<Undetermined Time-period Before Waking up in A Courtroom>

I have been waiting so long, so much so that I lost track of the time.

I have no clue how long it has been. An hour? A day? A month?

It feels as though a century has passed, and yet... No beeping.

I can't hear the beeping of the machines, the clattering of the doors, no voices of doctors, no shuffling or nurses chattering... nothing.

I hear absolutely nothing.

... But this is alright.

I know how it goes: I'll wake up in a hospital bed, ask someone about where I am, act oh-so surprised and confused that I am in a hospital, look around and realize that I am alive and well, be told that I risked death and that I... I survived.

There's no way I'd die. The world wouldn't do that to me. Not after everything that has happened. Not now.

I must be in a deep coma.

Right.

It's alright, I'll wait some more.

~

It's dark and empty, wherever I am. I feel like I am everywhere and yet nowhere. I have control over nothing, not even my thoughts.

But I have my memories, and that's a positive I must clutch onto.

For instance, I remember that night, when I was hit by the vehicle with the giant lights and dropped something that got drenched in my blood; that book, Wholeheartedly Yours.

I wonder if anyone bothered to pick it up when they took me to the hospital... I hope they did.

It's an object that can never be replaced or replicated. Its memory is a bright, irreplaceable one.

"Happy eighth birthday!!" A raspy voice exclaimed, pushing a rectangular, girthy object on the table, and positioning it next to my birthday cupcake, which sat on a chipped plate.

I looked up at my mother, smiling from ear to ear, feeling tears rush to my eyes from the sheer joy that I had gotten a birthday gift for the first time, in addition to the whipped cream on the cupcake.

"Is this mine?" I asked, watching the excitement paint itself on my mother's tired features as she nodded.

Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was still bandaged, and her left eye was blue. And yet, she watched me unwrap the gift with a careful, proud gaze.

And there it was, the first gift I had ever gotten; A black, shiny book, with words carved on its cover in such elegant font.

I reached over the table, clumsily wrapping her into a tight hug. "Mom, I can't even read the title." I giggled against her shoulder, making her laugh in turn.

"You'll learn." She giggled.

I didn't know at the time. I wasn't aware that this book would become the best and most exciting thing I had throughout my childhood.

I wasn't even smart enough to understand half the words I read in it. Hell, I couldn't comprehend the plot and events properly until my seventh time re-reading the novel.

The story had been a little puzzle I solved the more I researched the meaning of each word.

And the story was an inspiring little tale, at that.

I hadn't been disappointed, reading about the romantic and magical adventures of Estelle Pureheart, as she navigated her tough world, discovering friendship, trust, and love.

It wasn't until I grew older, that I found out that those three were all but little sweet lies. Falsehoods they whispered into children's ears, hoping to paint their dreams a vivid color before reality suddenly came crashing down on them one day.

To think my childhood idol was living in a fairytale while idiot little me made it a life goal to live like her.

At least now I see how cheap and over-the-top everything was in Wholeheartedly Yours. From the magic to the plot, to the main character and her luck.

It was all such dogshit writing, such impossible dreams.

It was the perfect story to give a lonely child like me a reason to live and look forward to every coming day...

... Wait, I'm being sad again. Thinking about these things is useless now.

I need to wake up!

I have shit to get done. I'm almost done with my residency; I can't be sitting in a coma right now—

<Back to Present Time>

Uh... What?

The voice belonged to a man positioned at a distance to my left. He donned a long deep brown cloak adorned with two white stripes on his left shoulder. The hue of brown seemed to be a prevalent theme among the court's attendees, each dressed distinctively yet unified in color.

He addressed a woman seated in the witness testimony box adjacent to the elevated judge’s bench.

The witness, a young lady with cascading red locks and deep brown eyes, was clothed in a light yellow gown with puffy sleeves, accentuated by uh, sizeable, golden earrings.

Wow… I MUST be dreaming.

The judge’s bench was situated directly before me, a safe distance away. He wore a black robe and held a wooden hammer in his left hand, two things that normally would make anyone in that position intimidating, but... He looks like, twenty-five or something... Is this a joke?

Additionally, I would have expected a white wig to accompany his, uh, costume, but I suppose even vivid dreams like this one are half-assed in my head. Instead, it's but a mass of blonde curls arranged neatly atop his square-shaped head.

The blonde judge — a man much too young to be taken seriously — had his violet eyes set and completely fixated on the woman sitting on the witness stand.

Violet eyes, huh?

What a messy dream.

“I have had the, uh, pleasure of knowing Miss Ashdown for a considerable period, Your Gra — I beg your pardon, your honor... Longer than memory serves. Our acquaintance arose through Trevor, my cousin and her betrothed.” She pitifully looked up at the blonde judge, who listened intently. "No. Allow me to rephrase,” she added with a pointed look in my direction. “Miss Ashdown befriended me with intentions to become closer to my cousin, Trevor Vielle.”

A collective gasp echoed through the court, eliciting an eye roll from me.

Okay... The tea isn't THAT hot, calm down y'all.

The witness ran a hand across her forehead, sighing.

“I was aware of this. I understood her character and motives. She is my friend of seventeen years…” She spoke lowly, though her voice was (somehow) echoing through the entire courtroom.

Dream logic.

“And for her to stoop so low… Your honor,” she addressed the judge once more, “I am unsurprised. It concerns Trevor, after all... And that woman, once my friend, I know would do anything for Trevor's sake. To harm an innocent girl because she thought her presence around her betrothed to be a threat is consistent with her character.”

While the witness spoke, I got bored, so I opted to explore the rest of the faces present.

To my left was a table with words in a language I couldn’t understand. I would expect no less from my dreams.

