Transmigrated into a Fantasy World with No Clue What to Do

Chapter 33

The Performance / Confession

            After dinner, we retire to the drawing room for tea and relaxation after our meal.  I have never been in a drawing room before, but thanks to Jane Austen, I thought I knew what to expect.  It turns out that whoever joins you in the drawing room dictates how interesting of a time you can have.  I had expected Angus and my father to retire to another location, but was surprised to see them follow us in and take a seat in what was obviously a more masculinely decorated corner of the room. 

            The whole room is a pastel blue, with some type of light-colored wood for the trim.  The floor is a slightly darker tone, and polished to a near mirror finish.  Upon the ceiling is a work of art that is divided up into five panels, with the fifth placed in the center like a diamond.  The furniture in the rest of the room matches the pastel theme in their padding, though they are a pink instead of blue, and the woodwork on each piece is ornately carved.  There is one large couch and several smaller chairs, one of which has a basket beside it with sewing supplies.  There are also several side tables as well, convenient for placing one’s drink should one need their hands. 

            My mother immediately goes to the chair with the basket and pulls out several partially completed needlepoint projects that, after short consideration, she chooses one of and begins to work on.  Izzy and Maribelle make their way to the couch, Izzy talking constantly about some boy whose name I missed, while Mari quietly listens, nodding her head occasionally to indicate that she is still listening.

            The corner the men settle into still matched the rest of the room, but the four chairs were obviously of stouter build and are slightly darker in tone.  They are all angled so that those seated in them can easily talk without having to turn their heads excessively in order to look each other in the eyes for politeness's sake.   In front of the chairs is a medium-sized table, easily accessible by anyone sitting in the chairs, that has a crystal decanter on it filled with some kind of amber-colored liquid, which I figure is likely some sort of alcohol.  Beside the decanter are several snifters and, as if to confirm my suspicions, when my father opens the decanter to pour himself a drink, I can faintly smell something similar to the Jack Daniels that Michael's dad used to drink, even though I am on the other side of the room.

            Tucked in the corner opposite to the men’s corner is a grand piano, with carvings to match the other furniture.  Upon spotting the piano, I immediately make my way toward it, my mind wandering back to the lessons that my father, or rather Michael’s father, gave me when I was younger.  Music was a large part of his life.  He came from a very musically talented family, so he wanted to teach it to me.  My, Michael’s, mother had thought his teaching me was a waste of time that was better spent on academics, but my father had insisted and it turned out, I had some of that musical talent passed to me as well.  He taught me piano and guitar, the former of which I had natural skill and picked up quickly, and the latter of which I was only passable at playing. 

            As I sit down to the piano, I lift the fallboard and lightly run my fingers over the keys, smiling at the memories of learning to play.  After just a second of consideration, I decide on the piece of music I want to play, remembering how proud my dad was when I finally managed to play it without any flaws for the first time.  Within seconds of deciding, my fingers begin to dance over the keys with a level of precision I honestly had not expected in this body since I am so out of practice.  The sounds of Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu in C-sharp Minor, Op. 66 fill the room as my emotions soar with the sounds of frantically urgent chaos that I hadn’t realized I held within, escaping from my fingers before moving into the serene beauty that threatens to overwhelm my soul with an almost mournful cry before finally settling into the calming of the tumultuous swings from one extreme to the other.  As I end on the final chord, I pause, taking a moment to draw in a deep breath then release it, a content smile on my face.  While I had hit a couple of sour notes, it was good to realize that at least one of the skills I had nurtured and developed in my former life had carried over. 

            I gently close the fallboard, taking a moment to gather myself and wipe the tears that I hadn’t realized were gathering in my eyes. That's when I notice it.  The silence.  All at once, I feel as if I have holes being bored into my back.  I slowly turn my head and see that everyone is staring at me in shock, well, not Mari because nothing seems to faze her, but still, shock to the point that it made Izzy shut up.  I feel my face set aflame from the attention. 

            Why did I immediately go for the piano?  Now everyone is staring at me.  Could the original Beira even play the piano? 

