Chapter Text
Maelle felt like her head had been stomped by Grosse Tete.
Soft darkness wrapped around her, warm and weightless. She felt like she was floating on a cloud. Everything felt so cozy, she wanted to curl into the sensation like it was a cocoon.
Am I in heaven?
She wanted to stay like this forever.
Unfortunately, forever had other plans.
Something heavy shifted beside her, making the bed wobble.
Rude.
Little by little, sensation was returning. Her fingers tingled like she had slept on them wrong for the past century. Her head spun like the day after she tried Sciel’s cursed “apple juice.” She saw light behind her eyelids and, against her better judgment, opened her eyes.
That was her first mistake. Her second was being conscious.
“You’re finally awake.”
A woman was sitting beside her — piercing sky-blue eyes, long brown hair, a cold expression, arms crossed in a taking-none-of-your-shit stance.
Angels had definitely looked nicer in her imagination.
“You’ve been out for two days. I suppose I should thank you for getting Aline out of the Canvas. Now we can finally focus on serious matters.”
Maelle blinked. The “cloud” she’d been floating on was, in fact, a bed. A heaven made of feathers and excessive wealth. She glanced around and finally took in the room: golden chandeliers, paintings covering every square meter of wall, and the softest sheets she had ever touched.
So she got reincarnated — as an aristocrat, apparently.
… Ew.
“Raah aah urgh ah…” she asked, very eloquently.
She flinched. What happened to her voice? She sounded like a squeaky version of the Curator.
“Don’t force yourself. You’re still very weak.”
Suddenly, both of them turned at the sound of a crash outside the room. A full panoply of swear words followed, along with hurried footsteps towards the door.
The woman sighed, "That must be Renoir."
Renoir?
Oh no.
Because the universe hated her, all her memories came back at once—Expedition. Gustave. Renoir. Verso. Paintress. Gommage. Trauma. Betrayal. Emotional damage.
Now we don’t have time to unpack all of that.
“Clea, is she finally awake?” Renoir said as he opened the door.
Maelle saw him and chose violence.
A feral-cat hissing sound echoed through the manor.
Then, a yelp.
A very dignified, aristocratic yelp.
Followed by—
“SHE’S BITING ME.”