Princess.
"What?"
The word didn't land. It didn't even make sense, but it echoed in my mind, pulling me deeper into confusion and dread.
"Princess," she repeated, slower this time, like I was the problem.
I took a step back.
"No. No, no—wrong person. You got the wrong—everything." I pointed at myself like that proved something. "I just got here. I don't—"
My voice cracked. I didn't even know what I didn't know.
The woman lowered her hands carefully, as if she were approaching something fragile.
"You are safe," she said.
Safe.
That word felt like a lie.
"Safe where?" I snapped. "What is this place? Why do I look like this? Why do I have—" I grabbed one of my horns again, then immediately winced. "—these?!"
Her eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face.
"You should not pull those," she said calmly.
"No kidding!"
My heart was still racing, but something underneath it was worse.
A slow, creeping realization.
This wasn't fading.
This wasn't a hallucination.
This wasn't my brain shutting down on the pavement.
I swallowed.
Hard.
"…I'm not dreaming," I said.
It wasn't a question.
The woman didn't answer. She didn't need to. That silence said enough. My chest tightened. I turned back to the mirror. Same face. Same horns. Same too-small body staring back at me like it belonged to someone else.
"I… I died," I whispered, voice trembling, as the weight of that truth finally sank in, anchoring me to this moment.
There it was.
Saying it out loud made it real in a way that thinking it hadn't.
I pressed my palm against the mirror. Cold. Solid. Not going anywhere.
"And now I'm here," I whispered.
Behind me, the woman finally moved closer.
Slow.
Measured.
"You have been reborn," she said.
I laughed.
It came out wrong.
Sharp. Thin. Not funny.
"Yeah," I muttered. "No kidding."
Silence stretched again.
Then—"Princess," she said once more.
Softer this time.
Careful.
Like she was testing the word.
I closed my eyes.
For a second, I wanted to wake up in my old apartment.
Cheap ceiling.
Street noise.
Phone buzzing with dumb notifications.
Instead, I opened my eyes to black stone and glowing lines carved into the ceiling.
Right.
Not going back.
"…Stop calling me that," I said quietly.
Her expression didn't change.
"I cannot."
I turned to face her again.
"Why not?"
A pause.
Then—
"Because that is what you are."
Something in my stomach dropped.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Something heavier.
"…Explain," I said.
Not loud.
Not panicked.
Just—Tired.
The tiredness that came after a long shift when everything finally caught up to you.
The woman studied me for a moment.
Then she inclined her head slightly.
"As you wish," she said.
But the way she said it…Didn't feel like I was asking a question. It felt like I had just stepped into something that was already in motion.
"It's me," she repeated, softer. "Your aunt."
I backed toward the window like a trapped animal.
"WHO THE HELL IS AUNT—"
"Aunt Sera," she said firmly. "You know me."
I didn't.
I didn't know anyone.
"I don't know you!" I snapped, feeling lost and exposed. My voice trembled with uncertainty.
Then I turned—because I needed proof this was real.
The courtyard below was not New York, and I felt a profound disconnect, as if I was truly alone in this strange world.
The courtyard below was not New York.
Demon servants tended strange plants that glowed faintly, as if they were fed moonlight instead of sunlight.
Hell-hounds padded along the gate like guard dogs built out of muscle and nightmares.
A black fence stretched so far it disappeared into haze, like the border of a kingdom.
And in the center of it all, a fountain ran—shaped like a Demon King's face, water spilling from its mouth like the world itself was being mocked.
I turned back, shaking.
Aunt Sera was speaking quietly to another figure who had entered without me hearing.
A woman stood there.
Poised.
Elegant.
Her eyes closed like she didn't need them to see.
She felt like winter trapped in skin.
Concern sat on her face like it didn't belong there—like she was watching something fragile and important struggle to stay whole.
Then she spoke.
"Sophia."
My breath hitched.
Yes.
That was my name.
But then she said it again.
Different.
Full.
Heavy.
Like a title.
"Sophia Valac Malphas," she repeated, each syllable heavy with history, making my body go cold with recognition and fear.
My body went cold.
Because I knew that name.
I'd read it in a speech bubble.
I'd seen it beneath a crown.
I stared at her, my voice breaking.
"…What did you just call me?"
The woman's lips moved—calm, precise.
"My daughter," she said.
And behind that sentence, the world clicked into place like a lock.
I looked at my reflection again.
Silver hair.
Black horns.
A child's face.
A demon's bloodline.
And my brain screamed the one line it didn't want to understand:
I'm not reading the manga anymore.
I'm living it.
My stomach dropped.
Not because I didn't understand.
Because I finally did.
My hands trembled.
I whispered it like it was a curse.
"…I'm the Calamity Princess?"