            Seeing the look on my parent’s faces, I would have to say no, she didn’t.

            Shit. 

            Internally, I groan and want to cover my face.

            After all, if I can’t see them, they can’t see me, right?  Wrong.  I wish a lightning bolt would just strike me dead.  AHHHH!

            My internal monologuing and screams, however, were destined to be interrupted as Izzy suddenly recovers and squeals in delight.

            “BERI!” She yells, her voice piercing the silence that followed my impromptu performance.  “That was amazing!  When did you learn to play the piano?   You are almost as good as Mari, but she has been playing since she was a child.  You know how talented she is, well, maybe you don’t know, but she is extremely talented.  What was that piece called?  I have never heard it before.  How long have you known how to play?  Can you play anything else? I would love to hear more as would Mari!  She was absolutely riveted hearing you play as we all were.”

            I swear she got all of that out in one breath, how I don’t know, but she did. 

That is when I notice that the look my mother is giving me is as if I am a stranger, not that she is wrong to look at me that way, though I thought we were finally starting to get to know each other.  My father’s face has changed from shock to more of an unsettled expression that is difficult to read, other than I can see he appears very unhappy now.  Angus now wears a conflicted expression, as if he wants to say something, but isn’t sure what.

            My mind freezes for a second, then my flight instinct kicks in.  I rush out of the room and into the corridors of the estate. I run blindly, not knowing where I am going, and somehow, I end up outside, at the rear of the estate in the flower gardens.  I look around for a place to hide, but I only see several small trees and one large tree among the fields of flowers.  Briefly, I consider climbing the larger tree and hiding in its branches as I used to do when I angered my mother in my previous life, but the dress and shoes that I am in would be more of a hindrance and would likely result in my falling. 

             Also, the Duke can talk to trees, I remind myself.

            I look back at the mansion, expecting someone to come bursting out the door behind me at any moment, and that is when I notice it.  On the rear of the mansion, there is a large flat section where I can see the top of what looks to be some sort of furniture.  Hastily, I start building an ice column, making sure it doesn’t glow, beneath my feet with the intention of lifting me up to the roof.  In my panicked state, I forget that ice is slick and as soon as I am a few feet off the ground, I start to slide.  Quickly, I encase my feet in ice to attach myself to the top of the column while lifting myself.  Soon, I am level with the railing that is at the edge of the roof.  I release the ice binding me to my impromptu elevator and move to step off onto the roof, but I slip again and end up tumbling over the railing and landing roughly on my butt just on the other side.  Sore, but mostly unharmed, I stand and look at the pillar of ice.  I snap my fingers, causing it to shatter into near nothingness.

            Wow, I’m surprised that even worked.

            I look around and see that there is indeed furniture up here.  In fact, this looks like it would be the perfect place to relax and do some star gazing or maybe watch the sunrise in comfort.  To one side is a hatch that I assume is for accessing the roof from inside, and I briefly consider putting a piece of furniture on it, but quickly dismiss that thought as it would make anyone coming to check the roof suspicious.  Despite the fact that I am more exposed up here, the likelihood of someone looking for me on the roof is small, and if I lie in one of the loungers, it’s not like they can see me from the ground.  Also, being up here gives me a sense of calm that helps to quickly tame the anxiety racing through my head at my stupid mistake. 

            I sigh and lie down, looking up at the unfamiliar stars in the sky, trying to think of an excuse for my ‘suddenly developed’ talent, but nothing convincing comes to mind.  I look over the memories of my predecessor that I have access to, desperate to find something to help me explain it away, but only find a few memories of mother disapproving of me learning music and instead encouraging me to take up needlepoint, which was something she could teach me.  She used those lessons to teach patience and perseverance as well as the simple joy of watching something you are working on come together in one cohesive display others could see.  The further I explored the bits and pieces I had concerning my predecessor and music, the more I discovered that she was likely tone-deaf, not that she could tell, but I based it more on the reactions of others regarding her few attempts to learn.  Even singing eluded her, something I found ironic considering my voice is one that sounds as if it were built for vocalizing music.

