Their breathing gradually steadied, cheeks still burning, lips still holding the lingering warmth of his touch. Inside Amanda there surged a pleasant, warm emptiness, like the afterglow of a long swallow of strong wine. She pressed her face into his chest, listening to the frantic hammering of his heart, and for the first time in ages she felt… peace.
This body — this “Amanda” — responded to Randel with such primal, almost deafening sincerity that her own cold, calculating mind was temporarily pushed aside, overwhelmed by the wave of pure, unfiltered physiology.
And it was in that exact moment that the realization struck her — cold and merciless, like a knife driven straight into the solar plexus.
This isn’t me.
The thought rang out in her mind with chilling, crystalline clarity.
These trembling knees… this warmth spreading low in her belly… this irrational urge to press herself even closer to him, to dissolve into him completely… These aren’t
MY feelings
.
They’re HERS.
This body. This Amanda. Her instincts. Her hormones. Her… desire.
She froze. Her eyes flew wide, staring at nothing.
Before her inner vision, the image of Yamada Light — an ordinary guy from Tokyo who crammed law textbooks and dreaded deadlines — snapped into focus with agonizing sharpness. He felt so… distant. So utterly alien.
Then who the hell am I?
her mind screamed.
If this body craves him while my consciousness recoils in horror? Where’s the line? Which one of us is real? What part of me is still Light, and what part belongs to this girl whose body I’m trapped inside?
Her sharp, analytical mind — so accustomed to systematizing everything — crashed against a chaos that refused to bend to logic. She had tried to play the role, but now the role was playing her. She thought she was in control of the situation, yet she had become a hostage to the biochemical reactions of someone else’s body.
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“Amanda?” Randel whispered, concern lacing his voice as he felt her suddenly go rigid in his arms.
His voice — so warm, so caring — acted like a trigger. The contradiction peaked: between what her body demanded (the need to wrap her arms around him in return, to sink into this feeling of safety) and what her mind screamed (
This isn’t you. This isn’t yours. It’s a lie!
).
The world blurred before her eyes. The mirrors spun into a dizzying vortex, their reflections melting into a chaotic swirl of light and shadow. A high-pitched ringing swelled in her ears, drowning out his worried voice.
“I…” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked and failed. Icy shivers raced down her spine as everything inside her knotted into a tight, agonizing ball. Nausea surged up her throat—sudden, unstoppable.
She shoved away from him hard, staggered, and grabbed the cold frame of the nearest mirror to keep from collapsing.
“What’s wrong?” His face twisted in horror. He reached for her.
But she could no longer see him. Her body doubled over in a wrenching spasm. Dry, silent heaves shook her violently. Nothing came up, yet the sensation felt so vivid, so humiliating and revolting, that fresh tears poured from her eyes—tears of shame, despair, and utter self-loss.
Her legs gave out. She didn’t fully faint, but she crumpled to her knees, pressing her forehead against the icy polished stone of the floor. Her shoulders shuddered with silent sobs.
“Don’t touch me…” she gasped out, her voice raw with such primal terror that Randel froze mid-motion, his hand hanging uselessly in the air. “Please… don’t touch me…”
He stood over her, utterly broken and utterly lost. Just one minute ago she had been in his arms, melting into his kiss, responding with every fiber of her being. And now… she looked as though he had branded her with red-hot iron. This wasn’t mere rejection. It ran deeper—something clawing its way up from the darkest, most fortified corners of her soul.
“Amanda… I… I didn’t mean…” he stammered, feeling like the vilest creature in all creation.
She didn’t answer. She simply sat there on the floor—small, shattered—in her magnificent emerald gown, surrounded by mirrors that stood as silent witnesses to the most harrowing identity crisis imaginable. She was battling demons he couldn’t even begin to fathom. And in that instant, he understood: her war was a thousand times more terrifying than any battlefield he had ever faced.