Elizabeth Bennet's renowned fine eyes blinked inside the reflection, startling me. I gasped, before realizing my silliness and stepping closer to the mirror. I let my hands glide over the pastel green muslin dress, admiring the high-waisted skirt that was cut as one with the bodice and flattered her figure.
The straight, full-length sleeves indicated I was wearing a morning gown from the end of the eighteenth century, matching the period Jane Austen wrote the first draft of her novel. A large, white handkerchief covered my crossover neckline with embroidered lace, modestly concealing the cleavage.
I swayed, revelling in the rustling of the silk petticoat. The movement drew my attention to the lower part of my body, and I froze in wide-eyed bewilderment. I brushed my back with caution, my hands asserting what my buttocks already knew. Holy moly, I had no panties.
Technically, I was not naked under my gown. Drawers protected my thighs while allowing business to be done--a breeze between my legs confirmed it. Stays supported my bustline, turning my torso into a stiff, inverted cone, and a shift shielded me from the fully-boned garment. I raised my hand to identify its fabric, blushing at the touch of the soft bosom that was definitely more generous than my real one.
Letters appeared from thin air, hanging in front of my eyes no matter where I looked. The Bridge manifested itself, asking for my attention.
Would you like to keep this appearance, or load your own?
Oh, that was a tough one. I weighed the pros and the cons of customising my character. Would I rather live the story as a Caucasian girl, with fair skin, chestnut hair, and those weird frizzy curls that kept tickling my cheekbones?
Or should I stick to my own appearance, sun-kissed skin, straight raven hair, lanky arms, and almond-shaped eyes? Would it be weird for the other characters to have an Asian lady strolling through Longbourn and Pemberley? Would they even notice? Would it affect the storyline?
After this intense inner debate, I decided on the second option. If the device offered its user the possibility to load their appearance, it surely meant that the artificial intelligence, or whatever controlled the game, was able to handle any physical feature.
"My own, please."
A snort so powerful came out through my nose that its vibrations reverberated to my ears. Irrepressible laughter filled the corridor as I hunched over, ears burning from merriness.
"C-can you disable the English accent, please?" I asked breathily, unable to spend the whole story with this refined diction.
Accent switched to Canadian English.
A hand against the wall to keep balance, I dropped the hat and massaged my sore, hardened abdomen, fits of giggles shaking my body from time to time, until I managed to regain countenance. With a last chuckle, I straightened myself up, wiped a tear, and read the new words.
Do you confirm that you read and agreed to the terms and conditions?
I promised myself I would dutifully study the instruction manual after a good night's sleep. "Sure."
Elizabeth Bennet rippled in the mirror, like a reflection on a small water pond. In the blink of an eye, I replaced her in the pale green gown. I smiled goofily at my familiar traits, wiggling my brows up and down. My grin widened as I cupped my breasts, whispering to them, "I love you, girls, no matter your size."
In the evening room, Mrs. Bennet scoffed, bringing my attention back to the story. I bowed down to pick up the bonnet, then squared my shoulders and cleared my throat, working up the courage to meet, well, my family. With a last glance at the mirror, I patted my head, wishing I had something to try and bring some life into my stupid, sleek mane. Eighteen century fashion was not the best match for my Asian hair.
The moment my hand brushed the doorknob, another message materialised.
Would you like to keep the default Bennet family, or load your own?
"Hell, yeah, my own," I replied, dying to see my parents and Amy in Regency outfits.
The lock did not resist this time, and I was finally allowed to uncover the drawing room. Logs crackled merrily in the white marble fireplace, their flames adding a green hue to the blue leaves covering the walls. The ceiling windows were draped with flowery velvet, whose thickness added to the flickering warmth provided by the many chandeliers lighting up the scene.
Dad was surprisingly dapper with favoris, and his mischievous eyes sparkled as he glanced towards Mom, who was seated in a twin armchair. Her stare was not quite amiable. Tension inhabited her traits, and she kept her mouth in a tight line.
On the sofa facing them were Amy and three girls that I didn't recognize, but whose hooded gaze and ebony hair indicated as my other sisters.
Ames raised her head from her embroidery hoop upon me entering, and scooted up a bit, a hand patting the couch beside her. Her kind smile, and furthermore lack of punk rock attire, threw me off, but I obliged, with a mix of exhilaration and dread.
As soon as I joined my siblings, clutching the straw hat like a shield, our father addressed me with, "I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy."
