An Unfamiliar Center of Gravity
My entire back was pressed beneath a chill.
It was stone flooring.
It was hard.
The cold slowly seeped between my bones.
Then, at some point.
Drop.
It stopped as if it had been a lie.
Like frozen water suddenly melting away, the cold that had wrapped around my body vanished.
At the same time.
The murmuring sound that had seemed far away suddenly drew close.
As though someone had been blocking my ears and then removed their hands.
“Hey.”
Someone spoke.
“The princess is calling for you.”
The words came mixed with the clank of armor.
At the odd sensation of a light kick against my backside, Estelle slowly opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was the ceiling.
Gold ornamentation sparkled where it caught the light.
Intricately carved patterns spread outward in every direction from the center.
It was the sort of ceiling that might have drawn gasps of admiration from anyone else.
So I suppose, Estelle thought.
She lifted her hand. The fingers were slender, the skin so thin it looked as if sunlight might pass straight through, the bones delicate. It was nothing like the hand she remembered.
She curled each finger, then extended it. She turned her wrist and checked all the way to the elbow.
It was unfamiliar.
It was not the hand she remembered.
It changed.
She considered it a moment.
Well.
That was all. There was no panic, no confusion. Perhaps those feelings should have been there; in any case, they were not.
When she turned her head, two armored knights were walking away, chuckling.
They must have been the ones who had woken her.
As she rose, the armor settled its weight onto her body. It was a set crafted for a female knight, tailored precisely to this frame.
The armor fit. The body still did not.
She rolled her shoulders once. A faint metallic rasp answered.
She twisted at the waist.
It moved.
Yet it was difficult to call the motion familiar.
When she shifted her weight onto one foot, the center of gravity pulled forward more than she expected.
The sensation was not one she knew.
The balance was subtly different.
She took a step. Her heel touched the floor first. The stride was narrower than memory told her it should be.
Another step. The way the armor’s weight traveled from shoulders to waist was different. The angle at her ankles was different.
It was not wrong. It was simply different. This body simply moved in this way.
When she looked down, her toes were nowhere in sight.
More precisely, they were not where they should have been. Her line of sight met an obstruction.
Ah.
She paused.
Of course.
In the novel, Estelle had been a woman.
Beyond the window lay the rose garden. Morning dew clung to the red petals. Each time sunlight touched them they flashed once and vanished.
It was, without question, a meticulously tended garden. Anyone else might have lingered over the sight for a long while.
Estelle glanced at it once and looked away.
It resembled what she had read. The knight called Estelle, exclusive to the Fourth Imperial Princess.
While reading volume one she had passed those details as mere background. Now she stood inside them.
It still did not feel real.
The sensation was closer to having seen an illustration while reading the novel.
Even though she had stepped directly into the scene, the reality of it remained strangely absent.
First, assess the situation.
Estelle walked down the corridor.
Morning light filled the hallway outside the Princess's Office. Through the windows, part of the rose garden was visible.
A red carpet covered the floor.
She felt the eyes of servants and knights as they passed. They did not stare openly.
Their gazes brushed across her and withdrew at once.
A few slowed their steps.
One of them spoke to a colleague after seeing her.
She could not hear the words.
Everyone looked at her at least once. She could guess why.
The princess suddenly has an exclusive knight.
The gazes brought no feeling. More exactly, she felt no reason to care about them. They did not even seem strange.
And yet the absence of discomfort was itself a little odd.
Those thoughts ended the moment the door opened.
It was Rubia Edelhart.
Her red hair gleamed where it caught the light from the window.
Her violet eyes were vivid to an unusual degree.
It was a face that held the gaze.
Beautiful, most would probably call it.
Estelle’s eyes paused a moment. The impression was clearer than she had anticipated.
Clearer than the printed letters. Clearer than the illustrations.
Deep fatigue lay heavily across her pale skin.
She looked exhausted.
Because of the Curse of Hearing Emotions.
Other people’s feelings poured in without cease. The novel had named it a curse.
In the book it had been a single-line setting.
Seeing it in person was different.
“Tired” was not enough.
There was a sense that something veiled her, yet not everything was hidden.
Fatigue remained plain on the pale face.
Estelle recalled the short sentences from the novel.
