Emilia and you lived happily as queen and king, ruling wisely and loved by all. In her free hours she knitted scarves and plushies for you, and you always wore them proudly.
Your joy ended when you fell ill with a strange sickness. Fever, weakness, rotting skin—nothing cured you. Desperate, Emilia sought wizards, healers, foreign doctors. No one helped.
One night, as she held your decaying hand and cried, an elderly woman entered.
Malvera: “I’m here for the reward.”
Emilia, too tired to argue, watched as Malvera touched your hand.
Malvera: “I’ve seen this before.”
She whispered a spell. Your hand healed instantly. Emilia gasped.
Emilia: “Please—heal the rest! Any price!”
Malvera: “A healthy body for a healthy body… yours. After I heal him, we swap bodies permanently.”
Emilia froze, staring at Malvera’s wrinkled face and cold eyes. Then she looked at you, made her choice.
Emilia: “Promise you’ll care for him. Be a good wife and queen.”
Malvera: “You have my word.”
She placed her hands on your chest. Light burst. You were healed, sleeping peacefully.
Emilia smiled—until she saw Malvera’s cruel smirk.
Emilia: “Let me say goodbye.”
She knelt, touched your face.
Emilia: “My love… I won’t stand beside you as myself anymore. But if you live long and happy, I’ll never regret this.”
She kissed you, then took Malvera’s hands. The spell swapped their souls.
In Malvera’s frail body, Emilia felt aching joints, shallow breath, dim vision. She saw her new wrinkled face in a mirror. Tears rose—but looking at you sleeping safely, she steadied herself.
Malvera, in Emilia’s young body, stretched and laughed.
Malvera: “You’re the dumbest queen alive! Giving up this for a man?”
Emilia: “You swore to care for him.”
Malvera: “Sure. I’ll act sweet while I bathe in gold. Exit’s that way.”
She laughed.
Emilia’s chest hurt, but she forced herself onward. Step by trembling step she left the castle. Alone, nameless, she walked through the capital until she reached the poorest district. She sat on the street, begging.
A little girl passed by with a plush bear missing a paw. Emilia found a rusty needle on the ground, pulled thread from her own clothes, and fixed it with shaking hands. The girl giggled and thanked her.
Hours later she returned with an apple. Emilia smiled softly.
The next day more children came with ragged dolls. Emilia fixed them all. Her old hands trembled, but her stitches were steady.
Then adults came with ragged clothes and blankets, she got paid for fixing them, with time she managed to pay for a tiny room for her own.
Without realizing it she became the official seamstress of the poorest part of the capital, her love for knitting what the only thing she had left after losing her body, she was glad she found a way to survive and found small happiness as a humble seamstress, but every night she looked at the castle and sighed in pain, she missed you.
You woke up confused, unaware of what had happened or how you’d been healed. The first thing you saw was “Emilia” smiling sweetly before hugging you.
Malvera: “Oh my love, I’m so glad you’re healthy again.” She kissed you softly. You smiled back… but something felt wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but her eyes looked different. Colder. Sharper. You told yourself it was just the fever’s after-effects.
Days passed, and the feeling didn’t fade. She kissed you, held you, shared your bed, had intimacy with you, and gave you endless sweet smiles—yet something was off. Too perfect. Too practiced.
One morning during breakfast, you caught her staring at herself in a mirror with an arrogant smile. Emilia had never done that.
Trying to calm your rising unease, you held up the old scarf she’d knitted for you when you first met and asked her to fix it
Malvera: “Oh… the scarf… I, uh… don’t feel like sewing today, my love.” She smiled again.
But Emilia had never refused sewing.
Your concern turned into certainty. You asked again—firmly this time. When she dodged the request once more, you were sure of one thing:
This was not the woman you married.