Page 3 of Beneath Scales and Shadows
“M-Mother?” The word emerged from her lips unbidden, in a voice that wasn’t quite her own—higher, softer.
Something about the word tasted wrong. The woman in front of her wasn’t her mother—and yet, something deep inside told her that she was.
“At least your wits haven’t frozen completely.” The woman pressed a rough hand to her forehead. “The fever’s broken. You’re lucky they found you when they did. What possessed you to wander out to the lake in winter?”
Sora tried to push herself up on her elbows, but her arms trembled with weakness. This body felt wrong—smaller, softer, unfamiliar, as though she’d stepped into clothing tailored for someone else.
“I don’t...” she began, then faltered, unsure what to say. She couldn’t recall a lake, only the oncoming train.
“Rest now.” The woman—Miranda, supplied a voice in Sora’s head—tucked woolen blankets around her with practiced efficiency. “Tomorrow you’ll be back in the kitchens. The Midwinter Ball approaches, and there’s bread to be baked.” Her tone softened slightly. “Your father was worried sick. Sadly, Morgana’s had to take your shifts in order to keep up with our daily demands.”
Sora’s gaze drifted past the woman to a small window cut into thick stone walls. Outside, snow fell in lazy flakes, illuminated by torchlight. And beyond that, hanging in the night sky like an impossible hallucination, was Earth—a blue-green orb surrounded by stars.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Am I dreaming? This can’t be real...
The woman followed her gaze. “Beautiful night. The White Moon blesses us tomorrow.” She cupped Sora’s cheek and gently tapped it. “Sleep now. Your strength will return.”
When the door closed behind Miranda, Sora forced her trembling body to sit upright. The small room swam before her eyes: a rough-hewn bed, a simple wooden chest, a cracked mirror hanging on the wall. A stranger’s room, yet something in her mind recognized it as an unused—until now—spare room in the servants’ quarters.
She pushed back the covers and placed her feet on the cool stone floor. Her legs nearly buckled as she stood, muscles protesting with unfamiliar weakness. Three unsteady steps brought her to the mirror.
The face that stared back was her own—but wasn’t.
Same blonde hair, though duller and more brittle. Same sapphire eyes, though surrounded by shadows of exhaustion—more than what she normally had whenever she returned from a long shift of intense research.
But her cheekbones were more pronounced, her jaw sharper with hunger, her skin weathered by labor rather than academia. Her hands, when she raised them to her face, were callused and rough, bearing burns that spoke of years near ovens and open flames.
“What the hell is happening?” she whispered harshly, the words fogging the mirror’s surface. “None of this makes sense.”
Two sets of memories battled for dominance in her mind. Sora Valerith, thirty-two, PhD, specialist in medieval weaponry and artifacts.
And... someone else.
A baker’s daughter. A royal kitchen servant in a kingdom called Celestoria.
She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to sort through the fragmented memories. The castle. The royal family. King Ralph and Queen Marcille. Crown Prince Markth and Princess Jewels. Her father Garth, the master baker. Her mother Miranda, head pastry chef. Her sister Morgana, assistant to their mother.
And her. The clumsy one. The dreamer. The disappointment.
But all that wasn’ther…
A sharp knock at the door startled her back to the bed. She barely managed to pull the covers over herself before the door swung open, revealing a young woman who looked to be only a year or two older than her current body’s apparent age.
An older sister she’d never had…
Morgana had their mother’s stern mouth and their father’s hazel eyes, her brown hair neatly braided and tucked beneath a simple cap.
“So you’ve decided to rejoin the living.” Morgana set a steaming bowl on the small table beside the bed. “Mother said you might be hungry.”
Sora’s stomach growled at the scent of savory broth. “Thank you.”
Morgana studied her with narrowed eyes. “You’re different.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since they pulled you from the lake.” Morgana crossed her arms. “You look confused and act like you barely know me.”
