“Oh dear,” my dream-mother exhaled in shock, a hand on her mouth as she, too, directed her vision at the man speaking.

“Well then,” I turned to the judge (prince). He spoke with solemnity. “I suppose there is no exigency for any other testimonies.”

“Your Highness!" A middle-aged man in a brown gown sprung up from his seat behind the defendant’s desk. The prince glared down at the man, making him clear his throat. "I mean, your honor!" Poor guy was drenched in sweat, a damp handkerchief in his fingers. "Please consider that lady Ash—”

“Enough!” The prince howled, his words echoing through the courtroom.

I couldn't help but glare at him, reminded of his upcoming lines.

... It’s not like my sentence will change because the prince is angrier now.

“I, Kendrick Braveheart," The prince shared my glare. "With the jurisdiction I have been granted by his Majesty the King over this trial, declare it time for the verdict!”

Looking at him from where I stood, I could perceive nothing but a noble-sounding man, passionate about solving this crime and bringing another criminal to justice.

But I knew what happened behind the scenes. I knew he only acted so noble because his fixation, Estelle Pureheart, was involved. I knew that the jurisdiction he talked about, he was granted after practically begging at his father's feet. All so he could quench his violent and senseless desire to avenge her.

After all, Kendrick Braveheart was not only this kingdom’s crown prince, but a prevalent member of Estelle’s harem, and the obsessive villain she would later need to defeat.

“No…” I could hear my dream-mother muttering lowly. “Please, have mercy…” She repeatedly whined.

“All rise!” The bailiff ordered, making all attendants bolt up.

I had no clue if this was even accurate court etiquette, but that didn't interest me as much as the recognizable descriptions I spotted once everyone had stood up.

The man standing next to the main victim, Estelle Pureheart, was slightly taller than her, and similarly bruised up. His hair was messy, figure slender and his under-eye bags clear from a distance.

That was him. Trevor Vielle. Penelope Ashdown's fiancé and another male lead in the book.

Breaking away from Trevor's insistent gaze, I took notice of the other redheads standing behind Estelle–her family–including the witness from earlier, who was standing beside a bald young man clothed in armor.

I glanced back, whispering to the Ashdown family members. “Should he not like, discuss the verdict with the jury or whatever?”

My eyebrows lifted at the sound of my own voice. It was very soft-spoken, melodic, even, compared to my old voice.

“Don’t be an idiot, Penelope.” Someone I hadn’t taken notice of spoke out in a composed tone. “Prince Kendrick retains His Majesty's highest trust in guiding this trial.” She threw a lock of her straight blonde hair behind her back. “Why would he need the jury’s opinion?”

What was her name again? Isn't this the half sister who later befriends Estelle?

“The verdict stands evident if you ask me,” the other sister spoke out, the one with a kid on her lap. “Imprisonment for a couple of months is the most he can do,” She spoke in a dismissive, haughty tone. “Though a fool, you remain Marquis Vernon Ashdown’s daughter.” She said, looking at the ceiling like she'd pronounced the name of the lord.

“Perish the thought!” The mother knocked on the wooden chair, hissing at her eldest daughter. “What do you mean, prison!? My baby will not go to prison.” She stroked her throat, looking up. “She will not. Right, Mr. Ashdown?" She gave her husband an inquisitive look, receiving no response. "She will not, indeed.” The woman answered her own question, continuing to tap on her lower neck.

I let out a bitter chuckle, turning back to look up at the prince.

“Prison is the least of your worries...” I mumbled.

The prince held a long list, reading the total of her crimes aloud.

“—Physical violence against a commoner in plain sight. Damage of public property on Mallebou Avenue…”

A passage of the book floated up among my memories of the book.

"My sentence would not have wavered, had the earth split into two parts and the heavens fallen from the skies, Miss Estelle. Death remains the only verdict fit for such a villainous creature." Kendrick smiled. Though his expression bore warmth, something feverish stirred beneath it. The wind tousled his golden hair like a lover’s touch, and his eyes, aglow with tender fondness, followed her carriage with the devoted patience of a man far too willing to wait.

Wholeheartedly Yours, chapter 50

Indeed, no matter what she could have done, Penelope Ashdown's faith will remain the same.

“—And for the grievous wounding of her once-beloved betrothed—Trevor Marshall Vielle, heir to Count Vielle—as well as Lady Estelle Pureheart, cherished daughter of Viscount Pureheart... through the forbidden channeling of Chaos Energy...”

The court erupted into whispers.

“Of all times… Despicable...” Marquis Ashdown mumbled, clenching his cane.

“This was proved through the mana found in mister Vielle’s broken ribs and the traces left on Miss Pureheart’s cheek and hairs. Indeed, she has utilized Mana upon a holy woman!”

“This is ridiculous,” I rolled my eyes. “No matter how long you ramble on…”

“By virtue of the authority bestowed upon me by His Most Serene Majesty, King Baldwin Arthur the Fourth, and in unwavering pursuit of justice divine... I hereby sentence Lady Penelope Ashdown, second daughter to the noble Marquis Vernon Ashdown—" His voice lowered, almost reverent. "To death."

A death sentence is too fucking much.

A pause.

A moment of silence shrouded the room.

"Let it be known. Not beauty, nor bloodline, may shield one from the weight of consequence." The Crown Prince added, as though he relished the finality.

Finally, the courtroom fell into chaos.

Marchioness Marceline, Penelope's mother, had lost sensation in her knees and simply dropped back onto her seat, pale as a ghost, surprising her husband, who had expected her to scream. The criminal's sisters, who had been more comfortable than necessary, were left completely speechless.

But the most affected by the prince’s words had to have been the Marquis.

