*The Day I Became Ophelia Ashbourne*
Rain always made London feel colder than it actually was.
Ophelia Hart pulled her coat tighter around herself as she stepped out of the school building, balancing a pile of papers against her chest.
The rain had already soaked the edges of the assignments she still needed to grade tonight.
Which, honestly, felt personal at this point.
She sighed dramatically at the sky.
“Wow,” she muttered.
“Even the weather hates teachers.”
A laugh escaped from behind her.
“Miss Hart!”
Ophelia turned just in time to see one of her students running toward her through the rain.
Daniel looked entirely too energetic for a seventeen year old who had just survived double history lessons.
“You forgot this.”
He held up her book.
Ophelia blinked.
“The Rise and Fall of Ancient Kingdoms?”
“You left it in class.”
“Oh.” She took it carefully.
“You just saved my life.”
Daniel grinned.
“You really like history that much?”
Ophelia loooked down at the old book in her hands.
The cover was worn at the edges from years of use.
“History’s interesting,” she said softly.
“People think the past disappears, but it doesn’t really.”
Daniel frowned.
“What does that mean?”
She smiled a little.
“I think places remember things.”
The boy stared at her for a second before laughing awkwardly.
“That sounds creepy when you say it like that.”
“Everything sounds creepy if you’re tired enough.”
“That’s true.”
He adjusted his backpack before waving.
“Goodnight, Miss Hart!”
“Goodnight, Daniel. Don’t fail your exams.”
“No promises!”
Ophelia watched him run off before shaking her head with a quiet laugh.
Teenagers truly were terrifying creatures.
The street slowly emptied around her as she began walking toward the bus stop.
Rainwater soaked the pavement, reflecting blurry city lights beneath her feet.
Cars passed by..
People rushed home with umbrellas.
Somewhere nearby, music played faintly from an open café.
London kept moving.
It always did.
Meanwhile, Ophelia felt permanently stuck.
Twenty-seven years old.
Overworked.
Underpaid.
Living in a tiny apartment whose heater worked only when it felt emotionally available.
And yet…
She didn’t hate her life.
Maybe that was the strange part.
It was exhausting, yes.
Lonely too, sometimes.
But when she stood in front of a classroom talking about forgotten kingdoms and dead rulers, something inside her came alive.
History never felt dead to her.
It felt unfinished.
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
Rent Reminder.
Ophelia stared at the notification for a long moment before slowly putting the phone back into her pocket.
“Fantastic.”
The universe truly had excellent timing.
A cold gust of wind passed through the street, making her shiver.
That was when she noticed the antique shop.
Ophelia slowed her steps.
She had walked this route hundreds of times before, yet she had never seen the small shop tucked between two buildings.
The sign above the door was old and faded, almost impossible to read beneath the rain.
Something about the place felt strange.
Quiet.
Like it didn’t belong there.
Her eyes drifted toward the display window.
Old clocks.
Books.
Candlesticks.
Portraits.
And then,
A silver hand mirror.
Ophelia froze.
For some reason, the moment she looked at it, her chest tightened painfully.
The mirror looked old, beautifully crafted with delicate carvings along the handle.
Without thinking, she stepped closer.
And the second her fingers brushed the glass,
A sharp pain shot through her head.
Voices.
Whispers.
A woman crying.
“…don’t let them find out”
Ophelia stumbled backwards immediately, nearly dropping her books.
Her breathing turned uneven.
What the hell was that?
For a moment, the world around her felt distorted.
The sound of rain became distant.
Her chest tightened painfully as unfamiliar emotions flooded through her body.
Fear.
Grief.
Desperation.
Then,
Everything disappeared.
Just like that.
Ophelia stared at the mirror through the shop window, unsettled.
“Okay.”
She took another step back.
“Either I’m finally losing my mind…”
Or she desperately needed sleep.
Probably both.
The rain suddenly grew heavier.
Ophelia quickly adjusted her books and started walking again, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling crawling beneath her skin.
But the whispers stayed in her head.
Soft.
Distant.
Almost pleading.
By the time she reached the crossing, her thoughts were a mess.
Maybe she was just exhausted.
That had to be it.
She barely noticed the traffic light changing.
Barely noticed the headlights.
Barely noticed someone shouting.
Then…
Pain.
Everything happened too fast.
A loud screech.
Blinding light.
The horrifying sensation of falling.
Her books scattered across the wet road.
For a brief moment, Ophelia couldn’t feel anything.
Not the rain.
Not the cold.
Not even her body.
Only darkness.
Voices echoed faintly around her.
Someone screaming.
Footsteps.
Panic.
But none of it sounded real anymore.
Her vision blurred slowly.
And through the darkness…
She saw a woman.
Standing far away.
Dressed in an elegant historical gown.
Her face remaiined unclear beneath the shadows, but her voice reached Ophelia perfectly.
Soft.
Almost sorrowful.
“Come back.”
Ophelia’s breathing weakened.
The woman slowly raised a hand toward her.
Then whispered…
“Ophelia Ashbourne.”
Darkness swallowed everything whole.
The first thing Ophelia noticed was silence.
Not the normal silence of an empty room.
This silence felt heavy.
Unnatural.
Her body felt strangely warm beneath layers of soft fabric.
A faint floral scent lingered in the air.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Gold.
That was the first thing she saw.
Gold patterns stretched across a ceiling far too beautiful to belong anywhere near her apartment.
Heavy cream-coloured curtains surrounded an enormous bed, and candlelight flickerred softly against dark wooden walls.
Ophelia stared blankly.
“What?”
Her voice sounded wrong.
Softer somehow.
She frowned immediately.
Why did her throat hurt?
And why did the bed feel so expensive?
A sudden movement startled her.
“My lady?”
Ophelia turned sharply.
A young woman stood near the door holding a tray.
The second their eyess met, the tray slipped from the girl’s hands and crashed loudly onto the floor.
The maid burst into tears.
“My lady!”
Before Ophelia could react, the girl rushed toward the bed.
“You’re awake…” Her voice trembled violently.
“Oh heavens, you’re finally awake…”
Ophelia blinked at her in confusion.
The girl looked like she had stepped straight out of a historical drama.
Long dress.
Apron.
Perfect posture.
Everything about her looked old fashioned.
Very old fashioned.
Ophelia stared at her silently for a moment before speaking carefully.
“Am I dead?”
The maid froze.
“My lady, please don’t say such frightening things.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
The girl looked even more horrified.
Ophelia slowlyy pushed herself upright, ignoring the pounding pain in her head.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
Her hands trembled slightly above the blanket.
They looked unfamiliar.
Paler.
Softer.
More delicate than hers.
A cold feeling spread through her chest.
“What hospital is this?” she asked quietly.
The maid looked confused.
“Hospital?”
Ophelia’s stomach dropped.
The girl hesitated before speaking carefully.
“Should I call the doctor, Lady Ophelia Ashbourne?”
Silence.
The name echoed painfully inside her head.
Ophelia Ashbourne.
The woman from before.
The whisper.
The mirror.
Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded behind her eyes.
Images flashed violently through her mind.
A ballroom.
A silver teacup.
Blood staining pale gloves.
Someone crying.
Then…
A man’s voice.
Cold.
Calm.
Dangerous.
“Don’t let her die.”
Ophelia gasped softly, gripping the bedsheets.
The maid panicked immediately.
“My lady!”
But Ophelia barely heard her.
Because across the room,
The tall mirror reflected someone she had never seen before.
And for one horrifying second…
The reflection smiled before she did.