ã€ŠThis Villainess Will Not Die!ã€‹


 This is fine.

    One could very well argue that what I was doing on a night like this was... Immoral, at best...

    No. Most people would think this absolutely disrespectful.

    I get that. But, I honestly don''t care enough to stop.

    I was dragging a drunk blonde woman whose name I can barely remember to the bathroom (so she wouldn''t puke on my sofa), tightly holding her arm, when I recognized a silhouette at the end of the hall. "Hey, Penelope, someone''s knocking!"

    "My hands are full, as you can see." I stated. "You get it instead." I ordered, raising a hand to the barely recognizable man holding a beer and standing by the entrance.

    "Blerghmff-!" The woman''s left hand had gone stiff, her body freezing.

    "NO!" My eyes widened when her right palm flew to her lips, likely stifling her vomit. "NOT ON MY FLOOR!" I ordered, dragging her to the bathroom as fast as I could.

    ~

    The living room had gotten chillier when I walked back into it, probably because I had less clothing on me now, having forsaken the sweater I wore earlier which was now soggily sitting in my sink, drenched in a stranger''s vomit.

    "... Whatever," I muttered to myself. "It''s fine."

    What wasn''t too fine was the earful I gave that woman right after she got off me... It''s not like she meant to puke on me.

    No, whatever, she probably deserved it.

    "Is Holly okay?!" The redhead who brought red wine, yelled out.

    I could barely make out what she said through the motion of her lips through the blasting music.

    Let''s assume Holly is the shithead that puked all over my floor.

    Also, whose lap is she even sitting in? I could swear it was a completely different guy, like, two minutes ago...

    "She''s crying in the bathroom right now!" I communicated, checking the time on my phone.

    "Oh." She cringed a tad, then went back to talking to the guy.

    It was well past 1AM.

    I took in a deep breath, straightened my back and brushed a lock of my short brown hair behind my ear as I scanned the room.

    Assessing the current situation, I was aware of a messy bathroom floor, a ruined sweater, a dozen college students I barely knew clouding my space, and an apartment (mine) that seemed to have turned into a fucking circus.

    How in the world did it come to this?

    All hell had broken loose inside of my apartment, and I could barely remember how it all started.

    Loud music blasted through the entire place, making the walls vibrate. The lights were dim; and I don''t know who it was that brought party lights, but someone did, and I needed to talk to them about it. The entire place reeked of sweat and alcohol. The police have probably been called on us by now. And the number of strangers currently existing in this cramped apartment of mine was nothing short of outrageous.

    Worst is that the one responsible for this absolute fucking mess was none other than myself.

    But it''s fine! This is OK.

    Everything was under control¡ªin my opinion.

    "Hey," I felt a hand on my shoulder, sending chills down my spine. I instinctively stepped back, disconnecting their hand from my shoulder before I turned to them, clenching my fists as I maintained a neutral expression.

    ... I''m okay with this.

    "Are you really okay with this?" The person asked. He was another unrecognizable invitee.

    "Hm? What''s up?" I mustered up a pleasant expression.

    "Your mom died yesterday." He stated, blankfaced.

    Something inside my chest shrank at the sound of his words.

    "Are you okay with this shitshow?" He pointed to the entire room with his chin. "Didn''t you have her funeral, like... This morning?"

    The stranger''s words echoed through the room.

    Initially, I thought the echo was all in my head. But the silence lasted for too many seconds, making me look around, only to find out that I had gained a quiet audience.

    The music had stopped.

    Everyone heard that.

    "I..." I blinked, struggling to move my hands up to cross them.

    No. This is fine. I reminded myself. I''ll be alright. I only have to get through tonight.

    "Of course." I shared their gaze, fighting the tears rushing to my eyes. "Dwelling on sad stuff was never really my thing," I stated as confidently as possible, trying my best at a smirk as I grabbed the wine bottle the redhead brought along and banged it lightly with the can of beer the stranger held.

    The silence we shared as I awaited his response was crushing.

    "... Well, cheers I guess," he chuckled, gulping down the drink while I sipped straight from the bottle.

    Wait, who opened this thing?

    Everyone started talking again, making me sigh of relief. I turned to the music player, hoping to go turn it back on. But suddenly, the sound of loud shattering resonated to my left.

    In my mother''s room.

    "Jake, what the hell!" A man laughed.

    Intuitively, I headed towards the noise. I left the lounge and strode across the narrow corridor, noticing that the door to the room was slightly open. I closed in, heeding whatever discovery I would be making as soon as I opened the door wider.

    "Shit, I didn''t do it on purpose..."

