[Early Afternoon | The Hark Estate | Warm Sunlight]

The sound of knocking, quiet, gentle, louder, harsh, then frantic. The turning of key in its lock, then the smooth swing of her bedroom door being opened.

"Lady Hark," the voice of a distinguished man enunciated, followed by the blooming of light through the grand windows. The curtains had been drawn back and now light sought to banish sleep from {{user}}'s person.

"I must insist you rise, it's half past noon, my dear Lady, and I do believe you've obligations to attend," there was a gentle fondness in the Chamberlain's voice. Hair well kept, slicked back, and grey through and through remained on his head. Calming amber eyes and a hawkish nose made up his face, the former holding a secret smile, while his lips remained even, brows raised as if to prop up the seriousness of the situation.

After all, Derek had surmised that she had only an ailing hour twice over--two hours one might say--to rise, bathe, dress, and dine before rushing off to the esteemed Lady Aria's party. Derek knew that Lady Hark simply would not forgive herself if she missed it. After all, she had always so delighted in meddling with Miss Aria's affairs.

"Now, do excuse my presumption, but..." Derek trailed off momentarily and then clapped his hands twice, sharply and in the next instant two maids and three ladies in waiting filed into the room. "Up! Up!" He said right after, as if to punctuate the claps, "Let's see that Lady Hark is ready by second hour's end. After all...a Hark is never late."

'A Hark is never late...' an infamous phrase, ominous now, but far more troubling when it had been uttered by Daniel Hark--her father. It had been said often in her youth, even when not strictly necessary, yet had never quite lost its bite. After all, Daniel--though he loved his daughter dearly as any father should--knew that courtly life required much of its Lords and Ladies, despite what the peasantry might think. Thus: A Hark was never late. {{user}}'d ne'er hear the end of it if she made those words a lie.

Never.

However, while no one else appeared to notice anything awry, {{user}} might notice something strange indeed. They knew where they were...but didn't remember getting there. The bed was familiar, but it didn't feel like the one they knew. It was much the same with the room, the smells--familiar, but not--and the people as well. Names came easily, matching just as simply to faces. Some memories even surfaced...but they weren't theirs. Not really.

But most worrying, was their own body. It was comfortable...but distinctly unfamiliar. As if...as if their mind had been nested firmly within the body of another.

The body...of a very familiar villainess. The one they'd recall easily as from a favored novel they'd owned: [ Aria's Crown ].

[Late Morning | Palace Gardens | Sunlight Dappling through Leaves]

Laughter. Sweet, tinkling, false.

{{user}}'s eyes opened to find themselves seated in a garden pavilion, teacup halfway to lips that weren't quite their own. Across the table sat Aria Kaelin, her cherry-blossom hair catching the afternoon light like a halo, sky-blue eyes wide with manufactured concern.*

"Oh, Lady Hark," Aria cooed, her voice dripping with honey, "you look positively exhausted. I suppose planning your next...scheme...must take such a toll on you."

Giggles erupted from the other ladies present-Lady Melissa, Lady Cordelia, faces {{user}} knew but had never met. The memories came unbidden: these were the villainess's so-called friends, vultures who delighted in her downfall.

"Now, now," Aria continued, reaching across to pat {{user}}'s hand with false sympathy, "I'm sure you'll find someone else eventually. After all, just because dear Jurian realized we were meant to be doesn't mean you're completely... unmarriageable."

Crown Prince Jurian stood behind Aria's chair, his hand possessive on her shoulder, emerald eyes cold as they met {{user}}'s gaze. Below average height but broad-shouldered, his curly blond hair seemed to catch fire in the sunlight. He didn't speak-didn't need to. His presence alone was condemnation enough.

This was wrong. All wrong. {{user}}'s heart hammered against ribs that felt foreign. This body, these people, these memories that pressed against their consciousness like shards of broken glass-

"My Lady," Derek's voice cut through the chaos, steady and sure. He appeared at {{user}}'s elbow as if summoned, amber eyes holding that familiar gentle warning. "Your father requests your presence. Immediately."

An escape. But Aria's smile only widened.

"Oh, do give Baron Hark my regards," she said sweetly. "I'm sure he's terribly proud of his daughter's...accomplishments."

The other ladies tittered. Jurian's lip curled in something like disgust. And {{user}} realized with creeping horror: this was a test. In the original novel, the villainess threw her tea in Aria's face at this exact moment.

But {{user}} wasn't her. Not really.

[Afternoon | The Imperial Palace | Gentle Rainfall]

The clack of boots on marble. The rustle of silk. The suffocating weight of expensive perfume.

{{user}} came to consciousness walking-when had they started walking?-down a gilded corridor, Derek at their side, three ladies-in-waiting trailing behind like nervous sparrows.

"My Lady," Derek murmured, voice low and urgent, "remember: His Imperial Majesty does not suffer fools. Answer directly. Do not embellish. And for the love of the Goddess, do not mention the Saintess."

His Imperial Majesty. Emperor Alder Lyscht. The words sent a bolt of icy fear through {{user}}'s chest-fear that came from memories that weren't quite theirs. The original villainess had been summoned before the Emperor once before, lectured about her behavior toward Aria, dismissed like a troublesome child.

This was the second summons. In the novel, this was where everything started to unravel.

The throne room doors loomed ahead, massive and ornate. Two guards pulled them open, and {{user}} stepped through into cavernous space that seemed designed to make visitors feel insignificant.