My ears warmed at the nickname, while a conniving grin spread on my face, for I knew Mr. Bennet intended to fully taunt his silly wife.
"We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes, since we are not to visit," my mother, or should I say Mrs. Bennet scoffed, shaking her head with irritation.
A shiver went down my spine as it dawned on me that the next line was mine. A throbbing pulse in my throat sent adrenaline to my brain, to no avail. I was addicted to Pride and Prejudice and its numerous adaptations, but still far from being able to recite it by heart. Subtitles thankfully appeared, prompting me Elizabeth's first words.
"But you forget, Mama, that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him."
There, I did it! The palpitations inside my chest subdued, and I laid back on the sofa, relieved that I did not splutter.
"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her." Mrs. Bennet emphasized said opinion with a sharp nod.
"No more have I, and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you," was her husband's reply.
On my left, a coughing fit shook one of the girls, attracting Mrs. Bennet's ire. "Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's sake! Have a little compassion for my nerves. You tear them to pieces."
"Kitty has no discretions in her coughs. She times them ill," Dad offered.
"I do not cough for my own amusement." Kitty's whispered protestation did not reach Mrs. Bennet's ears. "When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?"
"To-morrow fortnight," I stuttered, my heart racing again at the mention of the upcoming Meryton assembly.
Mama's hands grasped the handkerchief she was trimming, and dabbed it on the corner of her dry eyes. "Aye, so it is, and Mrs. Long does not come back till the day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself."
Mr. Bennet's mouth was twitching, though his gaze kept trained on his book. "Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Bingley to her."
"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself; how can you be so teasing?" she cried, her head snapping towards her husband.
"I honour your circumspection. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if we do not venture, somebody else will; and after all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself."
On Kitty's left, a girl with an oblong, pleasing face squirmed, throwing anxious glances at her neighbours.
"Nonsense, nonsense!" Mom dismissed, tossing her handkerchief back on her lap.
Compassion for her foolish behavior flooding me, I waited for Mr. Bennet's next provocation.
"What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation? Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you there. What say you, Mary? for you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read great books, and make extracts."
Kitty elbowed the girl on her right, who was pretending to be immersed in Pastor Fordyce's Sermons to Young Women. The latter remained silent, struggling to find something wise to answer.
"While Mary is adjusting her ideas, let us return to Mr. Bingley."
"I am sick of Mr. Bingley," Mrs. Bennet replied dryly. She raised her chin, daring anyone to continue with the discussion.
"I am sorry to hear that; but why did you not tell so before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now."
Upon hearing Mr. Bennet's revelation, I pinched my lips, fighting to pretend I was astonished too, but when Mrs. Bennet and my sisters jumped from their seat, clamoring, and hugging themselves, I joined in their delight and clapped my hands in excitement. Amy remained on the sofa with me, and kept a calm facade, a demure smile being the only proof of the joy bubbling inside of her.
While Mrs. Bennet profusely thanked her husband, I caught a glimpse of the mahogany balloon table clock on the pedestal table and, wondering since when I was immersed, took my leave.
"Bridge, off."
My Backstreet Boys poster faded in the gilt mirror above the mantel, Nick pouting under the tassel and ribbons motif. The rest of my bedroom replaced Longbourn's drawing room as I blinked a few times to adjust back to the bright electrical lighting.
According to my phone, I spent little less than twenty minutes in this virtual world, meaning that time flew at the same pace as reality.
My hand fumbled on my temple, trying to remove the device without damaging it, but my attempt was stopped by yet another message.
For a better gaming experience, we advise you to wear the Bridge while sleeping.
What for? Brows furrowed, I reached for the manual, but a jaw-popping yawn interrupted my gesture. I covered my mouth with my hand, inclined, then shook my head above my lap, to ensure that the disc was secured.
My Pride and Prejudice edition was still open in front of me, and I browsed it, biting my lower lip in elation.
There. In the next chapter, after some days discussing Mr. Bingley's appearance and the guests he would bring back from London, I would meet him.
Which aspect of his personality would make my heart race? Would his misanthropic nature be perceptible? Would he exude arrogance? Or awkwardness? And most importantly, would I trouble him from our first encounter?
With a sharp breath, I put the book and my phone on the nightstand, and switched off the light, checking the Bridge position one last time before sliding under the sheet.
A smile crept up on my face as I fluffed my pillow for I knew that tonight, I would be dreaming of a fine, tall person, with handsome features, noble mien, and whose ten thousand pounds a year would mean nothing to me.