Seraphine POV —
Okay, okay—yes, I could feel every knight's eyeballs screaming in silent judgment ever since I got into this carriage.
And yes, I know this body was one deep inhale away from ripping the seams of this medieval waist trainer nightmare, but what do you want me to do? Respawn thinner? Please, if character customization were an option, I'd have clicked hourglass + thigh gap + 20% charm buff before entering this world.
But let's be real. Sir Alex Thighs-of-the-Gods is walking fan service.
Like… why pretend otherwise? I mean—have you seen him?!
Broad shoulders? Check.
Sharp jawline? Break-glass-with-that-sharp.
Booty that looks hand-crafted by angels? Certified.
So yes, I was staring. Yes, I was admiring. And yes, I did not blink enough, apparently.
But excuse me, I am a woman with eyes and no romance achievements unlocked, and if fate drops a live, smoldering knight right in front of my retina lenses, I'm taking screenshots.
******
Meanwhile, in the spiritual backseat, the former nightmare-factory boss, the shadow wraith leader, whom I now lovingly call: ✨Chubby✨
Why? Because he was round, floating, pitch-black, and adorably squishy looking.
A gothic marshmallow.
A cursed plushie. A "boo but make it cute."
And HE—of the once-feared dark underworld—had the AUDACITY to hover beside me like a dramatic auntie and say: "Human girl, you are embarrassingly inexperienced in matters of romantic pursuit. Your approach is unrefined."
UM. I am literally reincarnated and still adjusting to a fantasy-plus-size reality,
and now I'm getting dating advice from a former soul-munching fog balloon?!
He even tsk-tsk'd me.
A spectral being.
Tsked. At me.
So naturally, I hissed back: "Chubby, please go haunt a tree. Or a squirrel. Or something. I'm busy thirst-appreciating."
And what did he sass?
"Your technique is so primitive, I fear even goblins would reject you."
Sir. That was personal. I almost threw my shoe.
So when I yawned and told him politely (not really): "Shoo, fog cupcake. I'm having a moment."
He actually dispersed like emotional vape smoke and left me alone with my knight-shaped mental fanfiction.
Because Alex is hot! No arguments there.
And a few boring hours later…while Coffi was sleeping, the carriage stop for a rest.
Look—maybe I am heavy-breathing in this body. Maybe the carriage hates me. Maybe my tunic seams are writing farewell letters. But I am alive, in another world, and finally near my fictional crush archetype.
If this is fate? I accept. If this is a side quest? I'll flirt until I earn EXP. And if I die because a shadow wraith got petty? At least bury me facing Alex.
So there I was, whisper-arguing with Chubby the Wraith like I wasn't one sneeze away from popping the carriage window off its hinges.
Me: "Listen here, Chubby, some of us didn't get a romance tutorial, okay? Stop judging my methods—"
Chubby: "Your methods are nonexistent."
Me: "SO IS YOUR BODY, YET HERE YOU ARE!"
Cue the door opening.
Knight Alex, looking all stoic and angel-sculpted, pauses in the doorway like he just witnessed the birth of a new mental illness. He raises a brow, slow and suspicious, like he's not sure if he should draw his sword or call a priest. "My Lady… who are you speaking to?"
My soul left the group chat.
Brain: Lie.
Heart: Flirt.
Mouth: Disaster.
"Uh… my… invisible friend."
I smiled.
He did not smile. "Are you… well?"
Excuse you, sir, I am thriving. Thriving with supernatural gossip and accidental sexy knight exposure. But I just cleared my throat, waved my hand, and said:
"Perfectly sane. Anyway! Did you need something, Sir Alex Chest-and-Jawline… I mean Alex?"
He blinked four times. Then just said, "We disembark soon."
And walked away like a man reconsidering his career path.
Chubby reappeared behind me whispering like a smug little ghost gremlin: "Smooth."
I hate him, Your Honor.
******
As we approached the mine entrance, I inhaled dramatically—
not on purpose, my corset just demanded oxygen rent.
I slapped my cheeks (gently, okay?) and whispered:
"Seraphine, you are strong. Maybe not on the outside, because stairs are currently your worst enemy, but mentally? You're a beast."
"You defeated a dark statue. Accidentally, yes, but WIN IS WIN."
"You can face a mine, shadows, possibly demons, and maybe Alex's disappointed eyebrow."
"You are a legend… or at least a meme."
And I ended my motivational speech with a proud stance.
The stance lasted 2.6 seconds before my tunic almost ripped, so I went back to breathing small.
Apparently, Chubby and his wraith minions have been observing.
Not haunting. Not plotting. Shipping.
Like fanfiction-writing, pillow-screaming fangirls.
They circled me whispering like goth cheerleaders: "Seraphine x Sir Alex — forbidden love trope!"
"Opposites attract! Tall knight, soft princess!"
"Angsty stoic protector + chubby sunshine chaos!"
One even squealed in ghost static:
"Enemies to lovers arc UNLOCKED!"
I tried to shut them down. "NO. There is no romance. He thinks I need an exorcism."
Chubby giggled like evil helium: "Yes, yes, psychological-horror-meets-romcom! Delicious plot tension!"
I swear, even Death would roll his eyes.
*****
ALEX POV
By the time the carriage finally screeched to a stop in front of the mine, the sun was already bleeding into the horizon like it, too, didn't want to be here. My men were exhausted, on full alert, and whispering prayers in three different pantheons.
And honestly?
Same.
These mines were laced with dark magic so thick that even the air felt possessed. I was already preparing the formation, mentally scanning escape routes, calculating mana expenditure, the usual responsible-adult warrior stuff—
But then the carriage door blew open like someone kicked it from the inside with diva authority.
Out stepped Lady Seraphine.
And when I say stepped, I don't mean cautiously, fearfully, or with a single neuron of self-preservation.
No.
She came out like she was grand-entering her own coronation, hair bouncing, chin high, expression saying: I am the plot twist and I know it.
Her maid and two bodyguards followed behind her like it was Monday errands and not the literal doorway to magical damnation. No trembling hands, no hesitation, no tiny "oh dear" gasp — nothing. Just… casual apocalypse energy.
I was still on my horse, debating if I should order everyone to fall back or just start digging our graves early, when I saw her crouch near the entrance and pick up… something.
Something shiny. Something wrong. Something I could FEEL even from where I sat.
She dusted it off.
WITH HER BARE HAND.