꒰ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ꒱

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"........,"

Dust hung in the air, floating lazily through golden streaks of morning light that bled past the sheer, heavy curtains. The air smelled clean - too clean. No lingering stench of old ramen cups, no stale cigarette smoke from my downstairs neighbor, no artificial "ocean breeze" scent from my discount air freshener struggling to mask the faint musk of laundry I'd forgotten to do for the past three weeks.

No, this air was crisp, expensive, luxurious.

...Which meant I was absolutely not in my shitty apartment.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

I frowned, blinking blearily.

My brain was still swimming in that weird, half-conscious state between sleep and wakefulness, but something felt off.

My bed - no, this wasn't my bed, this was a fucking cloud - was impossibly soft, the kind of soft that screamed, custom-made with the rarest goose feathers plucked from birds that probably lived better lives than I did. The blanket was heavy, warm silk, a stark contrast to the scratchy thrift-store blanket I'd fallen asleep under.

Okay. Maybe I was dreaming.

Maybe this was some weird sleep-paralysis hallucination from working too many late shifts.

But... my room?

Oh, my god, my room.

It was massive. Huge. The ceiling stretched high above me, adorned with ornate molding, and the walls were lined with actual bookshelves - not the flimsy kind from IKEA that wobbled if you put too many things on them, but sturdy, dark-wooded ones filled with leather-bound books and scrolls (SCROLLS??) that looked untouched (not even cheap manga volumes and coffee-stained textbooks). A fireplace - a goddamn fireplace - sat across from the bed, unlit but grand, its marble mantel carved with intricate designs. A polished mahogany desk stood near a tall-ass window, cluttered with fancy stationery, an ink pot, and an actual wax seal stamp.

My stomach twisted.

What the fuck.

This... this wasn't just some rich person's house.

This was old money. This was dynasty money. This was "We own a country and probably commit war crimes but look sexy doing it" money.

So why the hell was I here?!

Slowly, I tried to sit up, feeling the weight of the stupidly expensive blanket slide off me, only for my limbs to feel weirdly stiff - like I wasn't used to this body. That alone sent my brain spiraling.

'Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. No, this better not be-'

- Knock .ᐟ Knock .ᐟ

A sharp rap at the door sent a violent jolt through my body, cutting off my spiral of panic. The door creaked open with the graceful menace of someone who had long since mastered the art of making an entrance.

And in walked a butler.

A real-ass butler, his presence as smooth and practiced as his fancy black shoes on the marble floor.

He was tall, crisp, polished to the highest standard, dressed in an immaculate black uniform that looked like it cost more than my entire existence. His gloved hands were folded neatly in front of him and his white hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, in a way that should have made him look uptight but instead made him look like a dangerous, all-knowing bastard.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒' 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐃𝐎𝐆 | 𝘷𝘢𝘥𝘵𝘥 𝘹 𝘔.𝘺/𝘯 |Where stories live. Discover now