Glass clinked against glass, a sharp, artificial sound that cut through the low hum of polite conversation. Polished marble floors reflected the glittering crystal chandeliers of the grand ballroom, nestled deep in the shadow of the South Tyrolean Alps. Ambassador Robert stood at the center of the room, his chest puffed out like a peacock displaying its feathers. For decades, he had maintained the delicate peace between Egypt and Italy, using his political charm like a scalpel to dissect rivals. Beside him stood his wife, a fragile, beautiful woman whom the locals called the kindest daisy flower of South Tyrol. She smiled, but the corners of her eyes remained tight with a quiet, lingering sadness. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration of Theia's fifteenth birthday, a grand gala thrown solely to keep up appearances. But to her father, Theia was little more than an invisible plague, an inconvenient stain on his perfect pedigree. Robert only tolerated her because his wife doted on her, her maternal affection growing stronger after his semi-retirement when she finally had time to breathe. Yona, the second-eldest sister after Orion, stood near the champagne fountain, her eyes burning holes straight through Theia's chest. She hated Theia with every fiber of her being. Scorned and psychologically abused by their father, Yona desperately sought his approval, mistakenly believing Theia was his secret favorite. Robert merely used the illusion of favoritism to keep them divided, a classic tactic of a master manipulator. Yona's knuckles turned white around her crystal flute as she marched toward her younger sister. Heels clicked aggressively against the polished stone, drawing the attention of several nearby Italian diplomats. "Where did you get that?" Yona's voice boomed, sharp and demanding, cutting through the classical music drifting from the speakers. She pointed a trembling finger at Theia's silk emerald gown, her face flushed with a mixture of rage and deep-seated desperation. "That is my dress! You stole it from my closet, you little rat!" A sudden, heavy silence settled over the immediate circle of guests as heads turned to watch the spectacle. Time seemed to slow down for Theia, a familiar, warm pressure blooming behind her temples. Her unique gift, the foresight that had manifested when she was ten, flared to life. Images flashed in her mind, showing her the next ten seconds: Yona lunging forward, grabbing her collar, and dragging them both into a humiliating physical altercation. Pulse drummed a steady rhythm in her ears as the invisible gears of time clicked backward and forward. Theia watched the ghostly, translucent projection of Yona's arm raising, her nails aiming for the delicate fabric of the collar. By shifting her weight just two inches to the left, she could rewrite this immediate future, turning Yona's physical assault into an embarrassing stumble. Armed with this future knowledge, Theia adjusted her stance, tilting her head slightly to look as small and helpless as possible. "Yona, please," Theia whispered, her voice trembling just enough to carry to the surrounding crowd. "You gave it to me last week when I told you I had nothing proper to wear. Did you forget?" "Liar!" Yona shrieked, her voice cracking as she stepped closer, her jaw clenching so hard the veins in her neck stood out. "I would never give you anything! You're a thief, and you've always been a thief!" Whispers erupted among the elite guests, their eyes darting between Yona's manic expression and Theia's tearful, innocent gaze. An elderly Italian countess shook her head, murmuring softly to her husband about Yona's complete lack of decorum. "Poor Yona," a diplomat's wife whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear. "She has been so stressed with her university applications. She must have simply forgotten." "Indeed," another guest agreed, sipping his wine. "To make such a scene over a simple dress at her sister's birthday is quite unbecoming." Yona froze, realizing the tide of public opinion had turned completely against her. Her chest heaved, her eyes darting around the room as she looked for an ally, but even Robert turned his back, ignoring her outburst to save his own face. Defeated and deeply humiliated, she spun on her heel and fled toward the gardens, her heels clicking a desperate, rapid retreat. Theia lowered her head, hiding the cold, mocking smile that played on her lips. Control was a beautiful thing, and tonight, she had woven the threads of her sister's anger into her own public disgrace. Guests soon drifted back to their conversations, the brief drama dismissed as nothing more than a misunderstanding. Robert offered a smooth, practiced apology to a nearby group of ministers, his laughter