SHATTERED INNOCENCE: TRANSMIGRATED INTO A NOVEL AS AN EXTRA

The fabric draped over Aeliana’s form like liquid silk, smooth and weightless, a stark contrast to the heavy robes and dull garments she had worn for years. The dress clung just enough to remind her that she was alive, that her body was no longer frail, no longer confined to shadows and whispers of sickness.

Aeliana stepped forward, her movements effortless, the faint brush of the air against her bare skin a startling sensation. How long had it been since she had felt something like this? Since she had worn something so elegant, so unashamedly bold?

‘Too long…’

The grand mirror reflected an unfamiliar sight. The woman who gazed back at her was no longer the pitiful thing that once lurked behind veils and closed doors. No sunken cheeks, no frail limbs struggling to bear their own weight.

No hesitation.

Aeliana ran her fingers lightly over the embroidered patterns along the fabric, relishing the sensation of something beautiful against her skin. The cool touch of the fabric, the way it moved with her, not against her—it was freeing in a way she had nearly forgotten.

She turned, and her gaze swept across the room, catching the subtle shift in the maids’ expressions. Admiration. Uncertainty. A lingering trace of awe.

They were looking at her differently now.

Not as a fragile girl destined for a quiet, tragic end.

Not as a ghost of a past best forgotten.

But as Aeliana.

Her lips curled, a small, knowing smile ghosting her features.

‘I really missed this.’

Missed being seen. Missed the feeling of something as simple as silk against her skin, the way the air moved around her freely instead of being filtered through thick, suffocating curtains. Missed the weight of expectation and presence instead of pity and hushed voices.

She let out a slow breath, turning towards the grand doors that awaited her.

Yes, this was right. This was how things should be.

“My lady… how are you feeling?”

The question came hesitantly, laced with a quiet, careful apprehension. The maid’s hands were clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles pale against the soft fabric of her uniform. She wasn’t trembling—not quite—but there was a distinct wariness in her posture, an unspoken bracing for impact.

Aeliana knew why.

The weight of her past actions still lingered in the walls of this mansion, in the way the servants measured their words before speaking to her, in the way their eyes flickered with something between anxiety and expectation.

How many had she sent away in the past? How many had been dismissed because of her sharp words, her untamed frustration, the way she lashed out in those helpless, fever-ridden days?

She had never been a docile thing.

Aeliana glanced toward the maid, taking in the tension in her shoulders, the nervous flicker of her gaze.

For a brief moment, she considered playing the part they all expected. Raising a brow, letting silence stretch until the girl’s nerves cracked, watching her squirm just because she could. The thought was almost tempting.

Almost.

Instead, Aeliana exhaled, slow and steady.

“How do I feel?” she echoed, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was lighter than the maid had likely expected, devoid of its once-everpresent bite.

Then, she smiled.

“Free.”

The word hung in the air between them, simple yet profound. It carried weight. It carried truth.

The maid blinked, clearly caught off guard. “F-Free, my lady?”

Aeliana hummed in affirmation, turning back toward the mirror, running her fingers along the fabric of her gown once more.

“For the first time in a long while,” she admitted. “I feel free.”

The tension in the maid’s shoulders didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened. She searched Aeliana’s expression as if trying to decipher whether this was a moment of calm before an inevitable storm.

It wasn’t.

Aeliana had no more storms to waste on people who didn’t deserve them.

“Shall we go, then?” she asked, moving toward the doors with an effortless grace that had long been buried under years of sickness and silence.

The maid hesitated, then quickly nodded, stepping aside to let her pass. “Of course, my lady.”

Aeliana barely noticed the way the other maids subtly exchanged glances, the way their awe warred with lingering trepidation.

She had no need to reassure them.

They would see soon enough.

The past no longer defined her.

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And soon, neither would they.

Aeliana walked through the grand halls, the soft rustle of her dress accompanying each step. The maids trailed behind her, their movements practiced, respectful, cautious. She could feel their eyes flickering to her back, lingering just long enough before darting away when she turned her head even slightly.

It was the same as before.

The same reverence. The same careful distance. The same hushed whispers behind gloved hands, voices too low to catch but never silent enough to be ignored.

The same as when she had been young and untouchable, the heir of the Dukedom, the daughter of one of the strongest noble houses in the empire.

Yet…

Something was missing.

Aeliana’s steps slowed, just slightly.

It was so subtle that no one noticed, but she felt it. The absence of something that should have been here.

Her fingers brushed against her wrist absentmindedly, her nails grazing over her pulse as if searching for something tangible to hold onto.

Respect. Deference. Even fear. She had reclaimed all of that.

So why did it feel… hollow?

Her eyes traced the familiar expressions of those around her, the ones that had once surrounded her before she had fallen ill. Servants standing stiffly, noble acquaintances whispering, a careful line drawn between her and everyone else.

It should have been enough.

It used to be enough.

But now, in the midst of this familiarity, she felt the weight of absence settle in her chest.

There had been something else before. Something warmer, something that had existed beyond the veil of duty and expectation.

But she couldn’t quite place it.

She inhaled slowly, schooling her features into quiet composure. It was fine. This was fine.

The halls, the glances, the murmurs—it all meant one thing.

She had returned.

She had power again.

And yet—

She exhaled, lips pressing together briefly.

“What is this feeling?”

Aeliana let out a quiet breath, shaking her head ever so slightly. This wasn’t the time to dwell on fleeting, inexplicable feelings.

She had more pressing matters to attend to.

Straightening her shoulders, she resumed her pace, each step carrying her closer to the heart of the estate—the Duke’s office. The corridors stretched before her, grand and imposing, the weight of the Dukedom settling over her like a familiar mantle.

Her father would be waiting.

And she was not a girl who kept people waiting.

When she reached the heavy oak doors, she hesitated for only a fraction of a second—so brief that no one would have noticed. Then, with the same steady confidence that had always defined her, she raised her hand and knocked.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Enter.”

The voice from within was deep, firm, a tone that commanded without needing to raise in volume. The same as always.

Aeliana pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

The study was just as she remembered it—walls lined with towering bookshelves, the scent of parchment and ink lingering in the air, the afternoon light filtering in through tall windows. And at the grand desk, seated amidst neatly stacked documents and correspondence, was her father.

The Duke.

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