Nico Castigerion
I woke up with a start. My eyes jolted open and I yelped and rushed backwards—hitting my head on something soft yet firm. I took into account where I was, my eyes taking in everything. The chamber I was in was large, yet it felt strange.
The architecture didn't feel like the 20th century style of Cassandra's house. Where the hell was I? Looking down I saw I was on a bed though it wasn't any bed I was used to. It was an old-fashioned, four-poster bed. It was large—larger than any bed I had seen. There were heavy brocade curtains hanging from the four posts slightly obscuring the room around the bed.
I kicked at the linen sheets, but the sheets were stiff and cool; the feeling was alien, yet surprisingly comforting. The duvet was weighing against me, as if I was a mummified king. The heavy duvet pressed upon me like a burial shroud, pinning my thoughts as well as my limbs. Turning to look where my head landed on, I saw a carved headboard; the dark maroon drew my consciousness back by the color alone. It was made of a deep-tufted velvet, which explained the feeling of it on my head.
The setting I was currently in made absolutely zero sense. I was with Cassandra just minutes ago, then… then the world collapsed, like a building toppling or a canvas being torn apart. Of course it could have been the wine, but that wouldn't explain the bed I was on. My brain was crafting an answer to this question, and I didn't like them.
I scrambled toward the edge of the bed, hoping to find a phone or a note, but found only a heavy mahogany desk. Instead of a laptop, there was a crystal inkwell and a tray of silver pens that looked like museum props; next to the desk was a wooden bookshelf, the color of walnut, and filled with an assortment of books. I saw what looked like a washstand by its general shape—it was like no other washstand I had ever seen however, there seemed to be a lack of plumbing in the basin, as if the water was expected to sit there until dumped elsewhere.
An aroma of woodsmoke turned my eyes over to a fireplace. It was near the front of the room and seemed to be doing the job of heating my chambers. It was made with white marble with a set of brass fire pokers, and a coal scuttle next to what looked like salts. This was a second red flag: a strange water basin and a hearth.
Looking to the left of the room I saw a wardrobe—no, it was called an armoire if I remembered correctly; the door was closed but I could imagine a large amount of clothes held in the large piece of furniture. The floor was wide-plank made of hardwood; a Persian rug dominated a majority of the floor a shade of royal blue.
There was golden gilding in the majority of furniture in the room. This further confused me; the room was flashy I had seen Audrey's and Cassandra's estates—even then, it tended to be more modest than this place.
The walls were draped with banners, the colors navy and gold, wrought with more gilding. The animal on the banner was strange to me—it seemed to be a feline with three heads: one of a house cat, another was a tiger and the final one was a lion. I racked my brain for any idea of what this beast was and came back empty. The three headed chimera glared at me from the silk. Why it was the crest for this mysterious banner I had no idea.
Below the feline was the phrase 'Vigilantia, Virtus, Maiestas'. I knew the phrase was Latin, but not knowing the language myself made it impossible to decipher. The whole banner was adorned with gold trimming and was made of a heavy fabric swaying slowly.
Realizing something my heart leapt. I was filled with dawning horror as my theory was proven true a moment later. I stared down at my hands. My breath hitched, turning into an anguished sob I couldn't suppress. These weren't my hands. These were the hands of a porcelain doll, pale and delicate, attached to my wrists as if by some sick joke. This idea allowed me to truly feel my body since I woke. My body felt sore—like I had just lifted a car. Even though I seemed to have regressed in age, my mind is still the same as ever.
My hands touched my face. It was small and soft, not a blemish on it. No… NO! This couldn't be real; I couldn't be in anything but my body.
"Shit…"
The foul word coming out of such a high-pitched voice felt wrong. This all felt wrong: how was I a child? What on earth could be happening?
I noticed I was wearing purple night-robes; they were slightly heavy, yet comfortable, most likely made by weightier silk. I tried to stand, but the floor felt miles away. My center of gravity was gone. I foundered, my knees hitting the carpet. The pain racked my body in waves, even with the carpet dulling the impact the force was still substantial.
