The do of Victorian Central Station rose sixty ters high, a mosaic of thousands of glass panes and steel fraworks. Sunlight filtered through the hazy steam, bathing the entire hall in a golden halo.
Pavela sat in her wheelchair, looking up at that firmant of gears, rivets, and glass, montarily lost in a trance.
Minutes ago, she had tried to stand up and walk out of the carriage on her own.
"My legs aren't broken," she had said at the ti.
Then she received a sharp tap on the back of her head.
"Three of your ribs are broken, your right shoulder was dislocated and reset less than a week ago, you've lost four hundred milliliters of blood, and you have a mild concussion."
Eleanor's voice ca from above, carrying an unquestionable authority. "It's already a miracle that you woke up, and a blessing that you can eat by yourself. You still want to walk?"
Pavela opened her mouth, wanting to say sothing.
"Sit down."
And so, she sat.
Now, she was dressed in a loose set of grey casual clothes—supposedly borrowed from the military doctors by Eleanor—the size so large it felt like it could fit two of her.
She was pushed by Eleanor through the bustling crowds.
Victorian Central Station was one of the most magnificent buildings Pavela had ever seen.
No, it should be said it was the most magnificent building she had seen in "this life."
Twelve railway tracks stretched out side-by-side, each with a steam locomotive docked. A massive clock hung in the very center of the do, its hands driven by a precise set of gears, each tick accompanied by a crisp chanical sound. On both sides of the platforms were cast-iron railings and brass handrails, polished to a shine, reflecting the silhouettes of the passing pedestrians.
Porters in uniform pushed carts laden with luggage through the throng; noble ladies strolled along under lace parasols; gentlen in top hats nodded to one another. Steam pipes crisscrossed beneath their feet, occasionally puffing out a plu of white mist, as if the entire station itself were breathing.
Pavela blinked.
The last ti she had seen so many living people gathered together was—
No, better not think about it.
"What's wrong?" Eleanor's voice ca from behind. "Dazzled already?"
"No." Pavela withdrew her gaze. "Just thinking that the floors here are really clean."
"Hmm?"
"It lacks a sense of surprise. There's no mixture of landmines, blood, and minced at that you'd occasionally step on—ouch..."
Eleanor withdrew her hand from tapping Pavela's head.
"Can you not speak normally?"
"I am speaking normally..."
The wheelchair continued forward, passing through the ticket gate and arriving at the station's main entrance.
Then Pavela saw the world outside.
Her breath hitched for a mont.
Victoriana.
The heart of the Victorian Empire, the City of Steel and Roses, the most prosperous city on the continent—without exception.
Broad avenues stretched into the distance, wide enough for eight horse-drawn carriages to pass side-by-side. On both sides of the road were rows upon rows of buildings, where Gothic spires blended perfectly with steampunk pipes; every single one looked like a work of art stepped out from both a fairy tale and a chanical blueprint.
Massive steam buses huffed and puffed as they drove past, their bodies painted a deep red and inlaid with brass decorations, the chimneys on their roofs emitting puffs of white steam. The streetlights were not electric, but gas lamps, each supported by an exquisite cast-iron bracket, their shades carved with intricate patterns.
The pedestrians were dressed splendidly. n wore sharp suits and overcoats, while won wore layered skirts with exquisite corsets cinched at their waists. Almost everyone wore so kind of hat—top hats, bowlers, bonnets—as if stepping out without a hat were so unforgivable sin.
In the distance, a massive clock tower stood in the center of the city. The clock face was at least twenty ters in diater, its hands driven by steam, a faint rumble audible with every tick.
The air was thick with the scent of coal smoke, perfu, and fresh bread.
Pavela took a deep breath.
It wasn't the sll of blood.
It wasn't the sll of gunpowder smoke.
It wasn't that sickly-sweet stench of rotting corpses fernting in the sun.
It was just... the sll of a city.
A living city.
"Little Pa?"
Eleanor's voice pulled her back to reality.
Pavela realized that her hands had tightened around the armrests of the wheelchair at so point.
"I'm fine." She let go. "It's just..."
It was just that she hadn't seen such a sight in a very, very long ti.
In her mory, whether from this life or her previous one, the concept of a "city" had beco incredibly distant.
In her previous life, she should have seen tropolises even more prosperous than this.
But those mories were as blurred as if viewed through frosted glass, leaving only fragnted shards.
And in this life, her mories held only mud, trenches, burning chs, and countless dead.
So now, looking at this glamorous city before her eyes, a bizarre sense of detachnt rose in her heart.
A feeling of unreality.
"Little Pa."
Eleanor's voice rang out again, this ti with a hint of worry.
"I'm really fine." Pavela forced a smile. "I was just thinking, there are so many people here."
"This is the capital, of course there are many people."
"That's not what I ant." Pavela looked at the bustling crowd on the street. "I an... there are so many people here."
Living people.
Living people who could walk, talk, laugh, frown, and worry about trivial matters.
Not corpses.
Not wreckage torn to pieces by shells.
Not shadows screaming amidst the flas.
Just... ordinary people.
Eleanor didn't say anything more, only gently squeezed her shoulder.
Just then, a whistle sounded.
Pavela followed the sound and saw a black steam car slowly approaching.
The car's body was low and sleek, its paint polished to a mirror finish. The radiator grille at the front was made of brass, engraved with a coat of arms—
A Black Rose Entwined with Thorns, its petals stained with three drops of blood.
The coat of arms of the von Schwartz Family.
The car stopped in front of them. A middle-aged man in a black tailcoat stepped out from the driver's side and bowed respectfully.