            Oh god, what if I’m tone-deaf now, as well?  That could explain…  No, Izzy seemed to like it and even Mari had the corners of her mouth upturned slightly indicating pleasure, so me being tone deaf likely isn’t the case.  Fuck.  That could have given me an out and explained my running away. 

            I hear the hatch open behind me and I try to remain as still as I can so I don’t draw the attention of whoever it is.  Soon, I hear it close and I breathe a sigh of relief.  A minute passes, then another.  Then I hear it, light footsteps making their way over to me.  Looking up, I see Maribelle’s calm, expressionless face.  She taps my feet, indicating I should move them so that she can sit, and I oblige, sitting up properly to make room for her.

            “You play beautifully, cousin.”  She says in her monotone way.  She then pauses as if waiting for me to say something, but when I don’t, she continues.  “You aren’t really my cousin, are you?”

            She turns her head to stare me in the eye as I look at her in shock.

            “It’s okay.  I know she likely died on that night.”  She says, her voice continuing to not show any emotions despite the seriousness of the topic.  “What I want to know, is do you have any ill intentions, and who are you really?”

            “Umm…”  I say, unsure of how to continue, remembering Damian’s message about hiding what happened to my predecessor.  The only thing is, here was someone that had already figured it out, so his warnings were kind of a moot point now, at least in regard to Maribelle.

            Damian!  I call out mentally several times, but get no response.  Fine, I’ll just have to do what I feel is best in this situation.  Don’t get mad at me later because I spill the beans to someone, though I think she can keep a secret.

            “Mari,” I say.  “First, before I tell you anything, I want you to promise me that you will keep this secret.”

            Mari puts her right hand on her heart and nods.  Seeing that this is as good of a promise I am going to get, I begin.  First, I assure her I have no ill intent, then I tell her about what happened to the original Beira on the night of the masquerade celebrating my fifteenth birthday.  After I finish describing the memory I had inherited, she nods and I decide to give her a moment to process.

            “I saw it.”  She says after a second.

            “W-w-what?”  I say, my voice betraying my surprise.

            “I saw it.”  She repeats before continuing.  “I interrupted the attacker.”

            I wait for her to continue and, seeing that I was waiting, she continues.

            “I hid you when they fled.”  She states.

            “Then, why did it take hours for s-someone to find me?”  I ask.

            “I got lost.”  She shrugs slightly, but says no more.

            Realizing she has no more insight that she is going to give at the time, I decide not to press.

            “So, who are you really?”  She says with a judgmental stare that vaguely reminds me of my mother.

            “My given name was M-Michael, but my chosen name was Michelle,” I say hesitantly.

            “You are a boy?”  She asks, her face actually showing genuine surprise instead of the hints at emotion that she normally gives.

            “Yes.  No.  It’s c-complicated,” I stammer out, not sure how to explain the concept of a trans person to her.

            “So,” she says as she sits thoughtfully for a second before continuing.  “You were born a boy, but are a girl on the inside?”

            I nod, that descriptor is close enough to tell me she grasps the concept 

            “How did you become my cousin?”  She asks, her question pointing to the heart of the matter.

            I spend some time explaining the entire situation to her, from my death as Michael to my waking as Beira.  Every once in a while, she would hold up a hand to stop me so that she could ask a short question for clarification.  Only when she had a total understanding of what I was describing to her, she would nod and I could continue.  I laid out everything for her, grateful to finally have someone I could tell.  I hadn’t realized how the weight of it all had been bearing on me until I got relief through having a confidant.  When I finally finish, she sits in thought, processing all that I had revealed.

            “Beira,” she says suddenly.

            “Y-yes?” 

            That is when she wraps me in her arms, giving me a hug.

            “I missed you, cousin,” she says as she releases me.

            “But I’m not actually your cousin,” I say, shaking my head.

            “You are more her than you realize.”  She replies with a genuine smile.

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