Those who transmigrate into novels share one thing in common.
One day, when they open their eyes, they are greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling.
That strange ceiling soon leads to a strange body, an unfamiliar face, and a completely different world.
Yet I was different.
When I opened my eyes, I met only the very same darkness that had accompanied me before my transmigration.
Whether I kept my eyes closed or opened them wide, nothing changed.
Even so, sounds and scents that could never belong to my room, along with an unfamiliar temperature, were enough to tell me—
that I had crossed over into a place entirely different from the one where I had lived.
Smash!
The sharp crash of shattering porcelain rang close to my ears.
A succession of shrill screams followed, accompanied by the heavy footfalls of two maids.
Mary and Dorothy were no doubt scrambling to dodge a flying vase.
I crawled across the floor, putting as much distance as I could between myself and the source of the noise, then flattened myself completely, wrapping my arms tightly around my head.
All this chaos had begun the moment Mary drew back the curtains under the pretext of airing out the room.
The young master of the ducal house, whom everyone had assumed to be fast asleep, sprang from his bed with a terrible cry of agony.
“I told you I hate the light! Didn't I tell you never to open the curtains?!”
His voice was laced with fury as he hurled whatever had been sitting on the side table into the air—evidently a vase.
Right after that, the entire room erupted into the madness I just described.
The two maids were shrieking in sheer terror, while the young master roared orders for the curtains to be closed…
“No! Get it away from me!”
He sounded like a beast howling in pain, far beyond anyone's ability to soothe him.
A moment later, the muffled sound of something heavy dragging across the floor reverberated through the boards.
Judging by the heavy shudder, I guessed it was the massive ornamental water pitcher that stood by the table.
‘Has he lost his mind? Is he going to throw that too?’
I pressed myself flat to the floor like a flounder, and an instant later, another ear-splitting crash tore through the air.
Mary and Dorothy let out hysterical screams, then bolted from the room in pure disarray.
Thud, thud, thud!
The sound of their frantic footsteps faded away in seconds.
‘Wait, no! You should have closed the curtains before running off!’
Yet they were already long gone, leaving this living hell behind them, where no one remained except the ducal young master and me.
What an utterly mad situation.
“It hurts… Stop it…”
He had collapsed to the floor, panting in ragged gasps and muttering in a faint, fragile voice.
Once he quieted down a little, I cautiously raised my head.
I had to shut those cursed curtains first.
‘Let me think…’
I focused on the faint warmth of sunlight brushing against my face.
I could feel the warmth of the spring afternoon sun grazing my right cheek.
Reaching out to my right side, my hand met a cold, solid wall.
I pushed myself up and stepped forward, feeling my way along the wall.
A few strides later, my fingers brushed against thick, blackout fabric.
Swiiiish—
I quickly pulled the curtains shut.
The moment the light was sealed away, silence fell over the room, as if it had been severed from the rest of the world.
Nothing remained but his low moans, caught somewhere between rage and pure agony.
I turned back toward him.
The distance from the window to his bed was roughly ten paces.
One… two… three… four…
With every step I counted, the sound of his breathing grew clearer.
…Nine, ten.
I stopped.
Reaching down, my fingers brushed against soft hair.
Smack!
In that instant, he struck my hand away violently.
I flinched back, clutching the back of my hand. The sting was sharp enough to bring tears to my eyes.
After rubbing it for a brief moment, I lowered my hand once more. This time, I touched a slender shoulder.
He flinched suddenly, letting out a faint grunt of annoyance, but he did not strike my hand away again.
‘Right… he doesn't want to stay huddled on the floor in this darkness either.’
Gathering my strength, I lifted his slender frame and helped him sit upon the bed.
The moment he was settled, he wriggled back beneath the covers.
He had surely bundled himself up entirely, turning back into something resembling a cocoon.
‘Phew… what an ordeal.’
I thought to myself, letting out a quiet breath.
A month had passed since I entered the duke's estate as a contract maid assigned to care for the young master.
From what I had seen—or rather, what I had come to sense—his days consisted of nothing more than lying in a pitch-black room or sitting entirely still.
He hated the light.
More than that, he feared it.
Whether it was sunlight slipping through a window or even the glow of a single candle, it threw him into violent fits of pain and screaming.
The cause was a rare condition known as Photophobia.
Photophobia.
An illness where one could die from light itself.
Whenever light touched the sufferer's flesh, it felt as though their skin were catching fire.
How cruel it was, and how excruciating.
For nature's warmth, which every living soul ought to enjoy freely, to turn into a torment akin to flame.
Yet this affliction had no known cure.
He would continue to suffer from it, alone in a long expanse of darkness, until he finally met the female lead—the Saintess blessed by the Lord, who would cure him.
Yes.
This world belonged to the novel I had read before my death, The Duke in the Darkness.
And this frail, high-strung boy was the male lead, Callius Rivannion.
As for me?
I was merely a maid.
A blind maid hastily hired to attend to the young master of the duchy.
In short… an extra destined to fade from the story before long.
“So, Lizzy, you cleaned up that entire mess all by yourself?”
We were in the maids' break room in the ducal residence.
Tilda, my colleague, was wrapping a strip of cloth around my finger, which I had cut while cleaning.
I could not see her expression, but the frustration was unmistakable in her tone.
“That isn't even your job to begin with. You're here to assist the young master with moving around. Cleaning is Mary and Dorothy's duty.”
“Yes, but… they didn't seem able to do a thing. The young master was throwing things indiscriminately. Had I been able to see, I would have run away right alongside them.”
Tilda let out an irritated sigh as she spoke.
Having worked here for over five years, she must have viewed me as a completely helpless beginner.
“Next time, report it straight to the head housekeeper. Those two need to be disciplined. Ever since you arrived, they've been dumping their chores on you.”
I nodded in agreement.
Even so, I couldn't help thinking quietly to myself, ‘Would anything really change, though?’
As long as the young master refused to allow any light, Mary and Dorothy would never be able to work properly in there.
Only I—who moved without sight—could carry out the cleaning and bring his meals.
“By the way, your face has grown thinner in just a month.”
Tilda clicked her tongue.
“It seems you've had an awful lot of hardship since coming here.”
…Had I really lost weight?
I raised my hand, tracing the contours of my face.
I had been blind from the moment I transmigrated, so I had no idea what this face even looked like.
I could imagine it by feeling my features, but subtle changes like growing gaunt were difficult to discern.
“…Tilda.”
I called out to her as she tidied up nearby.
“What does my face look like?”
She let out a soft chuckle.
“Why ask all of a sudden? You said you could see when you were little.”
But that had been before I transmigrated into the body of Lizzy Swan.
Unfortunately, I had no memories whatsoever of that time.
“Still… I wanted to know.”
“Well, a face does change as you grow. Alright, let me take a look.”
Taking my face in her hands, she gently turned it from side to side.
