CHAPTER 1

The biting cold of the winter morning made him curl up even tighter beneath the sheets. Still drowsy, he tried to fall back asleep, but something caught his attention. With heavy eyes, he focused on the large window in front of him.

“Is it snowing?”

Suddenly, his eyelids flew open, and with a jolt, he leapt toward the window.

—Why is it snowing in the middle of August?

With his hands pressed against the icy glass, the young man—around 17 or 18 years old—stared in astonishment at the scene before him. A vast garden, blanketed by a thick layer of snow, and beyond it, a forest whose trees stood tall and majestic under the weight of winter.

The morning chill seeped through every corner of the house as he stood there, mouth agape at the unexpected snowfall. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bright, white landscape, as if pulled from a fairytale. Snowflakes drifted slowly, dancing through the air before settling gently on the ground, adding another layer to the already thick blanket of snow.

His fascination turned to unease as a troubling thought crossed his mind.

“Where am I?”

He looked around, and panic began to set in. This wasn’t his room. Desperate, he tried to remember how he’d gotten there, but his mind was clouded—full of confusion and fear.

Still in his pajamas, he opened the window and extended a hand outside, hoping maybe it was all just a dream. But as the ice bit into his skin, reality struck him hard. He looked up at the sky, searching for answers, but all he saw was an endless gray expanse, from which snow continued to fall without pause.

He turned and scanned the room from the balcony. What met his eyes wasn’t the small, tidy bedroom he was used to, but a luxurious chamber from another era. In the center, a massive canopy bed, surrounded by heavy curtains embroidered in gold. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the finely carved wooden furniture was upholstered in velvet. The walls were adorned with golden moldings and intricate details, while a white rug with golden floral patterns covered the floor.

The soft lighting and abundance of golden details created an opulent, majestic atmosphere.

Hypnotized by the room’s grandeur, he stepped inside slowly, taking in every beautiful detail, until his gaze landed on a large full-length mirror standing in a far corner.

In the mirror, a tall and slender figure was reflected, dressed in a white nightgown. Their skin was pale, their long black hair straight as night, and their eyes… eyes so light blue they looked like crystal-clear water. Their appearance was so androgynous that it was difficult to tell if they were male or female.

A shiver ran down his spine. He stepped back, and the reflection mimicked him. He raised a hand and watched in horror as the stranger in the mirror did the same.

The air grew heavy. His breathing quickened. He rushed toward the mirror and fell to his knees in front of it, running his fingers over the skin of his face, as if touching it could confirm he was still himself. But… was he?

That reflection stared back at him with the same disbelief. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the softness of the dark strands slipping through his fingers. His eyes, though familiar, felt foreign. As if they belonged to someone else.

He jerked away from the mirror, stumbling back until his spine met the cold wall. His mind buzzed with unanswered questions.

A creak shattered the silence. He whipped his head around. The large wooden door, which had remained closed until that moment, was now ajar. Beyond the threshold stretched a long, dimly lit hallway. Golden chandeliers cast flickering shadows on the walls, and old portraits seemed to watch him with unsettling intensity.

He swallowed hard. Something inside him told him to stay in the room. But curiosity, mingled with fear, pushed him forward.

With cautious steps, he crossed the doorway.

The hallway stretched out in sepulchral silence, permeated with the faint scent of melted wax. His bare feet felt the chill of the marble floor—an icy contact that anchored him to reality.

At a junction, a grand marble staircase appeared, adorned with a majestic red carpet. Below, a vast hall extended to an enormous door that seemed to be the exit.

Urgency seized him, and without a second thought, he rushed toward the door, not caring who might hear him. With all his strength, he pulled the handle, desperate to open it. The freezing air hit him full-on as the door swung wide open. But he didn’t stop. He ran out—without a coat, without shoes—ignoring the cold that pierced to the bone.

Suddenly, behind him, a female voice shattered the morning stillness.

—Young Cleoh! Young Cleoh, please, stop!

He turned for just a moment. A young woman in a maid’s uniform was running after him, holding a blanket in her hands.

“Cleoh?” he thought, his heart pounding wildly.

But he didn’t stop. Those words only fueled his desperation. He didn’t know who this Cleoh person was or why they were calling him that—and he had no intention of finding out.

He ran without stopping, the icy wind slicing his face, his lungs burning with each breath. The path to the exit seemed endless; he’d come far, but there was still a long way to go. Finally, his body gave out. His legs grew heavy, his vision blurred, and, with no strength left to take another step, he collapsed face-first into the snow, losing consciousness instantly.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***