CLARA'S HEAD was an aching mess. The last thing she remembered was being knocked out by an excruciating pain her body couldn't tolerate and the panic-filled eyes of Alistair as he ran to her.

Peeling her eyes open, she woke up in the most lavish and beautifully decorated bedroom she'd ever seen, momentarily confused by all the dainty, pretty things.

"Where am I?" she whispered, then coughed. And the sound of her voice made her heart stop its beat.

Her voice didn't sound like her. It used to be like melting honey; however, the voice she just heard from her throat was heavy and a little sharp.

She roamed her eyes at the strange setting before her, hitting every color of the pink spectrum. The rosy accent walls were punched with gold leaf patterns. A strong scent of wild rose in the air was too much for her liking, a stark contrast to her favorite vanilla fragrance.

Clara propped her elbows with a low grunt, hoisting her body up in a sitting position. She tried to will her body to adjust to a more comfortable position. The pounding of her head made things even worse.

Clara squirmed under the silky texture of the bedspread and swung her leg at the edge. She tore the thin curtain that covered the elegant four-poster bed aside.

Wait a minute, she thought as her toes wriggled over the fluffy, snow-colored fur rug. Everything came crashing down on her. Going back to when she first opened her eyes, the room indeed looked different. It was far from what her room was like.

Her rich gold and warm brown room were replaced by sugary sweet pink and lustrous white walls. Her cherry bookcases were replaced by paintings lined across the wall, creating a mini art gallery. She had never dolled herself up with too much makeup and assorted bling like the things sitting over the vanity table. Her favorite seat by the balcony was gone without a sign it had been there. Without her adorable tiny plants scattered across the room, Clara's lungs felt like inhaling bad air. Pink drapes and a pink bedroom bench continued the delicate tone. Everywhere she looked was just a repetition of colors. The whole layout of the room was unrecognizable as if the whole place warped into a different dimension.

This isn't my room, Clara concluded in her mind. Unless she was asleep for far too long that everybody decided to change her room's interior.

Her heart raced in panic. She wasn't used to being in a different place she had never been before. She suddenly yearned for her family's presence. It never crossed her the possibility of feeling lonely in a foreign place.

Now, her bravery in venturing into the outside world seemed to be a distant vision. She wanted to laugh at herself for wanting to flee, but now that she was probably somewhere unknown, she had the urge to come back.

Clara stood up, her knees wobbling as she took baby steps. She gripped the edge of the vanity table to take a few seconds to get used to standing.

With every ounce of strength, she pushed herself forward. A full-body mirror was placed near the door. She stopped to look at herself. But the moment she turned her head to the left, her whole world stopped.

With wide eyes, she stared into the reflection, her insides doing a backflip. Her eyes were bigger, their irises having been colored with a bright wash of amethyst. The favorite color of vanilla in her hair became a sprawling curtain of black. She blinked and shook her head as if she was crazy. She tried doing stupid random actions—lifting her arms, jumping, and even dancing. She gave one more glance at her reflection before she let out a high-pitched scream.
Then, darkness swallowed her whole... again. And before Clara finally lost consciousness, her body landed on the cold floor with a loud thud.

CLARA GAINED consciousness and the events that occurred came blasting like a hurtling rock. She opened her eyes wide.

"What is going on?" she yelled in panic, cupping her throat with both hands.

The last thing she remembered was lying cold on the floor. How did she end up on the bed?

Someone knocked on the door, pulling Clara out of her rambling thoughts. It opened to reveal an older woman who looked to be in her forties.

"Good morning, princess. Would you like to have breakfast in bed?" The woman was wearing a black maid's uniform. Clara only gaped at her, for she didn't know what to do or say. She was being offered breakfast, but the answer was kept at the back of her throat. Indeed, she was feeling hungry.

"Princess, are you alright? Shall I call the Healer for you? The king and queen are in the courtroom, but they will be here at any moment."

Clara didn't grant her a response. In a flash of seconds, she brushed past her and ran outside, away from that room. She could hear the maid's desperate and urgent call for guards.

"No, you won't get me," Clara murmured and she sped off to what she hoped was the exit. She rounded some corners around unfamiliar hallways, not having time to take in the appearance of the whole place. She just knew that everything was sparkly.

