When morning finally arrived, a beautifull young woman eyes fluttered open to a warmth that kissed her cheek and danced across her eyelids. For a moment, she lay still, unsure whether she had woken from a dream—or into one.
Above her, light poured through a magnificent circular window carved into the ceiling, framed by the high curve of timber arches. Trees swayed gently beyond the glass, their leaves whispering in the golden morning. She blinked again, slower this time, as the unfamiliar ceiling gave way to the rest of the room.
Wood. Books. Light. Silence.
She sat up slowly, her hands sinking into a thick, soft blanket. The bed beneath her was sturdy, warm, and smelled faintly of pine and something earthy—like cedarwood and pages long since turned. She turned her head, and her breath caught in her throat.
Shelves towered around her like guardians, overflowing with books of every size and age, their spines lined like soldiers, their secrets held tight in bound silence. There were statues tucked in corners, masks hung from beams, and potted plants that curled toward the windows with quiet life.
The rug beneath the bed looked ancient, handwoven, and sun-touched, and beyond it—sunlight fell in golden sheets through tall windows that revealed a forest so green, so vivid, it almost didn't seem real.
She swung her legs over the bed, bare feet meeting warm wooden floorboards. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
"Where… am I?"
Her fingers brushed the edge of a nearby book on the nightstand—Life after Death. Everything here felt timeless, untouched by noise or haste.
She stood, half-afraid to disturb the serenity, half-expecting it to vanish like a mirage. And yet the air was solid around her. Real. Gentle.
Then she smiled faintly, wonder blooming in her chest like sunlight through glass.
"It's like I woke up inside a fantasy story as everything felt so magical."
I know I'm already dead, but why does it feel like the world is playing with me? Is this punishment for all the people I killed? But they were all heartless criminals—they deserved it. Still, maybe this isn't punishment. If it is… then what a beautiful kind of punishment.
It feels like I'm in heaven. And nothing makes my eyes sparkle more than the sight of countless books.
Besides taking down the most wanted criminals, I've always had one more passion: reading. I could spend an entire day tucked in a corner with a book, not caring about anything else in the world.
Aether stared in awe at the endless shelves, afraid to even blink for fear that everything might vanish. Such a breathtaking sight—when would she start reading them all? Maybe she could take a peek, right? Surely the owner wouldn't mind… right?
Aether walked slowly, her steps light against the creaking warmth of the wooden floor. Sunlight streamed through the vast circular skylight above her, spilling over her shoulders like liquid gold. The air was quiet—reverent, almost—as if the room itself was holding its breath.
She moved toward the far end of the room, where a nature-inspired sofa set sat beneath the soft embrace of morning light. The furniture looked as though it had grown from the forest itself—smooth, twisting wood that curved like vines, its cushions dressed in earthy tones, their patterns mimicking the gentle shapes of leaves and bark.
On either side of her, the walls rose high—vanishing behind towering bookshelves that seemed to scrape the edges of the ceiling. Rows upon rows of books lined every corner, their spines worn and wise. In each shadowed crevice, knowledge slept. A tall ladder leaned against the far shelf, inviting anyone bold—or curious enough—to climb toward the highest secrets.
Aether paused near the sofa, her fingertips grazing the carved wood of the armrest. It was cool, like stone smoothed by river water. Her eyes wandered across the shelves, pausing now and then on a familiar title, a memory, a thought.
She breathed in deeply—the scent of paper, pine, and sunlight—and allowed herself a rare, quiet moment.
"It's peaceful here," she thought. "Too peaceful for someone like me."
But still, she stayed.
There was something sacred about this space. Not loud, not grand—just enduring. And for a woman shaped by war and silence, that was enough.
She closed her eyes, savoring the silence of the room she had woken up in that morning. It was unfamiliar, yet it gave her a feeling that she would rather stay here than face whatever truth awaited her outside this strange room.
The fresh scent of the place added to the serenity—it felt refreshing. And if your mind was heavy with thoughts, all you had to do was close your eyes, feel the natural cool breeze brought by the surrounding plants, and breathe in the comforting scent of books patiently waiting to be opened.
"Heaven… this is heaven," she murmured calmly, eyes still closed, letting herself fully embrace the peacefulness around her.
But just as she was enjoying the calmness of her surroundings, nature called. Annoyed, she got up and searched for the bathroom. She wasn't disappointed—it didn't take long to find.
Aether reached for the door at the far side of the room, fingers brushing the cool bronze handle shaped like curling vines. With a quiet creak, the door opened—and for a moment, she simply stood there, breath caught in her throat.
The room before her wasn't just a bathroom.
It was a hidden grove.
Lush green vines curled around the edges of stone walls, as if the forest itself had followed her inside. The floor was smooth slate, dappled with faint traces of moss and light that shimmered not from any candle or lamp, but from an ethereal glow that hung in the air like dust kissed by moonlight. Tiny lights hovered gently, like suspended fireflies—glimmering, slow, and impossibly silent.
In the center, a wide basin carved from a single piece of luminous crystal sat atop a pedestal of twisted roots. Water flowed into it from a spout hidden among a cluster of flowers on the wall, its stream soft and endless, like a mountain spring. The sound echoed faintly, like whispers in a temple.
But it was the mirror that truly held her gaze.
Mounted above the basin, it was enormous—its frame woven from branches and blooming with tiny, ever-living flowers that pulsed faintly with light. The glass itself shimmered, not quite solid, as if it reflected not just her face but something deeper—something she had long hidden from the world.
Aether stepped inside, her hand brushing against the moss-lined wall, soft and living beneath her fingers. The air smelled of rain and wildflowers, tinged with magic she couldn't name. For someone forged in cold silence and steel, this place felt impossibly alive.
She stared at her reflection for a moment longer, the faint flicker of those floating lights casting strange glows across her face. She didn't move, didn't speak. The forest around her breathed—timeless, still, and waiting.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
But the room only answered with quiet water and the hum of unseen life.
And somehow, that was more than enough.
And when she finally focused on her reflection in the mirror, that's when it hit her. She held her face with both hands.
"Who the fuck is this? This isn't my face! Who the hell is this? Damn it!" she cursed, unable to tear her gaze away from the mirror. Just a moment ago, nature had called and she'd been in awe of the bathroom she stumbled into—now, all that wonder had turned into pure horror.
"Ouch, fuck!" she exclaimed after slapping herself as hard as she could, hoping it was just a dream. But no. The stinging pain that followed was proof enough. Her cheek was red and throbbing from the slap, the imprint of her palm clearly visible. She cursed again in her head.
Even her bowels seemed to retreat in fear as she smacked her forehead and shouted,
"What the fuckkk!???"