Marquis Vernon’s pride and dignity felt nonexistent as he stared up at the pretentious brat. Kendrick.

All because of a single failure. The Marquis realized.

While the entire courtroom had been on fire, a woman was gathering her courage to speak her mind at last. Penelope watched the woman with an anticipant glance, her clear blue eyes locked onto the woman's plump and tense lips.

Here it comes, Penelope thought. That despicable monologue.

“She is…!” Estelle mumbled. “SHE IS BUT A WOMAN DEEPLY IN LOVE!” She screamed at the top of her lungs.

Penelope chuckled as soon as she had heard that line, shaking her head as she redirected her eyes towards the prince who had been sneering at her just moments ago. Kendrick looked surprised, his eyes telling of confusion and childlike guilt.

Estelle was angry.

~

One righteous, overly dramatic monologue later, Penelope’s life had been spared.

The logistics of this trial weren’t exactly comprehensible, but the book had never claimed to be accurate on any front whatsoever. Not historically, given the rather modern speech mannerisms and hairdos of the characters in contrast to their clothing and the locations, or be it the accuracy of the trial hearing procedures or rules.

This world had been a mess when she read it, and it was still a mess while she dreamt about it.

Thanks to Estelle’s standing up and speaking about morals like Loyalty and Love, Penelope Ashdown was relieved of her death sentence and was now making her way to the bathroom for a break she begged for.

It was mesmerizing, watching Estelle crying to the prince, as if the reason she and Trevor were attacked wasn’t because they betrayed those very values, and attempted to have an affair before getting caught redhanded. And by each's partner no less.

The crown Prince—somehow—was moved to tears, drowning in her violet eyes, and decided to forgive the culprit and let her off with a smack on the wrist.

The smack on the wrist being a life sentence.

“By decree, I hereby sentence you to a lifetime of unyielding labor, to be endured under the harsh dominion of the Suttone Lands.” Kendrick brought his hammer down with a resounding thud. "Case dimissed." He announced. With a calculated grace, he rose from his seat and quietly left the room, followed by a dozen men.

 “Alright, I think I’ve had enough soap opera-level drama for a lifetime,” I sighed, washing my face at the sink.

Once my sentence was spoken, I begged my dream-mother to let me go to the washroom. The marchioness then begged her husband and he managed to get the approval. Now here I was, in a closed space, alone, with the chance to finally take a breather.

This dream is way too intense. I'm scared it'll turn into a nightmare.

I kept my eyes shut as I washed my face to avoid accidentally looking at the mirror on the wall; it just didn’t feel right to do so in a dream.

A historical novel, yes, but it has a wholass sink. Incredible writing.

“I've had enough of this cringy mess,” I straightened, eyes still shut. I lead my wrist to my mouth, taking a good bite at it. 

One could call this a weird solution. I call this a tried-and-true shortcut to waking myself up.

“My Lady, you have a visitor,” a feminine voice spoke outside the bathroom door.

“A visitor? Nonsense,” Another woman spoke.

I could hear the doorknob being turned.

I frowned, biting harder, canins digging into my skin. But only the pain got louder, making me shut my eyes tighter.

I could still feel my feet firmly planted on the ground. I could still smell the sweet lavender scent coming from my body. I was still in Wholeheartedly Yours.

A chilling sensation began to to creep up on me.

I shook my head.

Both my wrist and mouth began to throb, heartbeat slowly rising.

I groaned against the thought. No. I just need to bite harder...

Warm, liquid droplets began to trickle down my wrist. I opened my mouth, eyeing the injury I gave myself. I frowned.

“Why am I...” I mumbled, putting my hands on both sides of the sink. “No not waking up...?” I looked up, flinching at the sight that greeted me through the mirror. Every hair on my body stood up.

A stranger.

They were staring into my soul.

In her body... I...

The feeling from earlier morphed into a lump and sat at the pit of my stomach.

The woman staring back at me through the mirror was nothing like I had ever seen before. Golden tendrils of hair cascading in unruly waves, their shine dulled by the grime. Beneath the curtain fringe was the soft curve of porcelain skin, holding a faint glow. A mole rested just below the curve of full, chapped lips, sitting under a refined, delicately carved nose. She held a haunting air of otherness to her, making her disheveled, weary exterior suggest only the weight of the world. 

She looked like someone the mundane could never fully touch.

"Who are..." My eyes widened in terror. The reflection spoke as I did. I took a step back, the tips of my fingers cold. The woman in the mirror moved as well.

“You must be decent because I shall enter now, sister!” The door opened abruptly, but not even that could divide my attention from the mirror.

My chest tightened with an almost unbearable heaviness, caught in the depths of those unflinching, crystal-blue eyes that stared straight into my soul.

A sickening envy surged within me as I stared at the woman in the mirror, a vision of beauty I had never seen before. It left behind a crushing sense of loss. As if something irreplaceable had slipped beyond my reach.

“... nelope?” The voice was faint, buried amongst the millions of questions that invaded my head.

I could see the iris of my eyes shivering with every breath I took.

A panging, screaming sensation had my entire body numbed, leaving my eyes wide and tearful as I stared into my image.

Who am I right now?

I reached out to the mirror, repeatedly horrified at the identical motions her.

"... lope... talking..."

I could hear it now.

I could feel it in my bones.

That night.

The loud honking. 

The blinding lights. 

The cold concrete. 

The warm, grieving touch of blood leaving my body and settling into a pond around my corpse...

My jaw had been clenched as the tears rolled down my cheeks. My chest was ready to burst. Nails dug into my palms as I fought to suppress the scream rising in me, not to break the mirror in front of me, not to lose my fucking mind.

Did I...

"Ah..." A soft sob left my lips, as I reached up to touch my face.

Did I die...?