Giselle1The name Giselle is of French and Germanic origin, meaning "pledge" or "hostage." It is derived from the Old German word gisil, which means "hostage" or "pledge," signifying something that is given as a sign of security or promise. The name has been popurized through various cultural references, including ballet, where Giselle is the title character of a famous Romantic ballet. stared at her white linen2Linen cloth is a fabric made from the fibers of the fx pnt. It's one of the oldest known textiles and has been used for thousands of years due to its strength, durability, and natural qualities. Linen is highly prized for its ability to keep the wearer cool in hot weather, as it is breathable, absorbent, and moisture-wicking. robes, her hands trembling before she pressed her small forehead into the cold stone wall.

  Reincarnation had seemed like such a wonderful thing—until she woke up in this world (the name of it... she couldn’t remember anymore).

  "Giselle, you should be about five years old now, right?" The voice of the high priest interrupted her thoughts as his warm hand gently cupped her small face, turning it this way and that under the soft, flickering light of the temple. "I can't believe you were born this way—already knowing how to walk and talk... You are truly no ordinary child."

  Giselle nodded slowly, her eyes lowered as her small hands twisted at the hem of her robe. "Yes… with the twelve patrons3The Twelve Patrons are powerful deities that influence the world and guide the protagonist.," she mumbled, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

  "They said I had to learn... to be like you."

  She stopped, her face scrunching as she tried to put her thoughts together.

  "Don’t understand…" she murmured, her voice trailing off, the confusion clear on her face.

  Giselle looked up at him, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. "Why... does it smell like this? The air... it’s wrong. Not like the gardens... The flowers there... they used to sing." She sniffed the air again, curling her nose as if the very scent was foreign to her. "Not like here."

  The high priest sighed softly, his brow furrowing as he gently lowered his hand from her face. His eyes softened, a quiet pity settling within them as he took a step back to observe the little girl before him.

  "Do you know how your name, Giselle, came to be?" the high priest asked softly as he took her hand and led her down the dimly lit hallway.

  She silently shook her head, and looks up at him with confusion.

  "Your name," the high priest began, his voice gentle yet filled with reverence, "was chosen for you by the twelve patrons themselves. They gave it to you because they saw something in you that none of us truly understand." He paused for a moment, his grip on her small hand tightening ever so slightly.

  "Giselle … it means 'God's promise.'4Some people interpret it as "God's promise" or "God's pledge" because of the religious association with the word gisil It was their way of marking you, a promise that you would walk the world as a divine messenger. A promise that you would be the bridge between the heavens and this mortal realm."

  Before she could ask another question, the high priest’s gentle voice interrupted her thoughts.

  "It’s time for bed now, Giselle," he said, his tone soft but firm. "You have a long day ahead, alright?"

  She hadn't noticed it, but they were already standing at her door. She nodded and pushed it open, giving him one st look before stepping inside the small, dimly lit room.

  The stone walls felt cold against her skin as she closed the door softly behind her. The bed was simple, the sheets rough, and the air smelled of incense and earth—nothing like the sweet scent of flowers she used to remember from her dreams.

  Giselle sat down on the edge of her bed, her small hands clutching the edge of the bnket tightly. Her gaze drifted to the small window, where the moonlight filtered through the cracks in the stone, casting pale shadows across the floor.

  Before she put out the lights, Giselle sat there for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the window and her fingers began circling the edge of the bnket absentmindedly.

  Just then there was this low chewing sound that broke the silence of the room. Giselle's head snapped towards the corner, where a small, mouse sits holding a piece of stale bread in its tiny paws.

  Its beady eyes gnced up at her briefly before returning to its meal, chewing contentedly. Giselle blinked in surprise, a small frown tugging at the corners of her lips.

  Giselle stared at the mouse as it continued nibbling on its bread, its tiny paws gripping the food like an old friend.

  This mouse had been a constant in her life for as long as she could remember. It never scurried away, unlike the other creatures in the temple that fled at the slightest sound.

  The mouse didn't fear her—if anything, it seemed to trust her.

  Maybe it’s just used to the temple, Giselle mused. Stray cats don’t run unless they feel threatened. They wander alongside you, on the other side of the street, until something makes them flee. But this mouse... Her thoughts trailed off as she watched it eat.