I clearly wasn't used to this body. I regained my balance before continuing forward in slow steps—careful not to trip again.
Outside the curtains the sun leaked through windows. The sun blinded me for a second before my eyes quickly adapted. What was odd was the size of the windows. There were three and were thrice my size; even in a small body they were massive almost reaching floor to ceiling. They reminded me vaguely of a museum I had visited with Audrey that had been the home of a duke.
To the left of the bed was a smaller desk. There was a wax candle, and piece of parchment. My heart skipped a beat. It must have been left by Cassandra! Most likely it would have an explanation on where on earth I was. The small hands could merely be an optical illusion or side effects of the wine! I could be fine after all. This could all be explained and I could go back to my life.
Grabbing the note with my small hands—I read the clean cursive feeling relief that I would get explanations soon enough.
'Master Nico,
I have left this note for you for when you wake up if I am not in the room personally. His Lordship requests your presence in the Great Dining Room for breakfast at nine o'clock. Also, the attire you have requested has been put into the armoire, alongside several suitable options, should they be more to your liking—I am currently attending to household silks—therefore I will be in the linen room. Te monere debeo lectionem Latinam horā tertiā post merīdie futuram esse; noli igitur post iantaculum nugis nimis diu immorari.
Sincerely, Celeste'
This note merely served to further confuse me. The way it was written was strange as if I was reading two letters at once, but the feeling was quickly overwhelmed by the cold grasp of dread. It was a lie, a trick, the wine! Cassandra did quite enjoy roleplay, that could be it; though that doesn't explain the fact that I was in a completely foreign place with my phone gone. It's all a misunderstanding. Right?
My hopes were immediately dashed, when I turned, I went face to face with a mirror. I forced myself towards the glass, my reflections slightly blurred from distance. It was a dream—it must've been a dream. The Rothschild was spiked—I was having a lucid dream. I repeated the mantras as if in prayer. Then I reached the reflection.
I stopped in my tracks.
White hair framed a youthful but pale face, the expression of horror and indignation transparent. Eyes, a deep shade of rose-red gazed at me, as if looking into my very soul. Those eyes… they were the same eyes I had witnessed in the car mirror, in fact the entire face was a replica of that hallucination. I touched the glass, as if to see if it was a portal to another world.
The red eyed monster replicated the same move. I watched my own tentative finger, long and slender touch the glass in the reflection. No… it wasn't my hand; it was the hand of whatever I was inside at the moment.
I noticed a grandfather clock on the far end of the room that read seven fifty-four. The fresh ink on the page seemed to shine with a threat. If I went to that kitchen, he wouldn't look for Alexander. He would look for the boy, Nico. And if I didn't act exactly like him, if I spoke with my own voice. If I acted like Alexander—I shuddered at the thought. The idea of being 'found out' inside this stolen body sent a fresh wave of nausea through my body.
The mirror seemed to sneer at me for a moment, as if it was laughing at me. I punched it. The mirror shattered in my fist; they were weak, much weaker than the mirrors I had seen on earth. Fragments of glass hit the floor and flew a close distance to the now broken looking glass. My arm hurt like hell. I hadn't gotten cut by sheer luck—the impact was still powerful; it would likely bruise soon enough.
I took deep breaths, rampaging around this room would only raise more questions. I already would have to explain the mirror—any more destruction and explaining with lies would be impossible. The answer was clear. I had transmigrated from earth to this other world that seemed to be in the close past.
The reality was a bitter pill to swallow. My blood boiled thinking of how this could've happened. I was in a ghost of the past, perhaps the 19th-century. A god? A higher being? Whoever sent me here, they treated it as a mere show on Netflix.
I took steps away from the mirror, approaching the imposing doors in the center of the room. It was massive, twelve feet, and inlaid with gold edges; the handles were up to my face made of a brass alloy.
