The rider knelt beside Isadora, carefully turning her over. Her skin was cold, injured with cuts and bruises, damp from the puddle she'd collapsed beside, her green eyes closed, lashes fluttering faintly as if she were dreaming.
"She's breathing," he called over his shoulder. "Pulse is steady, but she's unconscious and injured."
Inside the carriage, Celeste D'Amaro's fingers curled slightly against her lap. A stranger, appearing out of nowhere, in the middle of the forest at this hour? That alone was odd. But there was something else—a strange hum in the air, a shiver of energy that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.
The Earl, sitting beside her, frowned. "A lone woman? At this time of night? Unlikely she's anything but trouble."
Celeste shot him a look. "You assume too much."
"I assume based on logic." His voice was calm, but his sharp gaze flickered toward the window. "A lost noblewoman wouldn't be wandering these woods. A thief wouldn't be unconscious in the middle of a clearing. That leaves only one possibility—she was left here. Or worse, she came here by strange means."
Celeste's lips pressed together in thought. "Or, she was brought here."
The Earl sighed, rubbing his temples. "Celeste, don't tell me you feel some divine omen about this."
Celeste glanced back at him, her expression unreadable. "I don't need an omen to recognize something unnatural when it's right in front of me." She turned toward the window, her voice quieter. "Something is off."
The Earl regarded her carefully. "And you're going to check for yourself, right?"
"Of course."
Shaking his head, the Earl sighed but didn't argue. He knew his wife well—once Celeste set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. "Then be careful."
With that, Celeste pushed the carriage door open and stepped gracefully onto the damp grass, her gown trailing the ground.
Celeste's eyes narrowed as she took in the strange woman lying in the grass—a soaked strange dress clinging to her curves, mud smeared on the hem, auburn curls tangled with rain and leaves. And on her wrist, something caught the moonlight—a bracelet, unlike anything Celeste had ever seen. It shimmered faintly, pulsing with some unknown power.
Her breath hitched, just for a second.
"That bracelet…" she murmured.
The Earl glanced at her. "What is it?"
"I don't know," she said, eyes still fixed on Isadora. "But something tells me this bracelet is not ordinary jewelry."
"She looks like she just stumbled out of a storm—and yet there hasn't been a drop of rain here tonight," the Earl noted.
Celeste nodded slowly, then turned to the rider. "Bring her into the carriage. We'll take her to the estate. She can't stay out here, not in her condition."
"But, my Lady—what if she's dangerous?"
Celeste's expression didn't waver. "Then we'll find out. But if the gods dropped her into our path, I won't ignore the omen."
The rider hesitated, then gently lifted Isadora in his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, the bracelet on her wrist glowing faintly once more.
Celeste climbed back into the carriage, her eyes lingering on the girl as she was placed beside her.
"She's soaked through," the Earl muttered, reaching to pull a blanket over her. "And unconscious, yet… she doesn't look like any commoner."
"She isn't," Celeste said softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from Isadora's face.
As the carriage rolled forward, wheels crunching softly against the dirt road, the wind picked up again—carrying with it the faint, lingering hum of magic.
The carriage wheels clattered softly along the winding path toward the D'Amaro estate, the forest slowly thinning into manicured gardens and gravel drives. Inside, the air was thick with silence, save for the gentle breathing of the unconscious girl curled against the velvet cushions.
Celeste hadn't taken her eyes off her.
Her gaze flicked from Isadora's mud-streaked dress to the strange bracelet gleaming faintly on her wrist. The light from it wasn't steady—it pulsed, like a heartbeat. Magic? She couldn't tell. But something about it made her skin prickle.
"She's not just lost," Celeste murmured, almost to herself. "She's out of place… like she doesn't belong here."
The Earl glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
Celeste shook her head slowly, fingers absently grazing the edge of the bracelet. "Look at the fabric of her clothes—those stitches, the cut of that corset, even the material. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. And this thing…" She tilted Isadora's wrist gently to study the bracelet closer. "It's not handmade. It's not even enchanted in a way our mages would craft. It's… foreign."
The Earl leaned back, unsettled. "Do you think she's from one of the border kingdoms? Or beyond the seas?"
"No," Celeste said softly. "I think she's from farther than that."
The Earl frowned. "You mean—another realm? But wasn't it simply a myth?"
Celeste didn't answer. She simply leaned back in her seat, watching the sleeping woman with curious intensity.
As they entered the gates of the estate, the carriage rattled over the cobbled path. Lanterns flickered to life along the walkway, casting golden light on the D'Amaro manor—an elegant stone structure wrapped in ivy, with towering windows and a regal air of old power.