Even in sleep, rest does not come.
The emotions of others surge without end.
“...Enter.”
Estelle stepped into the Princess's Office. The aides withdrew one by one. As they passed her they sent glances.
Wariness.
Doubt.
Or displeasure.
Things of that nature.
She could not tell exactly.
The last aide walked toward the door. When he passed beside Estelle his gaze lingered a fraction of a second before it snapped away.
The door closed.
The office was spacious. Tall bookshelves lined one wall; documents rose in high stacks on the large wooden desk. Morning light entered through the windows.
Dust drifted in the sunbeams. The room looked extremely expensive. Estelle simply observed it.
For a moment she did not know where to rest her eyes.
Bookshelves. Piles of documents. Windows. She scanned them and stopped.
There was nothing in particular worth looking at.
Rubia moved. Footsteps. Neither hurried nor slow.
Estelle turned her gaze toward the sound.
Rubia rounded the desk and stopped a short distance in front of her. Then she looked at Estelle.
Rubia said nothing.
Estelle did not speak either.
It was an odd silence.
Usually someone would have spoken first.
Yet Rubia seemed to be waiting.
Estelle studied her in turn. She saw her more clearly than she had in the corridor. Tension remained from the outer corners of the eyes all the way to the jaw.
The silence stretched.
Rubia’s gaze moved.
Eyes.
Lips.
Neck.
Shoulders.
Eyes again.
Whether she was assessing or inspecting, Estelle could not tell.
What is she looking for.
The next thought refused to form. She had tried to think of something, but it broke off.
In the novel, Rubia heard the emotions of others as noise. Was she attempting to read something from Estelle now?
Estelle lowered her eyes briefly. Rubia’s feet came into view. The toes of her shoes pointed toward her.
Strain showed in the ankles.
Taut.
Like a string one twist away from snapping. The line of tension ran clearly above the ankle.
It was the kind of line that appeared only after long, sustained effort. How long had she been standing like that?
Is she nervous?
It simply looked that way.
“Why do I feel nothing from you?”
It was a question, yet it did not sound like one. Estelle considered the words for a moment.
In truth she did not know. It was accurate to say she did not feel as if she were sensing anything in particular.
“...I’m not sure.”
She could not explain why. An answer required a cause, but no cause existed.
“I don’t really know what I’m feeling.”
Rubia watched Estelle a while longer. Then she smiled.
Briefly. Silently. The corners of her mouth lifted, but the smile never reached her eyes.
When Estelle had read it in the novel she had simply passed over the moment. Seeing it in person was different.
Estelle lowered her gaze once more. The tension in Rubia’s ankles had eased slightly.
Improved?
She did not know the reason.
Silence returned. This time it was short.
Rubia turned, walked to the desk, and opened a drawer. After looking inside she took something out.
A slender, glossy burgundy metal choker.
Rubia carried it toward Estelle.
It caught the light and shimmered faintly.
Rubia’s hand rose toward Estelle’s neck. When Estelle lowered her eyes a little she saw the long, delicate fingers.
Cold metal touched her throat.
Click.
The clasp locked.
A light weight settled above her collarbones. Without thinking, Estelle lifted her hand and touched the Burgundy Choker.
The metal was smooth. Still cold, yet already warming to her body heat.
So this was the scene from volume one.
Nothing more than the simple sensation of metal resting against her neck.
“Now you are mine.”
Rubia’s voice sounded softly.
Estelle looked at her. She thought for a moment.
Should she reply?
What?
Congratulations?
Understood?
Thank you?
Every option felt wrong.
She had no suitable response. She did not know what reaction being a possession was supposed to produce.
Rubia studied Estelle’s face for a long time. It seemed she was searching for something. As before, her gaze moved across Estelle’s features.
She appeared unable to find it.
What exactly does she expect from me?
Rubia withdrew her gaze first. She turned slowly and walked back to the desk.
Estelle watched her retreating figure.
Sunlight from the window clung to the ends of the red hair. For a moment it looked less red than threaded with gold.
Even though the figure was moving away, it lingered strangely in her vision.
The once-cold Burgundy Choker had already taken on the warmth of her body.
Estelle touched it once.
Then lowered her hand.
