2 I'm a Baby???!!

My body is still burning like before; only the gunshot wounds cease to throb. Maybe I'm dead. But I thought pain was only a luxury for the living. Then again, no one really knows what a dead person feels.

My eyes are scalding orbs of lava, so I dismiss the thought of opening them. To check whether I'm alive or not, I raise my leg to move where the wound was before, checking for pain. My leg doesn't move a muscle. It's as if someone is stifling my legs in a bundle.

The burning sensation in my eyes slowly dissipates, and I gradually open my eyes, readjusting to the light. There's a blurry face far above my head, plastered with blurs of the warmest chocolate milk. I blink again. Must be my mind playing tricks on me.

A giant eye is staring at me; it's eyelashes long and silky as if it's been regularly combed. The eye is an emerald green merged with golden caramelised swirls that seem to see right through me like I was transparent sea glass. The eye moves further back until I realised the eye had a face. A human face.

The eye was so ethereal and outer-worldly, I hadn't even considered the chance it was a human eye. The face evidently belongs to a woman, but her features suggest slight traces of masculinity. Like her strong jawline.

I open my mouth to talk, but only a shrill cry escapes. My mouth feels empty, empty of the teeth that I had formerly tended and whitened all in preparation of entering society as the "perfect young lady."

"She doesn't take after her mother," an unknown woman's voice says. Are they talking about me?

"Yes, maybe it's for the best. You know the emperor's temperament." The emerald-eye woman looks at me pityingly. Emperor? What emperor? Emperors and empires no longer exist in modern-day-society.

I continue staring at them, blinking my eyes in the hope of regaining my 20/20 vision. I lift my hand to gain their attention, but it feels shorter...and thinner? I pat my cheeks to confirm my suspicions. Yep, they're fat and chubby. Like a baby's. Or more precisely, I've turned into a baby.

I guess this is what they call being reincarnated? But I thought your memories were lost to the abyss after your soul switched bodies? And who am I? Is the emperor my father? These questions invade my thoughts like an enemy battalion.

"Her eyes are quite stunning, like the emperor's," the unknown woman interrupts my thoughts.

"Ahh yes. Those amethyst eyes are the symbol of her noble birth and pride of the empire," the emerald-eyed woman replies. I stare at her quizzically with my doe eyes, pondering in my thoughts once again.

From what I can deduce, I'm a daughter of the emperor. A real living emperor! And that makes me a princess. A member of the elite society like I was before. And whilst being a princess in name sounds like a girl's childhood dream, the dramas I watched in my previous life makes me sceptical of this title. It's a title without any real power. If the emperor wished, I would be murdered on the spot.

Sometimes princess would be sold off to foreign nations as part of peace treaties or even murdered by those they call their "family." Just thinking about my doomed fate weighs heavily on my now-stubby shoulders.

"It's too bad she's born in this war-stricken time. It's unlikely she would make it to adulthood," the emerald-eyed lady muses with an edge of melancholy. Her statement only verifies my fears.

"You're right. She's completely at the mercy of that tyrant who would do anything to gain more power," the other woman sighs and tenderly caresses the top of my head as if to comfort me. Like a mother would.

Come to think of it, it's strange they haven't made any mention of my mother yet. Perhaps she's only a lowly maid or a mere mistress. Not worthy of being mentioned in their eyes, like a pathetic weed in a field of luscious roses.

I sincerely hope that my mother is of high status, a countess or a maybe even a duchess. She would never survive in the scheming eyes of those vying for the emperor's favour without an influential background. It would also make surviving as her daughter easier too, without the remarks of my illegitimate birth like in my previous death.

"Hush, Robertha. The walls have ears. It's treasonous to badmouth the emperor, and you remember what happened to poor little Maria." The emerald-eyed woman swiftly scans the ornately decorated room for any peering eyes as if she's a spy infiltrating enemy territory.