The staff was already waiting on the front steps, alerted by the approaching carriage.
"Have a guest room prepared," Celeste ordered before the footman could even open his mouth. "Bring hot water, fresh clothes, and a healer—quietly."
The Earl raised a brow. "You don't want the court to know?"
"I don't want rumors," Celeste said flatly. "Not until we understand who—or what—she is."
As the servants lifted Isadora carefully and carried her inside, Celeste stood by the manor doors, watching the flickering glow of the bracelet one last time before it disappeared under a blanket.
The Next Morning
Isadora's eyes snapped open to a room that screamed luxury—a far cry from her cramped modern apartment. The ceiling arched high above, adorned with intricate moldings, and a chandelier scattered light like shattered diamonds. Her head pounded, and for a moment, she wondered if her last night shift had finally caught up with her.
"Where the fuck am I?" she muttered.
She swung her legs over the edge of the plush bed, her heart pounding. The room was straight out of a period drama—velvet drapes, ornate furniture, and gold accents everywhere. It didn't make sense.
Her mind reeled, trying to piece everything together. The rain, the cab, the drunk driver—then the bracelet. The last thing she remembered was falling. She slipped… fell into that damn puddle… And then— then she woke up in a forest. But how did that lead to this?
A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. She glanced down and froze. The soaked dress she'd been wearing was gone. Instead, she was wrapped in a soft, knee-length nightgown—something out of a historical film.
Her breath hitched. Someone had changed her clothes.
She shot to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that followed and rushed toward the mirror hanging on the wall. Her reflection stared back—her hair neatly brushed, her face clean, the unfamiliar nightgown flowing around her.
Her hands gripped the edge of the dresser. "What the hell is going on?" she whispered.
Her gaze snapped to the window. She yanked the curtains aside, expecting city lights, streets, something familiar. Instead, she saw endless rolling hills, perfectly manicured gardens, and a sky painted with soft twilight hues. No cars. No buildings. No sign of the world she knew.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a dream.
"Where the hell am I?"
Isadora forced herself to breathe, dragging a hand down her face. Panicking wouldn't help. She needed to think.
Her eyes swept across the room, analyzing every detail. The towering bed draped in silk, the polished wooden floors, and the flickering candlelight cast soft shadows on the walls. It was too elegant, too perfect—like something ripped from a historical novel.
Her breath hitched.
Was she inside a novel?
No, that couldn't be.
She moved toward a carved wooden dresser, her fingers brushing over its smooth surface. No phone, no charger, no sign of anything remotely modern.
A vanity sat nearby, lined with delicate perfume bottles and an ornate brush. Everything here looked expensive—too expensive.
Then her eyes landed on a small table beside the bed. A folded piece of parchment rested there,
Isadora's heart pounded as she clutched the letter from Celeste D'Amaro. The elegant script instructed her to remain in place until a servant arrived. Her mind raced with questions: Who was Celeste D'Amaro? Where exactly was she? And how had she ended up here?
Before she could delve deeper into her thoughts, a gentle knock echoed from the door. Taking a steadying breath, Isadora approached and opened it. A young woman in a maid's uniform stood there, her demeanor calm and composed.
"Good morning, miss," the servant greeted with a slight bow. "Lady Celeste D'Amaro requests your presence in the drawing room."
Isadora nodded, her throat dry. "Lead the way," she managed to reply.
Following the servant through the opulent corridors, Isadora couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur surrounding her. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, and chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow. The scent of fresh flowers lingered in the air, adding to the surreal atmosphere.
Upon reaching a set of double doors, the servant paused and gestured for Isadora to enter. With a deep breath, she stepped inside.
The drawing room was bathed in soft morning light filtering through tall windows. Seated on an ornate chaise lounge was a woman who exudes an air of authority and warmth. Her dark hair was elegantly styled, and her eyes held a mixture of curiosity and kindness.
"Welcome," the woman spoke, her voice melodic. "I am Celeste D'Amaro. Please, have a seat."
Isadora complied, settling into a chair opposite Celeste. Her mind buzzed with questions, but she remained silent, waiting for the woman to speak.
Celeste studied her for a moment before offering a gentle smile. "I understand you must be confused and perhaps frightened. Rest assured, you are safe here."
Isadora swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she finally spoke. "How did I get here? Where is 'here'? And why… Why am I wearing different clothes?"
Celeste's expression softened. "All in due time, dear. For now, know that you are in my home, and I am here to help you."
Isadora's mind swirled with uncertainty, but she sensed sincerity in Celeste's words. Taking a deep breath, she nodded, deciding to trust this mysteriouswoman, at least for the moment.