Free Web NovelPavela's palm pressed against that twisted door.
She applied pressure.
Pushing forward.
The moment the door was ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) pushed open, there was no sound of heavy friction, nor any howling wind.
There was nothing.
Only a powerful sense of weightlessness, as if her stomach were being squeezed out of her throat.
She felt as though she hadn't walked into the tower.
But rather, she had "fallen" in.
It was as if she had crossed vast stretches of time and space, passing through a long, endless, freezing conduit.
When the dizziness finally vanished and her feet touched solid ground again, Pavela snapped her eyes open.
Then, she froze.
Before her eyes, there were no crumbling stones, no deafening thunder, and no silent, screaming faces of agony. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
She was standing in a room.
A room that was absurdly large, breathtakingly luxurious, and clearly belonged to someone of high nobility.
The ceiling was high.
At least five meters.
Exquisite frescoes were painted on the domed ceiling, depicting mythological scenes she couldn't quite grasp: winged angels, burning cities, and new sprouts rising from ruins.
The edges of the frescoes were inlaid with intricate gold patterns, shimmering under an unseen light source.
The walls were pale blue.
The color of a winter morning sky.
Several massive oil paintings hung on the walls, their frames made of dark walnut and carved with delicate vine patterns.
The floor was dark oak parquet.
Every plank was polished to a mirror-like shine.
A massive carpet lay upon it, with a deep red base and golden borders, an unfamiliar crest embroidered in its center.
On one side of the room stood a massive four-poster bed.
The bedposts were white marble, carved into the shape of intertwining vines.
The bed curtains were translucent white gauze, hanging softly and swaying gently in a light breeze.
On the other side was a row of floor-to-ceiling windows.
Outside the windows was a void of pure white.
There was nothing.
Only whiteness.
This was a bedroom.
A palace bedroom that perfectly replicated some ancient royal style.
Pavela slowly turned her head.
Directly in front of her stood a massive full-length mirror, inlaid with dark gold vine patterns.
She looked into the mirror.
The person in the mirror looked back at her.
It was herself.
But it was definitely not her current self.
The her in the mirror had grown up.
She appeared to be a young woman of about nineteen, around the same age as Eleanor.
Her once thin shoulders had broadened, presenting an extremely elegant and upright silhouette.
Her silver hair, which was usually a bit messy and short, now reached her waist like flowing moonlight.
That long silver hair was partially pinned up loosely with several dark gold hairpins, while the rest cascaded like a waterfall over a snowy-white fox fur collar, the strands shimmering with a faint silver light as if dusted with frost.
What she found even more wondrous was this face.
The slight youthful greenness had faded, and her features had fully matured.
Yet time had not robbed her of that deceptive "innocence"; if anything, it had intensified.
The line of her jaw remained soft, and beneath her small, straight nose, her lip color was still pale.
Those large, pale grey-blue eyes still resembled a frozen lake on a winter morning, and the slight upward tilt at the corners of her eyes still carried that natural, innocent sense of purity.
If she didn't speak or make any expression,
the her in the mirror looked exactly like a pure princess who had been carefully raised in a greenhouse since childhood, afraid to even speak loudly.
And on her body was a complex and magnificent court dress, yet it was so heavy it felt like an instrument of torture. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
The primary colors were pure snowy white and deep dark gold.
The heavy silk clung tightly to her matured body, perfectly outlining her slender yet well-proportioned waist and hips.
The edge of the high collar was inlaid with a ring of soft, snowy-white polar fox fur, making her skin appear even paler than the snow.
The skirt cascaded down in layers, like an inverted, blooming white rose.
The corset was tightened extremely well.
So tight that Pavela felt her ribs aching slightly, and she had to carefully control the depth of her breaths.
She lowered her head and raised her hands.
Her hands were encased in a pair of pure white silk gloves.
The gloves extended above her elbows, fitting the lines of her arms snugly.
On the back of the hands, an intricate emblem was embroidered with extremely fine dark gold silk thread.
A double-headed eagle with spreading wings, treading upon a broken sword.
Pavela moved her fingers.
The tall, magnificent woman in the mirror with the deceptively innocent face also moved her fingers.
The friction of the silk made an extremely faint rustling sound.
This outfit was a bit heavy.
Or rather, quite heavy.
It weighed at least a dozen pounds.
It severely hindered her weapon-draw speed, not to mention performing tactical rolls.
Yet strangely, she didn't feel any sense of dissonance wearing these clothes.
In fact, she felt an extremely strong, almost instinctive familiarity with this older version of herself and this room.
It was as if...
she had stood before the mirror like this countless times, wearing these clothes, with this face, while a group of faceless maids adjusted her hemline.
"What on earth is this place..."
She murmured to herself.
"Yeah, I'd really like to know what on earth this place is too."
A muffled voice came from behind her.
Pavela turned around.
And then.
"Pfft—"
She couldn't help it.
She burst out laughing.
The Gatekeeper was standing behind her.
No, rather, it was floating behind her.
But at this moment, its form had undergone a subtle change.
That entity of the void, constantly collapsing and restructuring, was now forcefully stuffed into a valet's uniform.
A black tailcoat.
A white shirt.
A black bowtie.
And a pair of polished black leather shoes.
But the problem was, the Gatekeeper had no fixed form.
Its body was a mass of void flames that constantly burned, collapsed, and restructured.
So, with that valet's uniform on, it looked as if someone had draped clothes over a burning bonfire.
The hem of the tailcoat was constantly being scorched, only to grow back again.
The shirt's collar kept collapsing, revealing the burning void within.
The bowtie hung askew at the "neck," threatening to fall off at any moment.
And those leather shoes were currently hovering about ten centimeters above the floor, since the Gatekeeper had no feet at all.
"Hahahaha—"
Pavela clutched her stomach, doubling over with laughter.
"Look at you—"
"Hahahahaha—"
"What... what is this look?"
The edges of the Gatekeeper's flames flickered violently.
As if expressing some sort of dissatisfaction.
"...Are you done laughing?"
Its voice was muffled.
"It's not like I chose this."
"It just automatically became like this once I entered this door."
"I didn't want to wear this either."
"But—hahaha—"
Pavela was laughing so hard she was almost in tears.
"But your bowtie—hahaha—"
"It's about to fall off—hahahaha—"
The Gatekeeper glanced down at its bowtie.
That black bowtie had indeed tilted to an impossible angle, hanging onto the neck by only a final scrap of fabric.
It reached out with a hand made of void fire, attempting to straighten the bowtie.
But as soon as its hand touched the bowtie, the tie went "poof" and burst into flames.
Then it turned to ash.
Then it grew back again.
Still crooked.
"Dammit!"
