"Hey, you're not Yulia, are you? The person inside is definitely different."

Pointing my sword, I interrogated the "woman" before me.
The Princess Yulia I knew was a woman who, to put it mildly, was unpleasant—wearing a fawning smile every time she saw my face and clinging to me with a cloyingly sweet voice.

But what about this one now?
The moment I approached, she visibly blushed, and of all things, she nearly fainted while muttering nonsense like, "He's real... so precious..."

What dwells in her eyes isn't calculating greed, but a fervent "devotion" so pure it's almost creepy.

"...Answer me. Who are you, wearing Yulia's skin?"

As I speak coldly, far from being frightened, she gazes at the tips of my boots with an ecstatic expression.
Whatever is inside her, I have no memory of such an abnormal gaze.
Yet, before irritation can take hold, I feel a surge of inexplicable curiosity rising within me.