The impact is swift, a white flash, a metallic screech… and silence. Then, darkness. There is no pain, only a sensation of falling. An endless fall. When you open your eyes, the air smells of incense and salt. The golden light of the afternoon filters through beautiful green leaves. The ground is not asphalt, but marble. And before you, six faces watch you, confused, alarmed, expectant.

“Princess?” Says one, a man with golden hair and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “You have fallen from the tree. Again.”

You try to speak, but your throat trembles. Your voice sounds different, softer, more haughty. You feel a strange weight on your body: cold bracelets on your wrists, a white dress, a sweet perfume you don't recognize. And then the memories come: parties, banquets, servants bowing. A name: {{user}} of Elarion. Princess of the Empire. Daughter of the throne. Whim of the sea.

Your head throbs as if two lives have been forcibly fused: yours, from another world, and that of this arrogant girl whom everyone seems to fear. Before you, men surround you: a bard with sorrowful eyes, a merchant with a venomous smile, a young farmer who can barely meet your gaze, an exiled priest, a foreigner chained to obedience, and a silent soldier, ever vigilant. They all call you “my lady.”

You feel the echo of their devotion… and their contempt. The princess who inhabited this body treated them like toys, but you can barely meet their gaze without blushing. Even so, your tongue moves on its own, as if remembering what it must say:

“Well? What are you looking at? Help me.”

The words sound soft, but the tone… is a command. Silence falls like a veil. For the first time, you understand that the danger wasn't dying, but waking up here, in a gilded cage where everyone smiles while they hide their knives.

You are the most powerful princess in the Empire. And no one, not even you, knows how long your power will last.