Robertha, the other woman clearly knows about Maria's story. She clamps her hands over her mouth, realising the magnitude of her words. Her face loses their liveliness and is substituted for a ghost-white complexion. Her forehead is a waterfall, trickling sweat down her cheeks and onto the polished marble floors.

From my research, I did on royalty in my previous life, I know that treason is a capital crime. Severe enough for their decapitated heads to adorn the streets like Christmas lights, and their eyes pecked out by the passing crows to serve as a warning for prospective offenders of the law.

"Do stop sweating, Robertha. It's been a couple of hours since the empress fainted." The emerald-eyed woman takes out an embroidered handkerchief and starts dabbing away at Robertha's forehead like a mother hen chiding its chicks.

The handkerchief is parchment white with intricately patterned lace hugging the edges like a spider to web. On closer inspection, the lace seems to be remarkably well crafted too, with a fine netting, uncommon in mass made lace. On the bottom right corner, an elegant lilac S is stitched, only visible when the light hit it at a certain angle. The emerald-eyed woman is obviously of high status.

"You're right. We should check on Her Majesty and show her the princess," Robertha murmurs as she scoops me up from the cot and rocks me back and forth in her warm and cozy arms. Her voice is void of the fear that was evident on her face before.

"Come along," the emerald-eyed lady says with a tinge of impatience, "the empress must be anxious to see her child."

The guards outside in the hallway bow down as when they recognise Robertha and the emerald-eyed lady walking towards them. They are both armed with swords and a hegemonic crest is sewn on the left side of their uniforms, where their hearts lay. The crest depicts a majestic phoenix rising from the ashes, with an emperor's crown floating above its head. It's extraordinarily regal with an imposing aura seeping through the phoenix's eyes. Too bad I can't experience the extent of its regality due to bad vision. Even so, it's fairly obvious that the guards were sent by the emperor.

Along the way to the empress's quarters, many more people bow down, just like guards. It feels oddly unnerving, to stand above everyone else. Even I wasn't offered this treatment in my previous life as a scion of a major business, that dominated most of Asia and the entirety of Europe. Then again, I was seen as a thorn in the sides of many since I was an illegitimate child.

Robertha pauses at a large door with two long, sandalwood handles in the centre, very common in the ancient times. It's quite intriguing to look at as the doors I'm used to are single-handled and only required one hand to open. The two handles are quite impractical despite its ornamental value. What if you had coffee in one hand? How would you open the door?

Then again, this is royalty. They must have thousands of servants waiting upon them, doing practically everything for them. But I do have to admit; the door is a work of art. With the polished wood and the gold framing the edges, it practically screams wealth.

The green-eyed lady starts knocking on the door. Silence.

Several seconds later, a maid hastily opens the door and bows to the two ladies. She's wearing a simple lime-green dress that seems to flow onto the floor like a waterfall. She has two grass-green earrings paired with a gold, paper-thin pendant. Her jewellery seems to be quite pricey, with the earrings exuding bucket-loads of lustre. Actually, she's too rich to be a maid. Perhaps a lady in waiting.

"I'm afraid Her Imperial Majesty is still sleeping, so do leave her alone," the lady in waiting says in a condescending manner. I can see that she is about to dismiss us, but she sees me in Roberthera's arms. Her face loses ten years of youth, and I can see the realisation dawning upon her. I've seen this expression far too many times, and so have the two women. They exchange looks and sigh in unison.

"I apologise for not recognising you. Please, do come in Lady Roberthera and Lady Shirley. I will escort you to the couch." The lady in waiting sure turned her attitude around. She probably thought she could bully everyone around just because of her slightly elevated status.

We are escorted into the empress's quarters, or more precisely the room in front of it. It's more simple than I imagined, but it definitely belongs to an empress. This mother of mine must be quite humble. She could've had gold everywhere, but she seems to focus on practicality. Even the table is made of cedar with several engravings in the wood and a plain white tablecloth over it. The lady in waiting hurriedly serves the tea to the two women, obviously seeking their favour.

"Esme, why didn't you wake me up when we have guests?" A tranquil and soft voice slithers into my ear.