    I pushed the door, finding two men standing by the nightstand, while a girl sat cross-legged on the bed, a phone stuck to her cheek.

    "What happened?" I walked in, making them both turn to me.

    And who the fuck let them in here?

    The one laughing was looking at his friend with a mischievous grin, while the latter was kneeling, shuffling around with something on the ground.

    "Jake broke a picture frame." He pointed down to his friend.

    "Dude..." His friend threw him an annoyed look.

    "He was making fun of how you looked in this picture." He chuckled, playfully pushing his friend with his knee. "Karma got him before you did." He laughed.

    A picture frame?

    "Hey, Penelope, don''t listen to him." The culprit stood back up, a broken wooden frame in his palms. "I would never make fun of you." He looked down, stifling a laugh.

    There was an Alder wood frame in this room? And that picture... A green eyed kid with terribly cut bangs in a white blazer with a broken plastic stethoscope around her bruised neck, and... and a woman with big curls and the  expression...

    "It had a post-it on it," The friend said, extending me the picture and a green sticky note to me.

    "Is this... her?" Jake looked down at the photo, taking it out of the frame. He dropped the piece of textured wood and its shattered glass to the ground and handed me the picture.

    <blockquote>

    This a new design. It rocks, no? I made it, so better take it to your dorm and show your friends!

    - Love, Ma

    </blockquote>

    My hand flew to my eyes, wiping off the tears before they fell.

    Crying in front of these strangers, I can''t let myself be humiliated like that...

    The frame in question was on the ground, torn into pieces. I could barely even tell what design she spoke of through its remnants.

    "Hey," one of the two extended their hand to touch my shoulder. "I''ll buy you a new¡ª"

    "Don''t fucking touch me." I held a palm up, teeth gritted.

    I couldn''t help but glare at the guy, eyes teary and face burning up. My insides felt like they were ablaze.

    "You fucking moron!" I yelled. "How could you bre¡ª!?" My voice broke, silencing my anger. I huffed, chest going up and down.

    "Hey, maybe you should sit down for a bit," The friend looked at me with worried eyes. "You''re, like, shaking..." He pointed to my hand.

    The picture he handed me was crumpled inside my shaky palm.

    Throwing the two warning glares, I turned away from them. The breaths leaving my chest were quickening, and my senses were getting duller by the second.

    Anything I heard seemed to echo. Everything I saw was shaky.

    "Who turned off the music!?" Someone yelled from the living room, turning it back on.

    "Anyway," the girl sitting crosslegged on my mother''s bed, shoes still on, continued talking on her phone. "Of course, I told him to come..."

    I made my way out, traversing the corridor leading up to the living room despite how everything seemed to spin. The unrecognizable faces, the loud giggling, the water faucet running in the bathroom, the shutter sounds from my room, which had me throw a dizzy look towards it, only to see a woman sitting on my bed, taking selfies with the wooden figurine collection I made everyone swear not to touch all towering on her lap.

    Standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by waves of noise, the room was spinning quicker and quicker the more breathless I became.

    Fuck... I want to believe that everything is fine... That this is what I''m supposed to be doing... But I''m suffocating.

    I made it to the speakers and tore off the cable, barely able to stand in my heels.

    Upon my action, both the speakers and the attendees went quiet.

    I let out a tense breath, shakily looking up at everyone whose gaze landed on me in confusion.

    "What''s¡ª"

    "Leave," I tensely whispered, eyes on the ground. "Leave."

    "What?"

    "We can''t hear you..."

    "Everyone..." I looked around the room, eyes widening. "All of you. Get the fuck out of my house."

    "Hey," the redhead got off the couch, trying to walk up to me. "You can''t just¡ª"

    "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE." I yelled, making her flinch. "NOW!"

    ~

    A phone was vibrating on the ground. The same cold and hard ground on which I sat, legs crossed, blankly gazing at the full-length mirror hanging on the wall across the room.

    I think I''m in the living room.

    I looked around, noticing the familiar large wooden carved plane sitting on the shelf in the corner. And to my left... This old wooden bookshelf.

    Yup, I''m in my apartment. And that''s me.

    I watched myself through the mirror''s reflection.

    A lifeless thing, sitting against a dirty sofa, under the large window through which the moonlight seeped in. Mascara stained both sides of her cheeks. Her newly curled neck-length brown hair had gone back to its straight form, with more than one strand stuck to the tears wetting the two sides of her face, and to her left were a pair of beat-up black heels.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    In her right hand was a bottle of red wine, half emptied.

    "Heh," I raised it, making a toast with the reflection of myself in the mirror. "Sad little bitch."

