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You've died.
You can't quite remember how it happened, you remember screaming and the crunching noise of metal on metal. You remember feeling pain and scared for only a split second. The glitter of crushed glass beneath your collapsing body. And then... Then what?
<span class="mu-i">Then nothing.</span>
You die and then you wake up.
Cold silk. The soft drip of rain drops against large windows. The muffled, chaotic heartbeat of a grand estate in full movement, like a buzzing hive. People laughing all around you, you're surrounded by a crowd of men and women dressed in elegant clothes; talking to you, smiling to you, vying for your attention.
You flinch, and everything is wrong: the portrait on the wall, the candlelight, your dress... You know these details. You've seen them before... not in life, but in fiction.
So shocked, in fact, that you've dropped the glass of wine you'd been holding mere seconds before, and it breaks on impact, splashing the wide, long skirt of your dress with red like a blood stain. Everyone's attention is on you. And a handsome man with dark hair and dressed in an old-fashioned military uniform approaches, handkerchief in hand.
He talks, but your head's roaring, and can't really focus on what he says. You're panicking, you need to get out.
He tries to get you to stay still, and you pull away, choking, suffocating. You need to get out. You need to escape. Panic's got it's ice-cold grip around your throat, around your heart and you manage to pull away, but whoever this man is he seems to understand what's happening and instead of forcing you to stay he herds you out into a balcony overseeing a beautiful rose garden that surrounds the manor you're in.
There's no denying it anymore. You're in <span class="mu-s">Crimson Grace of the Rose Bride</span> a game you played back in... Back in the <span class="mu-i">before</span>.