Seated at the table were two individuals — a middle-aged woman with lustrous brown locks and expressive eyebrows, and beside her, a cloaked figure who appeared to be dozing off, tapping his index finger idly on the armrest of his chair.

He wore a black cloak and mask, and the only elements about him I could discern were the sharp black eyes with which he blankly stared at his desk.

Before I could further explore my surroundings, a voice sounded to my right, startling me

“Stand straight.” A deep voice had me realize I was hunched over trying to peek at other people to my sides.

I instinctively turned to the voice’s owner, only to have the breath knocked out of my lungs at their sight.

Blood.

I met a pair of striking crimson eyes — blood-red irises encircled by thin black rims, with hints of golden hues lost amidst the red.

They looked clear, too real.

My heart raced, and a shiver ran down my spine.

This dream feels real, and it’s making me want to throw up.

The crimson eyes’ owner wore a collarless black blouse with billowing sleeves. He was several centimeters taller than I was, a sheathed object tied at his waist, and disheveled soft red hair. His eyes, tired and slightly swollen, met mine with a hint of irritation

“Cease your aimless gazing!” A sharp hiss from behind urged me to identify the source of the new voice.

Turning back, an unexpected sight greeted me.

The courtroom was packed with spectators, the crowd so vast that some were standing at the back of the spectator seating.

A woman seated in the front row leaned to look up at me, her nose red and cheeks wet.

“Wear a look of concern, a touch of sorrow!” Her brows furrowed as she spoke in a hushed yet forceful tone. "Act like you at least feel bad about what you've done!"

What I did?

Something dawned on me at last.

I glanced down at the space I occupied, enclosed within a square, my hands bound by heavy shackles, clad in tattered attire and barefoot.

Ah, I am the defendant in this trial.

The woman addressing me sat in the first row, her wrinkly cheeks and pallid complexion indicating distress. She appeared to be in her forties, her hair styled in a bun, and she wore a simple, black, voluminous gown—the kind that’s in fairytales.

To her right sat a man dressed to the nines. A three-piece grey suit, luscious neck-length golden hair. He was holding onto a black cane that was positioned between his thighs. His posture was immaculate, and so were his features. Despite the wrinkles around his eyes and the few white hairs on the sides of his head, he looked better than most.

“Richie, stop teasing your sister!” Another woman spoke to a little boy, this time to the crying senior woman’s left. She looked much like her mother, just younger. The same long brown hair, an identical hairdo, green eyes, a pointy nose, and the same color as her dress but with a different pattern needlework.

She was holding a baby in her arms, wrapped in deep green satin cloth while a young boy of around four years old sat on her lap. Two other children, a boy and a girl around the same age, sat beside her. The girl appeared on the verge of tears, while the mother reprimanded the boy in a hushed tone.

“Behave! Your aunt is undergoing trial. Sit properly; everyone is watching!” She whispered sharply.

I couldn’t help but scoff at the sight of this supposed family of mine. What a spectacle.

“I find it difficult to pardon her actions, your honor,” the witness spoke, drawing my attention back. “Her treatment of Miss Estelle is reprehensible.” The witness’s gaze shifted to a figure seated at the prosecution. “Goodness. My cousin too. Look at my poor cousin's distress,” she winced, observing the two supposed victims in tears.

Curious, I turned to catch a glimpse of the victims she mentioned, but my view was obstructed by an attorney seated nearer to me.

The witness stood up in solidarity, giving the two a reassuring look.

“Trevor Vielle and Estelle Pureheart, may you find solace in the end.”

… And there it was: my confirmation.

The guy playing judge, the one sitting behind me looking like a Greek statue, and the guard keeping an eye on me so begrudgingly. They all had such peculiar appearances. Such familiar descriptions.

The attorney covering Estelle and Trevor’s faces from me leaned back to stretch, letting me catch a glimpse of her at last.

Sun-kissed skin, rosy cheeks, wild, curly red hair, sitting softly on her shoulders, and the purest set of purple eyes to exist. Those were the exact features of Estelle Pureheart, the female lead of my favorite childhood novel.

I had dismissed it at first, because of how ridiculous it was. But my silly little suspicion was right. I am indeed dreaming about Wholeheartedly Yours of all fucking things.

Estelle Pureheart, the admirable main lead watched the trial in stiff silence, her gracious being seemingly wrapped in what seemed like a hollow. A glow-like aura one can’t help but feel curious about.

My goodness... Is that… Perhaps, is that hollow the famous ‘Main Character Energy...?’

Word for word, this setting was the living incarnation of the description mentioned in the book. From the color of the sky to the shade of the public seating, even the outfits of the characters were the same as cited in the book.

“This is wild.” I couldn’t help but grin in stupefaction, eyeing the sheer splendor of this setting my brain had managed to cook up.

Page 201. No, 204. Chapter 39: <The Trial>

Is this because I'm in a coma? Are these precise illustrations a result of my imagination? And if so, just how much more impressive can this dream get?!

I HAVE to find out.

With a clear goal set in mind, determined to explore the outside and the rest of this dream before I woke up again, I grabbed the dirty, worn-out fabric of my dress and set foot out of the culprit’s stand, stifling my urge to giggle in sheer excitement.

A sharp, collective gasp filled the courtroom, making me stop mid-step and look up in surprise. A deathly silence then fell upon the room, and chills ran down my spine at the number of eyes that were suddenly directed at me and my foot that was set midair, about to land outside the box.

Swift as a breeze, he materialized before me—a redheaded knight with a gaze piercing through me, holding a hand on his sheathed sword.

“Did we perhaps bore you, Lady Ashdown?” A voice I had yet to hear spoke out, casting a pall over the previously tranquil audience, now fixated on the figure seated directly behind me.

... I think might have fucked up.