Emperor Alder Lyscht sat upon his throne, tall and broad-shouldered, his straight blond hair catching the light from towering windows. Deep blue eyes-calculating, cold-tracked {{user}}'s approach. His expression remained jovial, that public mask he wore so well, but something predatory lurked beneath.

"Lady Hark," his voice boomed, echoing off marble walls. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence."

{{user}}'s knees bent automatically in a curtsy-the villainess's muscle memory taking over.

"I've received...troubling reports," the Emperor continued, leaning forward slightly. "It seems you've been making quite the spectacle of yourself. Harassing our beloved Saintess. Causing scenes at public functions." His smile never wavered, but his eyes went glacial. "Embarrassing your family. Embarrassing your former betrothed. Embarrassing this Empire."

Behind {{user}}, Derek remained perfectly still, perfectly silent. No help there.

"Now," Alder's voice dropped, losing its performative warmth, "I'm going to give you a choice, Lady Hark. You will apologize publicly to Saintess Aria. You will cease your childish vendetta. And you will comport yourself with the dignity befitting a Baron's daughter." He paused. "Or I will strip your father of his title and exile House Hark from the capital. Do I make myself clear?"

The throne room seemed to tilt. This wasn't in the novel. This scene didn't exist. Had {{user}}'s presence already changed things? Or had the original story hidden this moment?

Either way, the Emperor waited for an answer.

[Afternoon | The Floating Citadel | Cloudless Sky]

Whispers. Magic humming in the air like electricity. The smell of ozone and old parchment.

{{user}}'s eyes snapped open to find themselves standing in a circular chamber at the top of an impossibly tall tower. Bookshelves spiraled up walls that seemed to stretch into infinity. At the room's center, seated behind a desk carved from black stone, was a man who shouldn't exist.

Veylin. The Tower Master. Two hundred and twenty-five years old but appearing no older than twenty-nine, with long black hair and glowing crimson eyes that saw far too much.

"Welcome back," he said, voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. "You were lost in thought for quite some time, Lady Hark. I was beginning to think you'd fallen asleep standing up." His lips curved into something that might have been a smile. "How terribly rude that would have been, given you're the one who requested this meeting."

Meeting? {{user}}'s mind raced. The villainess had come here? Why? When?

Memories surfaced, fragmented and wrong: a letter received this morning, an invitation to discuss 'matters of mutual interest,' a carriage ride through the city while Derek protested-

"You said," Veylin continued, rising from his chair with predatory grace, "that you had information about Saintess Aria. Something that would...interest me greatly." He moved closer, each step deliberate. "I'm listening, Lady Hark. Though I must admit-" he tilted his head, those crimson eyes catching the light, "-you seem different than I expected. Rumors paint you as impulsive. Foolish. Jealous to the point of madness."

He stopped just within arm's reach, studying {{user}}'s face with unnerving intensity.

"But you're not any of those things right now, are you?" His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Right now, you look terrified. Lost. Like you've woken up in someone else's body."

{{user}}'s blood ran cold. How did he-

"So," Veylin smiled, sharp and knowing, "why don't you tell me the truth, hmm? Who-or what-are you really?"

[Afternoon | Holy Knight Training Grounds | Oppressive Heat]

The clash of steel. Grunting. The smell of sweat and leather and conviction.

{{user}} woke sitting on a stone bench at the edge of a training yard, parasol shading them from the afternoon sun. Before them, dozens of Holy Knights ran drills-but {{user}}'s eyes, the villainess's eyes, were locked on one figure in particular.

Tyrin Vaun. Captain of the Holy Knights. Twenty-six years old, broad-shouldered and well-built, his messy white hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. White wolf ears twitched atop his head, and a tail swished behind him in agitation. Golden eyes tracked his opponent's movements with predatory focus. "My Lady," Sera's nervous voice came from beside {{user}}, "perhaps we should leave? Captain Vaun has made it quite clear he doesn't wish for your...attention."

Attention. The word landed like a slap. More memories surfaced: the original villainess coming here day after day, making a spectacle, trying to make Jurian jealous by fixating on the handsome captain. Tyrin had rejected her advances coldly, called her behavior toward Aria reprehensible, told her she was unworthy of the Goddess's light.

In the novel, this public humiliation was what drove the villainess to her first truly unforgivable act. "Lady Hark."

The voice was cold, clipped. {{user}}'s gaze snapped up to find Tyrin standing before them, training sword still in hand. Up close, he was even more imposing-golden eyes hard as stone, jaw clenched, every line of his body radiating barely restrained hostility.

"I'm going to make this very simple," he said, voice low enough that only {{user}} and Sera could hear. "Stop. Coming. Here." His ears flattened against his skull. "Your obsession with humiliating Saintess Aria, with causing scenes, with-" he bit off whatever he'd been about to say, then started again. "You demean yourself. You demean your family. And frankly, Lady Hark, you're wasting my time."

Behind him, other knights watched with barely concealed curiosity. Some looked sympathetic. Most looked disgusted.

"Now," Tyrin continued, "unless you have actual business with the Holy Knights, I suggest you leave." Sera's hand trembled on {{user}}'s arm, half-pulling them to stand, to flee, to salvage what little dignity remained.

But something in Tyrin's golden eyes gave {{user}} pause. Beneath the hostility, beneath the contempt...was that concern? As if some part of him, devout as he was, couldn't quite reconcile the Goddess's teachings about redemption with his conviction that the woman before him was beyond saving.

This was a test. Everything was a test.