to sustain—lift slightly. The heavy, silk curtains were drawn, and the room was quiet.
Annie walked to the dressing table and sat down. With slow, reverent movements, she peeled back the sleeves of her ornate nightgown. Beneath the delicate fabric, the smooth, pale skin was crisscrossed with small, faint scars—not the scars of a fragile noblewoman, but the indelible marks of hard training, forgotten injuries, and fierce dedication.
She touched them gently.
The original Zaria.
As the writer who had crafted this character, Annie knew the history behind every scratch. She realized that after the deaths of her parents, Zaria hadn't just cried; she had taken on the entire crushing weight of the family's expectations, forging herself into the ruthless, capable figure she was today. The fragile girl had practically become a beast—a relentless machine of ambition and training—to fill the void.
Annie felt a deep, profound sorrow for the soul who had created this strong body and then left it. "You deserve rest," she whispered, her voice husky. "You struggled so hard, Zaria."
Annie, the reincarnation, made a solemn vow. "I promise you, I will make this life meaningful. I will complete your dreams, but I will also give this family—your family—the great happiness and love you never allowed yourself to fully receive."
Her hand moved across her ribs, where a dull ache persisted. It was the place where her opponent’s axe had grazed her during the sparring match today.
“Ah,” she murmured, wincing slightly. “I didn't even realize I was injured. I must have been completely locked into the fight.”
Then, a sudden, unrelated thought surfaced, bringing with it a surprising wave of warmth that erased the pain of the bruise and the ghosts of Zaria’s scars.
Ivor.
She remembered the way his silver eyes had watched her, the slight, almost imperceptible smile he'd given her after she landed the final, decisive blow. He had looked so incredibly handsome today, his dark hair falling across his brow as he moved.
Annie felt a sudden, ridiculous blush crawl up her neck. A genuine, girlish flutter that was all hers, not Zaria's.