Arriving at the door, mindful of my shorter stride—I reached for the door handle. My small hands reached out, trying to take hold of the door. Taking grasp of the brass, I pulled hard. My center of gravity was thrown off from the momentum of the pull, causing me to the floor. The heavy oak groaned, resisting for a split second before giving way to physics; it swung out with a slow, imperial weight.
I scrambled to my feet—my face smoldering with shame. I looked up and froze.
The hallway was massive, equivalent to a large hallway in an old university. It was a mix of oak, white marble, and more ornate golden. To my left, the walls were broken by a line of towering, arched windows. They were floor to ceiling behemoths; their glass divided into several individual panes by thin gold gilded strips of wood. It looked like a cage made of light. The glass was certainly clear, yet it was of a liquid quality, as if made of mercury.
As my head moved slightly the gardens outside the windows rippled and swayed like looking up from the bottom of a pond. Small bubbles were trapped deep into the panes, frozen like microscopic stars. On my right were oak doors much shorter— just my height in my previous world. They reminded me of the doors in Cassandra's house, and a pang of sadness crossed my heart.
My jaw slacked in awe as I saw the five chandeliers arrayed across the ceiling. Their frame was made of silver, with glass creating mesmerizing spectacles. Each chandelier created its own constellation in the ceiling. The aroma of honey and flame filled my nose, the embers of the candle flickering like a dance.
The carpet of the hall was a deep maroon—made of some sort of wool. The color scheme of this place was getting more and more apparent the more I saw. On the right wall were portraits, they seemed to be my relatives of some kind. Painting of men and women were in the brass frames of the portraits, all with snow white hair and black onyx eyes, like dark marble. Even though I knew nothing of these people, I felt a strong familial connection causing me to blanch.
It seemed that I had retained some instinct of Nico because of his body. If that was the case, and my personality—my identity was merging with Nico. That couldn't be happening. I was Alexander not Nico, my identity was mine. I couldn't allow it to be merged or replaced by a child. If I retained even the slightest memory of Nico, am I really Alexander, or a crude mix of both of us.
My pondering was interrupted by a voice piercing the relative silence of the hallway.
"Master Nico?" The voice was small, catching slightly on the first syllable before smoothing out into a practiced, hollow tone. "Begging your pardon, sir, but... are you quite well?"
The voice startled me out of my thoughts. There was a girl—maybe in her late teens or early-twenties. She had dirty blonde hair, tied in an ornate braid that continued on to the back of her head similar to a braid Audrey had once done. Her eyes were deep amber, like honey flowing from a beehive.
She wore a plain black wool dress, spotless—not expensive, like a prayer book's leather binding. A fancy white apron was worn above the dress. The design was ornate and it seemed to be made of silk with a lace edging.
She wore a white headband, it looked delicate as if it were made of a cobweb, yet it also had an elegant look. Her figure was that I recognized in old pictures, it was clear a corset and petticoat was under her clothes, though not as defined as others I had seen.
A flash of panic crossed my mind. I had to act natural, or it would be quite obvious something was off. Focusing on what she said my brain scrunched up in confusion. The language of the world was strange, but I hadn't noticed it in my haste to read the letter. I saw it in English, as if it was being translated in my head, but it clearly wasn't the dialect I was used to.
The voice of the maid had the same issue I could hear English coming from her lips, however when I focused on her actual voice it was foreign to me. I must've been a Romance language however, as I could hear some Latin root words in the sentence.
I mustered a face that was confident and slightly arrogant before saying. "I was merely wandering outside my chambers."
I noted while I was attempting to speak English my words were coming out as that same strange language. It was barely noticeable I wasn't speaking English; I was only able to know because I already had insight in what to look for.
The maid nodded at me and headed to leave. Realizing this was the best shot I had of heading anywhere—I stepped forward addressing her. "I would like you to escort me to the linen room"
The maid nodded once more, seemingly used to this request before curtsying. "Certainly, Master Nico. It so happens I was making my way to those quarters myself."
