Chapter 2 — Disturbing a Sleeping Star

Chapter 2 — Disturbing a Sleeping Star

The knock on the Duke’s office door was urgent—rapid and unrestrained.

"Your Grace! Lady Stella... she’s awake!"

Duke Rivera didn't answer. He shot out of his chair, the unfinished letter on his desk fluttering as he rushed out. His breath caught in his throat.

She’s awake? She’s finally awake?

His feet hit the stairs harder than he intended, fast enough to echo through the halls. Servants stumbled out of his way, startled.

At the same time—

"What?! Say that again!"

Duchess Rivera’s teacup slipped from her fingers and shattered as she stood so quickly the tablecloth jerked beneath her. She grabbed the maid by both shoulders.

"Stella’s awake? Are you certain?! Did she speak? Is she breathing normally?"

The maid could only nod frantically. The Duchess didn’t wait for more. She gathered her skirt and ran, heart pounding, her hands already trembling.

They met outside Stella’s door.

They didn’t speak. They just went in.

---

The room was filled with nervous energy. Maids lingered near the corners, trying to peek without seeming disrespectful. The senior butler stood near the doctor, arms folded behind his back, uncertain.

And there, in the middle of it all, lay Stella—under a thick blanket, head to toe, unmoving.

"Stella?" the Duke called gently, approaching the bed.

"Sweetheart? It's Papa. Can you hear me?"

"Darling, it’s Mama," the Duchess added, kneeling down beside the bed, her voice cracking with hope. "Are you alright? Do you feel pain anywhere?"

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No answer.

Only a slow, lazy groan from under the covers.

"...So loud... seriously, was someone giving out free drums today?"

"She spoke!" the Duchess gasped. "Dear, she spoke!"

"She did," the Duke breathed, kneeling beside her too. "Stella, honey, can you look at us? Just a little?"

Stella’s hand emerged from under the blanket—only to yank it tighter over her head.

"If you’re not here to bring tea or a quieter universe, I kindly request... nope."

The Duchess blinked. "She’s... still sleepy?"

"Let me try," she whispered, and gently tugged the blanket. "Come on now, let Mama see your pretty face—just a peek."

"Nooo. That’s a trap. You’re going to poke me or worse... ask me questions."

"Stella, don’t be difficult," the Duke said gently. "We’ve been worried sick about you."

"And I appreciate the concern, truly. But can’t we do this after a nap—or seven?"

A war of wills began—Stella clinging to the blanket, the Duchess determined to see her daughter’s face. After a brief tug-of-war—

"Aha!" the Duchess declared triumphantly, pulling the blanket away.

What followed was silence.

Stella lay on her belly, cheek pressed to the pillow, eyes half-open. Her long hair poured over the side of the bed—hair that shimmered with countless stars, flowing like cosmic silk.

Her eyes slowly blinked open.

Galaxies stared back at them.

Everyone froze.

"What... in the world..." the Duke whispered.

The Duchess pressed a hand to her mouth.

"Her hair... her eyes..."

"Are you... really our daughter?" she asked, her voice almost trembling.

Stella blinked.

"Huh?" she mumbled, turning her face a bit.

"I asked if you're really Stella. My Stella," the Duchess said, voice shaking.

Stella yawned, rubbed one eye, and raised a brow.

"Well, I’m not an imposter... unless the imposter is doing an amazing job."

"Then what happened to your hair?" the Duke asked, still kneeling close.

Stella turned to bury her face in the pillow again.

"Cosmic makeover? Divine accident? Who knows. I didn’t read the fine print."

"Do you remember who we are?" the Duchess asked softly.

Stella stuck her hand out blindly and pointed without lifting her head.

"Mom. Dad. That loud kid’s Alexis, right?"

Her hand flopped back down.

"Can’t forget you guys. Faces are familiar. Everything else? Fuzzy like bad dreams."

The room seemed to grow colder—not from fear, but from the sudden weight of worry.

The Duchess leaned forward, her voice trembling now.

"You don’t remember the mansion? Or the people who work here? Or the garden you loved?"

"Nope. Garden sounds nice though. Does it have hammocks?"

"Your best friend Clarisse? Your etiquette lessons? The music hall?" the Duke asked hopefully.

"Sounds boring. Probably repressed those on purpose."

"Stella, listen to us—"

"You listen. I’m exhausted. The stars in my hair demand rest."

Her tone, playful yet aloof—it didn’t match the worried stares she was receiving. She wasn’t acting like a child anymore.

The Duchess turned toward the doctor, panic in her voice.

"What’s wrong with her?! Why is she acting like this?!"

The doctor held up a hand.

"Calm yourselves. This may be the result of trauma. Her brain might be blocking memory to protect itself."

"But she recognizes us!"

"Only partially. If you pressure her now, it could worsen things," the doctor said firmly. "Let her rest. The brain needs time."

The Duke and Duchess reluctantly nodded. But before they left, the Duchess gently smoothed her daughter’s hair with shaking fingers.

"You still feel warm. Still feel real. Whatever happens… you’re still our Stella."

Stella gave her a lazy grin.

"That’s sweet. Very touching. Now go. I’ve got galaxies to nap in."

And then she closed her eyes again.

The crowd slowly dispersed. Whispers followed. Some servants crossed themselves. Others muttered blessings or rumors.

Only one figure remained, silent and distant—Alexis, her older brother—watching from the shadows just beyond the doorway, unreadable, burdened with memories of the sister who once hated him... now reborn into someone unrecognizable.

And in the bed, wrapped once again in

her blanket cocoon, the girl once known as Stella—now something far more—drifted back into sleep.

The stars in her hair flickered softly.

As if dreaming.