    I chugged down the liquid, not caring enough to acknowledge the taste, my attention stolen by the absolute mess currently surrounding my limp and exhausted self.

    Just a few hours ago, this place looked, sounded, and reeked of compelled delight.

    People I barely knew, charging in clothed in all black, equipped with all sorts of beverages, ready to spend a crazed night at my house.

    What the fuck was I thinking...?

    Compared to the explosion of lights and clangor that this place had been earlier, its silent, shadowy, and lonely state now was as comforting as it was pathetic.

    The phone rang again, and I finally threw a look to the side, setting the bottle down before I picked it up.

    <blockquote>

    Caller: "Sad Bitch."

    </blockquote>

    "Here''s another one," I muttered, sliding my index on the phone to hang up.

    <blockquote>

    6 Missed Calls

    </blockquote>

    I put the phone close to my lips. "Give UP," I said, before throwing it back on the ground.

    I grunted, patting my puffy eyes and tucking the short hairs stuck on my cheeks behind my ear.

    "Hello?" A faint voice resonated through the room. "Penelope? Penelope, talk to me!" The voice implored.

    I looked up, vision groggy. "God...?" I asked, eyes droopy.

    My heart sank.

    "...Ma?" I called, nearly afraid of the word, propelling myself forward and getting on my knees.

    "Answer the damn phone...! Please!"

    My shoulders dropped down once I identified the voice''s origin, and I flopped back against the sofa.

    I answered the call without meaning to. Great.

    "... What do you want?" I asked, fighting the urge to hang up in her face.

    "Penelope! Where are you!? Where did you go?!"

    "Home," I stated, shaking my head in annoyance.

    She''s asking to reprimand me again. I can''t be feeling relieved like this.

    She doesn''t deserve that.

    "How...! Are you okay?!"

    I opened my mouth to speak, but the words were caught in my throat. Tears slipped off of my eyes, making me shake my head.

    "It''s because I''m drunk..." I muttered.

    Right. It wasn''t because of the warmth that had invaded my heart at the sound of her question.

    "I''ve been knocking for so long. Why aren''t you opening the door if you''re home?!" She sounded aggravated¡ªjust her usual self.

    KNOCK KNOCK.

    "Oh." I hung up the phone.

    KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

    "I''m coming. Chill." I mumbled, helping myself stand by hanging onto the bookshelf to my left.

    Looking at the filled bookshelf, a certain book spine caught my gaze. A vintage cover, dusty and overwhelmingly familiar.

    Naturally, I reached out to grab the book, grinning softly at the name plastered on its shiny black cover.

    <blockquote>

    Wholeheartedly Yours.

    </blockquote>

    Despite my wobbly vision, I could still comprehend the font.

    "This thing..." I couldn''t help but feel nostalgic, holding the rough cover in my hand.

    I missed this it. The last time I recited it was nearly a decade ag¡ª

    KNOCK KNOCK.

    I flinched.

    Right. My guest.

    The furniture, now misplaced thanks to bad decisions, looked shaky through my eyes. Even the walls seemed to move back and forth as I made my way to the entrance, barefooted.

    I swung the door open, barely able to keep my balance, putting on my best business smile.

    "Hey," I grinned, meeting the brown gaze of my visitor.

    Harper McCullin.

    My friend of 17 years, in her funky pajama pants, wearing a grey cloak over it, her brown curly hair ruffled, and her eyes pretty much as puffy as mine.

    "I know my boyfriend cheated on me with you." She glared before I took another breath.

    My eyes went wide, and the warmth in my chest suddenly became overbearing. It felt as though I had been slapped in the face.

    Right. I had forgotten. Harper was my ex-best-friend, of 17 years.

    "And at this point, I''m not even mad about it." Her gaze was sharp, intense. "I don''t even know why I bothered coming here. After everything..." Her brown eyes were shadowed with resignment. "You''re still you. The same selfish, heartless, canniving little shit."

    Those words, for whatever reason, made my heart clench.

    "But what the fuck were you thinking? I can''t wrap my head around it...!" She slammed her palms on her forehead, as if she couldn''t make sense of things. "Tonight, of all nights? Really?!" Her words rang down the hall outside. "Just... What is wrong with you?!" She frowned, her expression teetering on disgust.

    I could still feel the rough hardcover under my fingertips... If only I could use it to bash her head in.

    I clenched my fist, my grin fading.

    "Leave," I simply huffed, shoulders slumping. "I''m not in the mood to argue with you right now." I grabbed the doorknob, swinging the door closed.

    But before it could fully lock out her persistent glare, something had interjected its close; her foot.