Glanced at me she then turned expecting me to follow. I tried catching up—almost landing flat on my face. I barely caught myself by planting my foot right before I was going to fall. The servant hadn't noticed, still looking forward walking at a leisurely pace.
I noticed she was holding a wicker basket full of linen and silk sheets, similar to one I had at home—my home. Anger flashed through my head once again but passed just as quickly as the maid spoke.
"Nico—Master Nico? I—I don't mean to pry, sir, but are you bound for the linen room to see Celeste? That is... if I may be so bold as to ask." The maid winced as if she was burned by hot coals.
I spoke freely wanting to get as much information from this servant as I could. "Yes, that is entirely correct."
The girl seemed confused, as if she was expecting to get hit. Her face softened slightly, her posture becoming less sharp—like she was finally at ease. Suddenly a sharp hiss from above caused both of us to freeze.
A single, amber-colored globule of wax detached from the heavy silver chandelier above my head. It fell through the air as if in slow motion, landing with a sickening splat on the back of my hand.
The pain was unbearable; the hot wax seemed to burn though my skin and into my nerves. I struggled not to double over in pain—I tried to wipe the beeswax off my skin. The wax thankfully went off, but it took some skin off the back of my hand causing another sting.
The maid gasped, the sound thin and sharp. "Master Nico! Oh—oh, mercy, the candle!"
She hurried towards me already, fishing something out of her pocket. If I knew anything about the past it was that their medicine was subpar at best—deadly at worst. I was about to yank my hand back when I stopped. She produced a small vial with some sort of purple elixir from her pocket.
She grabbed my hands gently. "If I may, sir". Before I could protest, she uncorked the vial and poured it on my wound. The liquid seemed to ooze into my wound as the small bottle was emptied. The pain in my hand eased as the concoction took effect. My blood seemed to curl at the point where the elixir—in minutes the skin around the wound seemed to turn into a faint pink rather than a scalding red.
I gasped at the effect of the potion. I had known that we were in the past, but I wasn't expecting magic to be a factor in this world. If medicine was this strong then what would offensive magic be—how potent were they truly.
The maid sighed in relief before looking at me, her expression a mix of worry and fear. "I—I am deeply sorry, Master Nico. The soot from the Pyre salts has been settling so thick on the wax lately, and I was remiss in my duties to scrub it. It was my mistake alone, sir, and a foolish one at that."
I sure as hell didn't know what 'Pyre salts' were, but I couldn't just tell her that, so I held my tongue. The maid kept on rambling about how sorry she was—I put a hand on her shoulder, which was exceedingly hard to do when the person you're trying to touch is half a foot taller than you.
The maid flinched as her eyes widened, as if surprised I had touched her shoulder. Her hollowness broke into confusion from the act her gears turning to process what was happening.
"Well, there no use crying over spilt milk. Let us continue forth"
As the maid was gaping, I heard a separate female voice coming from further up the hall, cool, rhythmic and steady. "It is nice to see you have some steel in your body, Nico"
Squinting my eyes to see further, I saw a familiar woman emerge from the gloom. My heart stopped as I saw her appearance. She had silky white hair, like freshly fallen snow—skin as pale as ivory, pure and unblemished as if sculpted.
Her pupils were black, pure black, like onyx gemstones given life. Her delicate beauty was sublime in a way that made me feel like she was a piece of art, rather than a living human.
Entranced by her appearance I almost missed what she said next. "However, I should hope your Governess is teaching you Ars Grammatica Latina rather than chatter from the kitchens."
She winked at me before she moved forward, not walking so much as gliding across the wooden floor. Her dove-grey gown moving just above the floor like a wraith, likely made of fine silks. Over the gown was a silver brocade as an overcoat flowing as curtains do—creating the all too familiar fantasy style silhouettes I saw in manhwa. A structured bodice tapered into a 'v' at the waistline with engageantes at her elbows.