"Miss Eleanor." His voice was steady and deferential. "Welco ho."
"Hans." Eleanor nodded. "Thank you for your hard work."
"It is my honor." The man nad Hans straightened up, his gaze falling on Pavela. A barely perceptible hint of scrutiny flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a professional calm. "And this is—"
"My sister." Eleanor's voice was flat yet unquestionable. "Pavela von Schwartz."
Hans's expression didn't change at all; he simply bowed again.
"Miss Pavela, welco to the Schwartz Family."
Pavela blinked.
The Schwartz Family.
She was now a mber of the Schwartz Family.
The adopted daughter of a great Victorian noble house.
Three days ago, she was still cannon fodder in the Usar Punishnt Camp.
Life's fortunes were truly strange.
"Thank you."
She offered a proper smile.
This was an expression she had practiced for a long ti in front of a mirror before getting off the train.
"Please take care of ."
Hans stepped forward to help, lifting the wheelchair into the back seat of the car.
The space inside the car was much more spacious than Pavela had imagined. The seats were soft velvet, and the air was filled with a faint scent of leather and sandalwood.
Eleanor sat down beside her, and the car slowly started.
The scenery outside began to flow.
Pavela leaned against the backrest, watching the streets of Victoriana flash past.
Exquisite goods were displayed in shop windows—silk, jewelry, chanical clocks, leather goods. At the outdoor tables of cafes, gentlen and ladies leisurely enjoyed afternoon tea. Newsboys on street corners waved newspapers, shouting sothing loudly.
Everything was so... normal.
So peaceful.
So much like another world.
"Great victory at the front! The Empire has successfully captured Kaldburg in Usar, seizing enemy chs—"
Pavela's ears caught the newsboy's cries.
She froze for a mont.
Great victory?
She rembered the hell of that night.
Was it truly a great victory?
She turned her head to look at the pedestrians outside.
Their faces wore relaxed smiles, their steps leisurely, as if the greatest worry in their lives was whether today's weather was suitable for going out, or what they should eat for dinner.
Pavela twitched the corners of her mouth, but in the end, she couldn't manage any expression.
She just continued looking out the window.
The car crossed a bridge. Below was a wide canal with cargo ships and pleasure boats coming and going. Then, the road began to widen, and the buildings on both sides beca increasingly grand.
The ordinary comrcial streets turned into an affluent district lined with mansions.
Every building had its own independent courtyard and walls, with family crests engraved on the iron gates. Fountains in the gardens sprayed crystal water columns, and neatly trimd hedges were arranged in geotric patterns.
Then, the car turned into a tree-lined avenue.
Tall oak trees lined both sides of the road, their branches and leaves interlacing overhead into a green do. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled light and shadows on the ground.
At the end of the avenue was a massive iron gate.
Pavela was already very familiar with the crest on the gate—the Black Rose Entwined with Thorns, its petals stained with three drops of blood.
The iron gate slowly opened, and the car drove in.
Pavela saw a...
She didn't know how to describe it.
A manor?
A mansion?
A castle?
The three-story main building was built of grey-white stone, its windows inlaid with stained glass that reflected brilliant light in the sun. The porch was supported by six Corinthian columns, their capitals carved with intricate acanthus leaf patterns. Symtrical wings extended from both sides of the main building, every window like a silent eye.
The front yard was an impeccably manicured lawn, with a white marble fountain in the center. Atop the fountain was a statue of a woman holding a rose.
Pavela counted—from the gate to the porch of the main building, she estimated it was at least two hundred ters.
Two hundred ters, wow.
"We're here."
Eleanor's voice pulled her back to reality. "This is my residence."
Pavela opened her mouth.
"...Is this the 'one of' the residences you ntioned before?"
"Yes."
"How many more do you have?"
"Three. But I rarely go to the other two; they are properties given by the family."
Eleanor paused. "This one I bought myself, using my salary and military rewards. My sister and I live here."
Pavela was silent for a while.
"Is your salary paid by the ton?"
Eleanor was amused by her. Her laughter was light, but it made her whole being seem much softer.
"It's not that exaggerated."
The car stopped in front of the porch.
Hans got out and respectfully opened the door for them.
Pavela was pushed out in her wheelchair, once again looking up at the building before her.
The sun shone warmly upon her.
The air held the scent of flowers, grass, and a faint, lingering aroma of tea—likely wafting out from the residence.
"I'm thinking about sothing," she suddenly spoke.
"What?"
"I'm thinking—" Pavela's gaze fell on that white marble fountain, "—if I might already be dead and am dreaming right now."
Eleanor pushed the wheelchair toward the porch, her voice tinged with a hint of helplessness.
"You're not dead."
"How do you know?"
"Because if you were dead, you wouldn't still be in a wheelchair in your # Nоvеlight # dream, being pushed by ."
Eleanor said, "And if this were a dream, I wouldn't have to take care of a sharp-tongued patient in it."
Pavela thought about it and felt it made a lot of sense.
"That's good then." She leaned back in the wheelchair. "I thought God really agreed to let into heaven."
"This isn't heaven."
"Of course not for you." Pavela looked at the manor before her. "But for ..."
It was too similar.
So similar it made her a bit uneasy.
In her experience, things that were too beautiful often ant a trap.
But at this mont, the sun was warm, the air was fresh, and there was soone beside her who was willing to block a ch for her.
Perhaps...
Perhaps believing in 'beauty' just once wouldn't be such a bad thing?
The wheelchair was pushed up the steps of the porch.
The heavy oak doors slowly opened before her.
Pavela von Schwartz—forrly Pavel Ivanovich Sokolov, number 404-631.
Thus she entered her new life.
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