Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

“Elowyn!”

Selphine’s voice cut through the hush, sharp and laced with genuine alarm.

Aurelian was already half out of his chair, his hands twitching as if unsure whether to reach for her or give her space. “Elowyn, are you—?”

But it was Cedric who moved first.

The scraping of his chair was abrupt, a grating rupture against the marble floor, and in three long strides he was there—shoulder brushing Selphine aside without a second thought.

“Elowyn’s not feeling well,” Cedric said quickly, his voice low but commanding enough to brook no argument. His hand found her shoulder, steady and warm, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she still needed.

He crouched beside her, leaning down until his mouth was near her ear, shielding her from the dozens of half-curious, half-disgusted glances sharpening across the terrace.

“We need to move,” he murmured.

Elara tried to speak, but her throat convulsed uselessly around the effort. All she could do was nod—barely, weakly—and feel the humiliation curl tighter in her gut.

Cedric straightened smoothly, slipping an arm beneath hers to help her rise without any more spectacle than was already inevitable. His grip was steady, careful. Not holding her up, but giving her the choice to lean if she needed it.

He turned toward a nearby server, a young man already hovering awkwardly at the edge of the terrace.

“Toilet?” Cedric asked briskly, his free hand jerking his thumb in a subtle motion to the side.

The waiter, pale and wide-eyed, nodded quickly and pointed toward a door tucked discreetly into the shadowed corner of the courtyard.

Cedric inclined his head—a tight, grateful bow more habit than thought—then shifted his hold on Elara.

“Let’s go,” he said under his breath, low enough that only she could hear.

He moved with efficient precision, half-guiding, half-shielding her from the gawking crowd as he steered her toward the indicated door. Behind them, the murmur of scandal began to rise—a sea of whispers lapping hungrily at their retreating backs.

At the periphery of her blurred vision, Elara saw Selphine start to move after them, her brows furrowed in clear concern—but Aurelian caught her sleeve, murmuring something urgent that made her hesitate, just for a breath.

And that breath was all Cedric needed.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, guiding her into the cool, dim corridor beyond. The muffled thud of the door shutting behind them was like the slam of a coffin lid—mercifully, blessedly silencing the crowd outside.

Only then did Elara sag slightly against him, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his sleeve.

Cedric’s hand shifted instinctively to her back, anchoring her with a firm, steady pressure.

“You’re okay,” he said, voice rough but certain. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

And for just a moment, just a heartbeat—

She let herself believe him.

Even as the storm still howled inside her chest.

Even as Lucavion’s name still burned like a brand against the walls of her mind.

Even as the broken pieces of who she had been—who she had trusted—kept slicing her open from the inside out.

Cedric pushed the door to the washroom open with his back, guiding her in without letting go.

The walls inside were pale stone, washed in the soft hum of light crystals, too clean, too pristine for the wreckage boiling inside her.

Elara barely made it two steps before she lurched forward, bracing herself against the marble counter.

Her hands trembled. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking.

And when she finally found her voice—it was barely more than a breath, a ragged whisper escaping between gasps.

“It was him…” she stammered, her nails scraping uselessly against the cold surface. “That—”

Her mouth snapped shut as another violent wave of nausea overtook her.

– SPILL.

The retching ripped out of her again, harsher this time, burning the back of her throat as her whole body convulsed.

Cedric didn’t flinch.

He was there, steady, folding a cloth from the corner dispenser, setting it silently beside her. His hand hovered at her back but didn’t touch—waiting, offering, not forcing.

Elara gagged once more, dry heaving, the sounds torn from her chest as if she were trying to expel the very memories clawing their way up from her soul.

And then, between broken breaths, the words cracked out:

“Luca was Lucavion…”

Her head bowed low, her forehead nearly touching the marble now.

“Why…” she choked, “why didn’t I see it?”

Her voice broke on the last word.

A sound so full of betrayal it made Cedric’s heart seize in his chest.

He crouched down beside her, leveling his gaze with hers even though she couldn’t lift her head to meet it. His voice was rough, low, but steady—a tether thrown into the storm swallowing her.

“I’m here,” Cedric said simply. “I’m on your side. Always.”

A beat. His hand, firm now, resting against her trembling back.

“I knew something was off about him,” Cedric murmured, the words falling out in a low, rough breath.

For a heartbeat, that was all.

But then—

Something sharper edged into his tone. Something he didn’t quite catch himself in time.

“Now do you believe me?” he said, quieter, but the undercurrent was unmistakable. “Didn’t you fight with me over that guy? Didn’t you defend him?”

There was no venom in it. No cruelty.

Just the old, familiar wound between them, reopened without warning.

Elara flinched—not from his words, but from everything.

From the taste of bile still clawing up her throat, from the unbearable weight of the realization pressing her into the marble, from the past and present crashing together with enough force to tear her open.

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Not because she didn’t hear him—

But because she couldn’t find anything left inside herself to answer with.

The silence stretched between them, thin and brittle.

And then Cedric exhaled, the weight of his own bitterness finally catching up to him.

He cursed under his breath and shook his head, a hand dragging roughly through his hair.

“No,” he muttered, the sharpness bleeding out of him, replaced by something heavier. “Forget I said that. This… this isn’t the time.”

He pressed the cloth gently against her trembling hands, coaxing her fingers to close around it.

“I’m here,” Cedric said again, softer this time, the rough edges smoothed by something that almost sounded like regret. “Just focus on breathing. Forget the rest for now.”

But Elara couldn’t forget.

Her body betrayed her again, the bile rising once more with a violent lurch.

– SPILL.

She vomited again, harder this time, the force wracking her thin frame.

Her whole body shook as if she were freezing, her knees buckling until Cedric caught her—one arm bracing her around the shoulders, the other steadying her waist.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, voice low and steady against the storm raging inside her. “It’s alright. Let it out.”

He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the sickness or the grief anymore.

Elara clutched at the cloth blindly, the cool marble beneath her cheek the only anchor she could feel.

Lucavion.

Luca.

The boy who had stolen her dreams.

And the boy who had given them back, only to tear them apart again.

The betrayal tasted worse than the bile.

And still, her body kept shaking, hollow and raw, long after there was nothing left to give.

****

The carriage wheels hummed against the ancient stones, each bump a muted drumbeat in the quiet before change. Morning mist clung stubbornly to the hillsides, curling in ghostly tendrils around the narrow road that wound toward destiny.

Inside the carriage, the girl sat perfectly still. The velvet cushions beneath her shifted with the ride’s gentle sway, but she was unbothered. She watched the world slip by through a sliver of open curtain—gray fields, distant spires, the blurred memory of home long abandoned.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence.

“Milady,” came the attendant’s careful voice. “We are approaching Arcanis.”

The name fell into the carriage like a stone into deep water—reverberating, sinking.

The girl smiled then.

A smile that did hid her thoughts completely.

Yet her lavender eyes showed the glint of intelligence.

“Finally.”

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