The lady didn't even address the maid, yet she withered up shrinking back like a rabbit hiding from a wolf. "A young Master should speak with dignity of his station. 'Spilt milk' isn't very noble like of you is it Nico?"
The lady stepped closer to me looking deep into my eyes as an appraiser does a gemstone. Her hand came up to touch my cheek and my soul shuddered at the cold touch. Not metaphorically however, her hands were truly cold, frigid even like hand of a gale itself were touching me.
She leaned over, going down to my level, her eyes looking at mine. "But you didn't weep. For that I will forgive your… unrefined vocabulary. Just this once."
Closing the distance between us, she gave me a kiss to my forehead—an act of affection and warmth I hadn't seen from her since I saw her. From the feeling in my chest, my heart I had an understanding, a confirmation that this woman was my mother, as if it wasn't clear already.
"I shall leave you, then, to your previous occupations." She turned to the maid who seemed to shrink further, if that was even possible. Fidgeting, she looked away, her face growing even paler than it already was.
"And Rosé? See to it that you do not scald my son again. It would be a great many pities were we forced to seek a replacement so soon, would it not?
The maid, Rosé paled even more. She might have had skin made of paper with how white it had turned—like a specter. I finally had a name to the face. Rosé. The name reminded me of the wine. I hadn't favored rosé in my past life, opting for more bitter blood red wine.
I snapped myself out of distraction. I could daydream about wine elsewhere. My 'mother' spoke once more, her voice cut through the quiet of the hall like scissors through paper. "I shall take my leave."
My mother walked away as Rosé took a deep breath, color returning to her face as she turned a corner and vanished.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The rest of the walk went by in silence, broken only by my occasional quips, causing Rosé to smile faintly—she stayed quiet for the entire trip. The hallways of the building seemed ever going; If I hadn't found a maid, I would have gotten lost within minutes. We had long past left the windows of my room's hallways and were now walking through a hall filled with doors, some adorned, other plain made, yet still made of pristine oak.
Above them were text which was about the usage of the rooms. Some were guest rooms, salons or music rooms. I quickly got bored of reading room names and continued silently following the young maid. Rosé stopped in front of a door with the name 'Linen Room IV', and I stumbled at the sudden change in speed, still not completely adjusted to this new body.
She sighed before saying, "Mistress Celeste is in the room at present, Master Nico."
My body tensed as I heard Rosé's announcement. I didn't know what to expect in meeting the maid that had sent me the note. I paused looking at the knob directly at my face. Deciding to act, I grabbed onto the brass doorknob, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of my right hand. The heavy knob twisted with little effort, and I pulled the door opening it to feel the cool breeze of nature.
The room was modest in size, about a fourth of the size of my own chambers. I noted that I had used the word chambers rather than room, likely an instinct from Nico. The windows were open the blinds drawn creating a draft that was a breath of fresh air—both figuratively and literally—to the damper air of the manor I was in.
The room itself was filled with linen and wool sheets, clothes, and tablecloths, the white blending with the light of the sun creating a room brimming with radiance. The sewing kits around the room were a mess, tools scattered across the table near sheets, on the floor, and even some on the stools.
A figure was on one of the stools, yet she looked towards us as the door swung fully open. The woman had a presence that was volatile, her silhouette radiating a domineering presence I could feel shaking my very bones. Rather than awe inspiring however, it washed a cold wave of dread washed into and throughout my body. Time seemed to slow at that very moment as I glanced at Rosé, wondering if she felt the same as me, but she was looking forward, respectful but normal.
The gaze of the women pierced though me, causing bile to come up to my neck. This wasn't normal. I felt idiotic thinking those words. Of course it wasn't normal; I was in a strange new world, and this woman supposedly a maid I knew closely was causing an unnatural sense of revulsion at her presence. A voice pierced through to my ears, causing a feeling as if it was reverberating in my mind.
"I would like to say hello, Mr. Alexander Williams."