  Sighing softly, she slid out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cool stone floor. She padded softly to the corner, kneeling beside the mouse. Her fingers hovered near it, but before she could touch it, the mouse darted away through a crack beneath the door.

  Frowning, Giselle quickly scrambled to the door, her small hands fumbling with the edge as she pushed it open. Her eyes scanned the corridor, searching for the mouse. She spotted it at the far end, waiting as if it wanted her to follow.

  For a moment, Giselle hesitated, her fingers still gripping the doorframe.

  But curiosity won over, and she rushed after the mouse. It scurried down the narrow corridor, its tiny paws clicking on the cold stone.

  Giselle hurried to keep up, the torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls as the mouse led her deeper into the temple’s byrinthine halls.

  The further they went, the more unfamiliar the surroundings became. The mouse stopped at a rge wooden door, its surface carved with symbols and runes that Giselle didn’t recognize.

  There is no doorknob—just an indentation that looked like a keyhole, but no key in sight.

  “Why lead me here if I can’t open it?” Giselle whispered, her fingers tracing the symbols on the door.

  The mouse’s beady eyes flicked up to her, as if listening. It tilted its head and then scurried around the base of the door, urging her to follow.

  Giselle crouched and peered beneath the door, but all she saw was darkness. Then, suddenly, a sharp scream rang out from the other side, followed by the shattering of gss.

  "I told you—there’s no way we can do this without it!" someone yelled, her voice sharp with panic.

  Giselle recognized it. Sister Cécile. The one who brought her food and taught her the temple’s teachings. She sounded terrified.

  "It’s going to be fine. No one will know. We have the patrons on our side. During the Harvest Festival tomorrow, everything will fall into pce," another voice whispered—low, hurried, and unfamiliar. Giselle couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or woman.

  Before she could listen further, a soft cough behind her made her stiffen. She turned sharply, heart pounding.

  The high priest stood in the shadows, his robes rustling as he stepped forward. His expression was unreadable.

  "Giselle," he said quietly, "you mustn’t wander so te at night." His voice was gentle, but edged with warning. "The temple is not a pce for children to roam without purpose."

  She swallowed hard and scrambled to her feet, head bowed. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

  He didn’t reply right away, only watched her with that cold, distant gaze. Then, with a slight nod, he turned and guided her back the way she’d come.

  "Don’t ever leave your room without a proper reason, Giselle," he said, voice soft but firm. "The temple has rules. Those who follow them are protected. Those who stray often lose their way."

  She looked up, brows furrowed. "Is that a song? 'Stray' and 'way' rhyme."

  His lips twitched, then stilled as he composed himself. "It’s a metaphor," he said gently. "To stray is to lose one’s path. And to lose one’s path… is to lose oneself. Do you understand?"

  Giselle nodded slowly, hands trembling at her sides. "There was a mouse... and it—"

  "That’s enough," the high priest interrupted, calm but firm. "Mice are not to be trusted. They are not guides, no matter how they appear."

  He paused, his voice shifting to a quieter tone. "Have I ever told you the tale of the trickster? The one who wore many forms to mislead the curious?"

  She shook her head.

  "There was once a young prince," he began, "sheltered in a grand pace, surrounded by comfort and care. One day, his curiosity got the better of him. He followed a mouse, thinking it a guide. But it led him outside the pace during a storm, straight into a trap set by those who wished him harm. He trusted the wrong guide—and paid the price."

  He gnced down at her, his steps echoing in the silent corridor.

  "Curiosity can be dangerous," he said. "It draws us into pces we’re not meant to go. Trust those who care for you—your priests, the twelve patrons. Not voices in the dark. Not creatures that scurry in shadows."

  Giselle bit her lip, unsure if she understood, but too afraid to question. She just nodded.

  When they reached her room, she watched as the high priest drew a ring of keys from his robe. The metal jingled quietly as he opened the door. Once she stepped inside, it clicked shut behind her.

  He locked the door.

  Giselle stared at it for a long moment, then slowly returned to her bed.

  As she pulled the bnket over her, she heard a familiar squeak. She turned—there it was, the mouse, perched beside her pillow.

  "Go away," she murmured, face buried in the bnket. "You got me in trouble."

  The mouse let out a soft, persistent squeak.

  She turned her head, too tired to lift it fully.

  "Why won’t you leave me alone?" she whispered into the pillow, her voice barely audible.

  This mouse is no good.