As she woke up at the scent of rose and silk sheets covered her body, This wasn’t her room. This wasn’t her world. Her trembling hands found the mirror on the bedside table, and her heart stopped. This wasn't her body or face. The face staring back was hers—but not quite. Ruby lips, sharp cheekbones, and an air of haughty perfection belonged to her, the villainess of her novel “I’m... Lady Seraphina Vandemir.” “Servant: good morning my lady“ as her servant enters her room
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