A group of passing guards was heading her way, oblivious to the princess' presence. She looked for somewhere to hide, but no other door was nearby. Clara contemplated going back in the previous direction, but another five guards were quick to catch up.

"Aeonus, stop the princess!" One guard from behind alerted someone from the group in front of her.

The guards in front stopped their chattering, blocking the path. She took a deep breath and extended her right arm. Seeing the princess about to launch a spell, they braced themselves in a defensive stance, waiting for her attack. Clara waited as well, but nothing happened. No surge of power came. She retracted her hand back and then made a swiping motion. Still, there was nothing.

Why is it not working? Clara started to panic. The pursuers felt relieved but were baffled by her power malfunction. Well, good for them. But Clara must outwit them and search for an opening.

Seeing she had no other way out, Clara dived on the ground between one guard's opened legs and slid through it. It was good that this girl's body was small. She stood up and coolly dusted her lantern dress.

Another group of black-robed men appeared. "Guards, fast, get her!"
She broke into another sprint, but Clara didn't notice that someone was already blocking her path. With quick reflexes, she put her weight on her right arm on the ground and kicked him on his legs which threw him off balance.

Lucky that Clara was trained to fight, not to mention that this body was easy to maneuver around.

"What sort of child's play is going on here?" A bland and mysterious voice emerged from somewhere, stopping the guard from fighting her down.

"Prince Emir."

Prince?

They all bowed, and Clara looked curiously behind her.

There, standing in his regal highness, wearing elegance and nothing but a bored look, was a tall young man with jet-black hair and midnight eyes. His eyes held no emotion, but it was the most alluring orbs she had ever seen. When did black look so fine and elegant? Clara never liked things in black.

"Playing tag with the guards after waking up from a long slumber." He asked in an affirmative and nonchalant tone. "Leave it to me. I'll take it from here." The guards dispersed without so much question after he gave his command, except for the guard who she knocked off his feet.

"Get away from me!" Clara stood on alert as he averted his attention back to her with an expression that was not the least bit amused. There was no way she was going to back down.

"That was one damn good kick," she heard the guard say, groaning as he got to his feet and stood beside the prince. They looked to be around the same age. The amber-eyed man studied her with scrutiny, then he whistled.

"Really, Maxwell? You allowed yourself to be beaten by her? Shame on you," the prince said, sighing. His eyes were hooded like any moment he would sleep right where he was.

"That's Princess Anneliese for you."

Anneliese?

The prince and his companion seemed to be in a heated conversation. Clara took it as an opportunity to break free from their clutches. So she ran towards her only exit. When she was only a few steps away from the door, a firm hand grappled her waist, pulling her back where she collided with a hard chest.

"And where do you think you're going?" Prince Emir said as a whiff of his minty breath fanned her face.

He's so warm, she thought. And she couldn't help but feel secure in a stranger's embrace.

"Princess, you're drooling." Clara snapped out of her reverie when Maxwell spoke.

"W-What?" she asked, confused, and wiped the side of her mouth, finding there was none. She glared at him, and he burst into laughter.

The prince let go of her, letting out a sigh. His weight shifted on one foot, wearing his emotionless facade.

"Look, you need to let me go. I have to leave. This isn't my home, and I don't belong here," she said, sounding defeated. But they looked at her as if she was mentally deranged.

"Must be the shock from the accident," Maxwell murmured, shaking his head as he gave Clara a pitiful look.

THE CRUNCHING of boots was crisp in the silent air in the middle of the woods. The sun settled at the backdrop, bringing dark clouds into the sky. A shade of orange was painted over it. Trees rustled by the passing wind. A young man's humming didn't entirely block out the cawing of the cackling crows that circled above the darkening treetops, nor did it stave off the eerie feeling that blanketed the forest as the night fell.

A white dove arrived and circled overhead. Its pure white feather contrasted the uncanny atmosphere. It landed softly on the young man's shoulder, ready to deliver its news.

He came to a standstill either because of delight or of pure mischief that played inside his head.

He looked up. His eyes flickered with unthinkable knowledge as he gazed at the floating rock island where the kingdom of Zephyrus stood atop.

The image of the princess's face flashed in his head. "Finally!" He spread his arms wide. The echo of his voice traveled through the still forest. "It's been so long, princess." He chuckled menacingly. "I wonder how much you have changed."