Transmigration: Reborn into darkness.

Rachel was rushed to the hospital at five in the morning, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as they wheeled her through the emergency room.

"Mom, it's not my first time having this surgery. I'll be fine," Rachel said, forcing a weak smile, though her hands trembled slightly.

Clara clasped her hands together, trying to steady her voice. "Just… try not to talk too much. You need to save your strength," she replied, worry etched across her face.

"AHH!" Rachel gasped, clutching her head in agony.

"Doctor!" Clara's heart raced as she sprinted toward the nurses' station.

Moments later, the room filled with nurses, swiftly pushing Rachel into the intensive care unit. As they wheeled her in, the doctor turned on blinding lights. Rachel shut her eyes against the glare, feeling herself slip beneath the surface of consciousness.

Clara stood at the door, anxiety spiraling as she paced, her eyes darting to each nurse who emerged.

"How is she? Is she out of danger?" Clara implored, desperation thick in her voice.

One nurse paused, glancing at her with sympathy. "Madam, I can't give you specifics right now. Just… pray," she said softly, rushing past.

"Pray? Yes. Please, baby, come back to me," Clara whispered, her hands clasped tightly in prayer, murmuring the words of St. Francis.

After three agonizing hours, the doctor emerged, his face a mask of solemnity.

Clara felt a chill envelop her. "Tell me she's okay, please," she begged, her voice trembling.

"I'm sorry, madam. We lost her," the doctor said, his voice heavy with sorrow.

Clara collapsed against the wall, a wave of despair crashing over her. "No! Rachel! You promised you'd come back! You told me not to worry!" Her cries echoed through the sterile hallway, drawing concerned glances from nurses who hurried to console her.

Above, Rachel floated, watching her mother grieve, a profound sadness enveloping her.

"It's okay, Mom. I'm sorry I couldn't make it," she whispered, reaching out, but her hand passed through Clara like a wisp of smoke.

"Right. I forgot—I'm dead," she thought, her voice echoing in the void.

"Is this what death looks like?"

Suddenly, a dark portal materialized, pulling Rachel in with overwhelming force.

"What is happening? Where are you taking me?" she screamed, panic rising.

"Is this the gates of hell?"

"Mother…"

"AHHHHH!" she cried as the portal consumed her.

---

**New World:**

After a moment of total darkness, Rachel blinked awake in a room where cobwebs hung like soggy tapestries. Water droplets glistened on the walls, mold crept up the corners, and frosty breath misted the air. The room seemed to exhale a damp sigh. She sat up, disoriented, her heart racing as she scanned the unfamiliar space.

"Where am I?" she murmured, a chill creeping down her spine.

"Is this my portion in hell?" she wondered, trembling.

The door creaked open, revealing a pale woman with flawless makeup and thick red lipstick, brandishing a whip.

"Such a lowly, disgusting creature," the woman sneered, her eyes narrowing.

"Hazel, get out and do your chores!"

"Hazel?" Rachel echoed, confusion flooding her.

"What chores?" she asked, tilting her head, her heart pounding.

With a swift crack, the whip lashed against Rachel's waist.

"Get to work!" the woman barked.

"Ah!" Rachel gasped, tears brimming in her eyes.

"I don't care whether you've lost your memory or not! Now, get moving!"

Instinctively, Rachel bolted from the room, fear propelling her forward.

"What is going on?" she gasped, stumbling out of the room to see the mansion that loomed before her, its turrets and spires reaching like skeletal fingers towards the moon. The once-majestic facade now wore a shroud of ivy and moss, as if nature sought to reclaim the structure. Towers of stone and stained glass pierced the darkness, their intricate carvings seeming to dance in the flickering candlelight.

As Hazel stepped out of the room, the creaking doors echoed through the cavernous halls. Cobwebs clung to the chandeliers, casting eerie silhouettes on the walls. The air reeked of decay and forgotten memories.

A grand staircase curved upward, its banister adorned with gargoyles that appeared to watch every move. Portraits of forgotten ancestors hung in the halls, their eyes seeming to follow her with cold, dead gazes.

Every step echoed through the stillness, as if the mansion itself held its breath in anticipation. Shadows danced upon the walls, conjuring whispers of forgotten secrets and ancient mysteries.

Maids worked diligently, not sparing a glance; all the windows were barred.

"Why is it so dark?" she muttered, instinctively trying to open a window. As sunlight streamed in, the woman screamed in pain.

"Ahhh! Lock that window, you slave!"

"Slave?" Rachel whispered, hastily obeying, glancing back at the woman, who recoiled, her skin blistering from the sunlight.

"You'd better not let me return to find you haven't started your chores," she warned before storming away.

Rachel's mind raced. "Am I dreaming? Sunlight. Red. Darkness. Is she a vampire?" She chuckled nervously, disbelief mingling with fear.

"Vampires? You've read too many books, Rachel," she chastised herself, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a window.

"Huh? That's not my face!" she gasped, rushing to a nearby pail of water.

"Where's my face?" Rachel cried, touching the delicate features before her—pale skin, hazel eyes.

"When did I get hazel eyes? Is this a mask?" she wondered, tugging at her skin. "Ow! It hurts."

Her unfamiliar appearance left her reeling. "Is this how they treat me? No skincare, no good food?"

"Psst."

Startled, Rachel turned to see a girl around her age with long, wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes, beckoning her closer.

"Hazel, what's wrong? You're acting strange," the girl said, frowning.

"Hell yeah, I'm a completely different person!" Rachel thought but held her tongue, wary of the girl's intentions.

"Here, take your bucket and scrub the floor before Madam Nora returns," the girl instructed.

"Madam Nora?" Rachel asked, bewildered.

The girl's expression shifted to concern. "Did you lose your memory?"

"Did I lose my memory? What's happening?" Rachel thought, gripping the bucket tightly. She took a few steps before turning. "Please, what's your name?"

"Amber," the girl replied.

"Why do I feel like something is off about her?" Amber thought as she watched Hazel. "It's Hazel, she's standing before me!" she thought pushing away her doubt.

Rachel hurried to scrub the floor, her hands moving mechanically as she struggled to comprehend her situation. After what felt like an eternity, she finished her chores and sought out Amber in the kitchen.

"Hey, Amber, can you spare a moment?" Rachel called.

"Not now, Hazel. I'm busy," Amber replied, scrubbing a pot.

"I'll help you," Rachel offered, eager for conversation.

Amber paused, her brow furrowing in thought. "Fine."

Once the dishes were done, Amber led Rachel to a secluded corner.

"What do you want to know?" she asked, skepticism clear in her voice.

Rachel hesitated, then spoke softly. "I woke up not feeling well. I don't remember who I am." She hoped Amber would believe her.

Amber raised an eyebrow. "If you want to know about your past, just ask."

Rachel braced herself as Amber continued. "Your mother, Rosa, fell in love with a vampire and moved to Astera to give birth to you. She died during childbirth because she wasn't a vampire. You grew up humiliated and mistreated because you're half-blood. Now, you're a slave to Madam Nora, who despises our kind. Some of us are blood slaves; others… well, they don't survive. We're just thankful to be alive."

Amber turned to leave, leaving Rachel in stunned silence. "So I'm a half-blood vampire, raised in a world that despises me, and I live in Astera, working for a master who treats me like this?"

The weight of her reality settled heavily. "Oh, Rach… I mean Hazel, buckle up. This new life is going to be a wild ride," she muttered to herself, steeling herself for what lay ahead.