sounding like dry autumn leaves. He did not look at Theia once for the rest of the evening, treating her as if she were made of glass. That was his favorite weapon: complete, chilling erasure. But tonight, his silence did not wound her. Orion, her eldest brother, watched from the shadows of the arched doorway, a glass of dark red wine in his hand. He saw everything, yet he said nothing, his face a mask of neutral indifference. He had always turned a blind eye to the cruelty within the household, choosing his own comfort over justice. Theia caught his eye and offered a tiny, mocking nod, which he answered with a slow, deliberate sip of his wine. None of them understood that her patience was not weakness; it was a countdown. --- Morning arrived with a crisp, golden light spilling over the jagged peaks of the South Tyrolean Alps. Sunlight filtered through the sheer lace curtains of the dining room, warming the polished oak table where breakfast was set. Theia's mother sat at the head of the table, her gentle hands arranging a platter of freshly made Palatschinken. These thin, Austrian crêpes were Theia's absolute favorite, dusted with powdered sugar and filled with sweet blackberry jam. "Happy birthday, my sweet girl," her mother murmured, her voice a soft, secret lullaby as she slid a plate toward her daughter. She squeezed Theia's hand under the table, a brief gesture of love she only dared to show when Robert was absent from the room. Sweet aroma of vanilla and warm butter filled the cozy dining room, a stark contrast to the icy tension of the previous night. Birds chirped outside the tall arched windows, their songs echoing off the rugged stone mountainside. Her mother looked tired, the faint purple bruises of exhaustion painted under her eyes, yet she managed a genuine smile for her youngest daughter. She had spent the early morning hours preparing the delicate batter, ensuring each crêpe was paper-thin and perfectly golden. For a brief moment, the heavy burden of her destined future felt lighter under her mother's quiet care. Theia rolled the warm crêpe, savoring the sweet, tart flavor as the jam burst across her tongue. This would be the last peaceful meal she would have in this house, a realization that settled deep in her bones. For years, her dreams had been haunted by Thaumeya, a majestic ninth-century magical realm she was destined to rule. Every night, she walked its silver halls, feeling the pull of a throne that belonged to her by birthright. Today, on her fifteenth birthday, the boundary between her dreams and reality was finally wearing thin. Finishing the last bite, Theia wiped her mouth and stood up, kissing her mother's soft cheek. "Thank you, Mama," she whispered, holding her gaze for just a second longer than usual to memorize her face. Her mother smiled, oblivious to the storm brewing within her daughter, and waved her off with a gentle nod. Footsteps echoed softly as Theia moved up the grand staircase, past the heavy portraits of ancestors who had never looked at her with anything but disdain. She reached her bedroom, locking the heavy wooden door behind her with a solid, satisfying click. Silence descended upon the room, thick and expectant, like the air before a lightning strike. Her eyes immediately locked onto the ancient wooden cupboard standing in the corner, a relic of her mother's family. A strange, low hum vibrated through the floorboards, making the soles of her feet tingle with raw energy. From the cracks of the cupboard door, a brilliant, pulsing sapphire blue light began to bleed into the room. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird desperately trying to escape its cage. "It is time," she whispered to the empty room, the words tasting like copper and electricity. Step by step, she crossed the rug, the sapphire glow casting long, alien shadows across her bedroom walls. Her hand shook slightly as she reached for the brass handle, the metal freezing cold against her palm. The only thing Theia couldn't foresee was how exactly she entered, she only knows to enter the cupboard nothing more. She opens the door to find... an ancient handmirror?? She grips the worn-out golden handle, the small intricate designs on it long-forgotten as time wore them out to be unrecognisable. She looks at herself in the mirror surface... to find her golden-brown locks turned into plum purple waves.. her round olive-skinned face turned into a heart-shaped butter-milk-like colour and her eyes that used to glow amber when she's emotional are now icy teal-coloured doe eyes. She can't believe what she's seeing. There must be something wrong with the mirror, maybe it's a screen and it's just a glitch.. She touches the mirror and the world turns black.

Chapter 1: Not everything is as it seems