Blinking her eyes open, she began to take in her unfamiliar surroundings. Where was she? The room was small and sparsely furnished, with only a bed and a desk. On the wall hung a large mirror, covered by a thin sheet. And then she noticed something strange — she felt weaker. Ophelia sat up in shock, feeling the unfamiliar arms and legs too small to be her own, and a face that was hers yet not. It held the same shape, yet different colours as brown was swapped for green and blond now was Black.
Tentatively, she dragged herself off the bed. Peering behind the sheet, she gasped in disbelief as she finally got her first glimpse of the person she had become.
But how had this happened? How had Ophelia ended up in this strange body, in this strange place? She had no idea. Though looking at the body of the child she was now she was young definitely under sixteen.
She had wished for more time to work out her circumstances, but the sun had risen high, and she could hear the feet of what she assumed were servants.
Upon further inspection, she noticed the unfamiliar garments laid out on a nearby chair. A simple linen shift, green woollen dress, and leather shoes were all far removed from the modern attire she was accustomed to. Before she could make sense of her situation, the door creaked open, and two servants entered, their faces obscured by the flickering shadows.
"Good morrow, milady," one of them said with a bow, though her voice seemed to carry a note of perplexity.
Ophelia's heart raced as she struggled to comprehend what was happening when a name entered her head. “Ellen, Hilary, good morrow, I pray you have broken your fast." she stammered, her voice betraying her fear as she hoped it was the right thing to say.
By the servants still preparing the bowl of water to wash her face and them picking up her thrown sheets it seemed like nothing was amiss, yet Ophelia still felt the lack of memories and so was afraid to make any movement.
With trembling hands, Ophelia allowed them to help her dress in the unfamiliar garments, her mind still reeling from the inexplicable turn of events. As they fastened the laces of her dress and arranged her hair into a simple braid, she couldn't shake the feeling of displacement, of being an intruder in a world not her own.
Once she was deemed presentable, the servants led her through the corridors of the castle, the stone walls echoing with the sounds of morning activity. They descended a spiral staircase and entered the great hall, where a long wooden table stretched out before them, laden with bread, cheese, and bowls of steaming porridge.
At the head of the table sat a man dressed in fine garments, his stern visage softened by a hint of paternal warmth as he caught sight of Ophelia. "Ah, there she is, you made us wait girl, again, is it so hard to wake up in the morrow, mayhap I ought to punish yer again," he said with a smile. "Time to break bread."
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Ophelia approached tentatively, taking her seat at the end of the table Lord Higburgh, though the title felt foreign on her tongue. As she ate their morning meal in silence, she struggled to reconcile the image of the imposing nobleman before her with the father she knew from her own time.
Throughout the meal, Ophelia's mind raced with questions, but she dared not voice them aloud for fear of revealing her identity. Instead, she listened intently as her Lord father discussed matters of the estate with his advisors, her thoughts consumed by the mystery of her inexplicable journey to medieval times. The taste of stale oats and oily cheeses with hard bread was not what she thought nobility would eat, making a note that she would have to go to the kitchen later tonight to eat some filling food.
As the morning wore on, Ophelia found herself caught up in the rhythms of castle life, attending lessons with the children from her Lord father's neglected concubines while grappling with the overwhelming sense of displacement that plagued her every waking moment. And as she retired to her chamber once more, her mind swirling with unanswered questions, though throughout the day more memories were appearing in her head, thank the Lord, however, she could only wonder what fate had in store for her in this strange new world.
As Ophelia made her way through the dimly lit corridor, her thoughts still consumed by the bewildering circumstances of her arrival in medieval times, she was startled by the sudden appearance of a woman, regal and imposing, with a gaze that bore into her very soul.
"Child," the woman said, her voice cold and cutting. "I trust you are aware of the impropriety of your presence in this castle."
Ophelia's heart sank as she recognized the woman before her—the first wife of her Lord father, Lady Margery. Though she had never met her in her own time, the disdain in Lady Margery's eyes made it abundantly clear that her arrival had not gone unnoticed.
Before Ophelia could respond, she was surrounded by a group of ladies-in-waiting, their faces twisted in scorn as they whispered amongst themselves. "Illegitimate wretch," one of them hissed, her words like venom. "How dare she show her face in our presence?"
Ophelia felt her cheeks burn with shame as the cruel words washed over her. She was keenly aware of her status as her Lord father's illegitimate daughter, an open secret she was, hidden away from the prying eyes of society. The only reason she was still within the walls was due to her beauty, her Lord Father loved beautiful things that’s why he had 5 wives and 30 concubines the maximum number in the Empire.
But here, in this unfamiliar time and place, she was defenceless against the scorn of Lady Margery and her ladies-in-waiting. Try as she might to maintain her composure, the weight of their judgment bore down upon her, threatening to crush her spirit.
With a steely resolve, Ophelia lifted her chin and met Lady Margery's gaze head-on. "I may be of humble birth, but I am still my Lord Father's daughter," she declared, her voice trembling with defiance.
For a fleeting moment, there was a flicker of surprise in Lady Margery's eyes, quickly replaced by a mask of icy indifference. "Very well, Child," she said, her tone dripping with disdain. "But remember your place in this household. You may be blood, but you will never be kin."
With that final barb, Lady Margery swept past Ophelia, her ladies-in-waiting following in her wake like a pack of wolves. Left alone in the corridor, Ophelia felt the weight of their scorn bearing down upon her once more, but she refused to be cowed. She may not like her Lord Father, but no way would she let some old woman bully her, God give her strength cause this life just got a lot more interesting. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and continued on her journey, her spirit unbroken in the face of adversity.