A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

It was sharp and unfamiliar, nothing like the incense that used to fill the palace halls of Elyndor. I opened my eyes slowly, expecting to see the familiar canopy above my bed, but found a white ceiling crossed by a strip of bright light. A steady beeping came from somewhere beside me, and the thin blanket covering my body felt strange against my skin.

For several seconds, I lay still, trying to understand where I was. My last clear memory was of fire spreading through the palace, smoke filling my lungs, and Valeric's voice calling my name. I remembered reaching for him. I remembered the heat. After that, everything became indistinct.

I turned my head and winced. Pain travelled from my shoulder down my arm, and when I tried to sit up, the room tilted. I sank back against the pillow, breathing through the discomfort.

"You're awake."

A woman in pale blue clothing hurried to my bedside. She checked the monitor beside me, then adjusted something attached to my arm.

"Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

"I..." My voice came out weak and rough. I swallowed and tried again. "Where is this place?"

"You're in the hospital. You've been unconscious for three days."

Three days.

The words made little sense. I had been in my chambers—or what I believed were my chambers—only moments ago. I searched my memory for the transition between the palace and this strange room, but found nothing that could explain it.

The woman studied my face. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Seraphyna."

She paused, her fingers resting on the edge of the chart. "I'm sorry?"

"Seraphyna." I looked at her, wondering why she needed me to repeat it. "Queen Seraphyna of Elyndor."

The expression on her face changed, though she tried to hide it. She glanced at the chart before looking back at me.

"Your name is Elara Chen."

I stared at her.

"No. You have mistaken me for someone else."

She didn't argue. Instead, she asked me to remain still while she called the doctor. I watched her leave, increasingly aware of how little I understood. The room was unfamiliar, the clothes on my body were not mine, and the woman had looked at me as though I had said something impossible.

When the doctor arrived, he asked me a series of questions. Did I know the date? Could I remember the accident? Did I know who had brought me to the hospital?

I could answer none of them.

He explained that I had suffered injuries in a road accident and that confusion was not unusual after such an event. He wanted to examine me further, but I barely listened. An accident? I had no memory of being on a road, much less of being struck by a vehicle.

After he left, the nurse helped me sit up and handed me a small mirror.

I almost dropped it.

The woman staring back at me had dark hair falling around her face, unfamiliar eyes, and features I had never seen in my life. I touched my cheek, then the reflection did the same. My fingers moved to my jaw and lingered there as I searched for even the smallest trace of the face I remembered.

There was none.

"This isn't possible," I whispered.

Yet the woman in the mirror did not change.

I closed my eyes, searching for my own face in my memories. I could still picture the royal chambers, the embroidered gowns I wore, and the long corridor leading to the throne room. I remembered Valeric standing beneath the balcony with sunlight catching in his dark hair. I remembered Alden's cold expression on the night everything began to fall apart.

Those memories were mine. I knew they were mine as surely as I knew my own name.

Then another memory surfaced.

A bedroom I had never entered. A man standing beside a bed. A young woman beside him, her expression hard and unrepentant. I felt the shock of seeing them together, the humiliation that followed, and the desperate need to get away.

The woman's name came to me first.

Gracious.

The man's name followed, though it meant nothing to me beyond the pain attached to it.

I opened my eyes, startled by the strength of the emotions that had accompanied the memory. I could see the scene clearly, but I knew I had never lived it. The humiliation belonged to someone else, yet it lingered inside me as though I had experienced it myself.

More fragments followed: a familiar house, an argument, a phone lying in someone's hand, and the terrible realization that the people Elara had called her family had kept something important from her.

Elara.

The name no longer sounded like a mistake. It belonged to the woman whose memories were beginning to mingle with my own.

I lowered the mirror onto the bed and pressed my palms against my temples. I had been Seraphyna, queen of Elyndor. I had lived a life I could remember, loved a man whose face remained painfully clear in my mind, and died in a palace consumed by fire. Yet I was now trapped in a body that belonged to a woman named Elara Chen, in a world I did not recognize.

I had no explanation for it, and the memories I had inherited offered no answer.

A knock interrupted my thoughts. The nurse returned with a glass of water and helped me drink before checking the bandage around my arm.

"Your family is here," she said. "They've been waiting for you to wake up."

I looked at her. "My family?"

"Yes. They've been very worried."

I wanted to tell her that my family was in Elyndor, that my world lay far beyond the walls of this hospital, but the words died before I could speak them. If I told anyone what I remembered, they would think I had lost my mind.

"Who are they?" I asked instead.

"The people who brought you here."

Before I could ask anything else, the nurse moved towards the door. I heard quiet voices outside, followed by footsteps approaching the room.

I turned towards the entrance, bracing myself to meet another set of strangers.

A woman entered first, dressed in an elegant cream suit. A man followed close behind her, his face drawn with exhaustion. Three young men came in after them, each looking at me with an intensity I could not understand.

The woman stopped beside my bed. Her lips parted, but for a moment no words came. Then she reached for my hand, her eyes filling with tears.

"Elara," she whispered. "You're awake."

I looked down at her fingers wrapped around mine. There was no recognition in my heart, no memory to connect her face to my life. Yet she held my hand as though she had been afraid she would never get the chance again.

I gently withdrew it.

"I'm sorry," I said, watching the hope in her expression falter. "Do I know you?"