    "Why?" She held it open, I could hear her bitter smile. "You were in the mood to throw a whole-ass fucking party just two hours ago?"

    Before I could defend myself, she had pushed the door open, making me jerk my head towards her in bewilderment.

    "Just know that I only came here for your mom." She spat. "Otherwise, you couldn''t pay me to look you in the eyes after everything that''s happened. Got it?" She stabbed my chest with her index, then grabbed me by the wrist. "Now, shut the fuck up and follow me."

    "Let go." I prompted, trying to pull away.

    Disregarding my order completely, she led me out of the house and closed the door. She threw a disgusted glare back at me.

    "You reek of alcohol." Her nose was scrunched up, making me press my lips together.

    "That''s rich coming from you." I countered, rolling my eyes. "You reek of cigarettes."

    Harper shot me a sidelong glance, her mouth opening like she wanted to rip into me, but she stopped short. She let out a sharp breath through her nose, voice tight and bitter. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I came at all.¡±

    I scoffed, feeling the dirty, cold ground of the hallway under my bare feet. I couldn''t even get my shoes.

    I can''t even find it in me to retaliate.

    We breezed along the other apartment doors, heading towards the exit of the building.

    "Where are we going?" I asked, giving in to her pull. I looked up, watching the back of her head as I waited for a reply that never came.

    At least I wouldn''t be sobbing in my apartment alone if I went with her... right?

    As soon as we were out of the building, the smoke-filled air of my neighborhood seeped into my system, jerking my senses awake. We crossed the street, headed for Harper''s white Toyota Yaris. Her car was poorly parked under a flickering light pole, beside a graffiti filled wall.

    "Get in the car." She ordered, swinging the backdoor open, a hand on her hip as she did. Despite the lousy orange light under which we stood, I could discern that ''I''m so done with you'' look of hers.

    It had been so long since I last saw it. Her thin eyebrows were brought together, her mouth unthinkingly pouting, her brown eyes glaring and her hair so disheveled it made her look comical.

    I couldn''t help but chuckle at it, feeling a slim bit nostalgic as I hopped into the car.

    Seven months.

    We hadn''t seen each other in seven months.

    The last time I saw her was such a shitshow, too. We were at the police station. She was crying, I was crying, and her injured shithead boyfriend just stood there silently. I had begged her to hear me out but to no avail. That night, Harper, my best friend of 17 years had officially decided to cut me off.

    I leaned back onto my chair, shooing away the giddiness that slowly filled my chest at the familiar smell of her dusty car seats, and the smell of the pungent lemon flavored air freshener hanging on the rearview mirror.

    "Put your seatbelt on." A hoarse voice spoke out, making my smile drop instantly as chills ran down my spine.

    Suddenly, the air in the car felt nonexistent.

    My eyes shot up, slowly registering that a third person was sitting in the car with us. A man. He had short blonde hair, black framed thick glasses, and a slimy, disgusting little grin on his face as he turned around to look at me.

    "How¡ª" The moment he opened his mouth, I shot up, bumping my head into the car''s ceiling.

    "Stop the car." I demanded, glaring at Harper through the rearview mirror.

    With dark under-eye bags, puffy eyes, and an annoyed expression, Harper let out a sigh.

    "Drop the act already." She said, making tears rush to my eyes as I flopped back down. "At least for tonight, do what you''re told, Penelope." She spun the wheel, readying to take a left turn.

    We''re heading to his house.

    They''re still together.

    She brought him along.

    She brought him with her on the day of my mother''s funeral.

    She put me in the same car with him.

    For a moment, my mind could not comprehend the cruelty of this situation, its painful irony. In helpless and confused quiet, I watched the empty road outside.

    I turned to Harper with the remaining slither of hope in my heart.

    Staring into her lovely browns, I caught a sight that made me unable to hold onto my tears. Through the mirror, I glimpsed a familiar gaze, a shade of brown carved into the back of my mind, a soul that once intertwined with my very own.

    Yet... that soulmate of mine was now gazing at me with such loathing I could hardly breathe.

    The sheer level of anger and spite I caught through her teary eyes made my soul shiver and my heart tighten. Tears were streaming down my face as I disconnected from it.

    I pressed my lips together and curled my shaky palms.

    "STOP THE FUCKING CAR!" I banged on the window, making the two jump. "HARPER!"

    "Yo, what the fuck?!" Benjamin, that devil incarnate, turned around and reached out.

    Memories I thought I had forgotten arose.

    Before the flashing scenes in my mind could paralyze my body; before I could think and completely out of breath, I swung the book I forgot I even held anymore at his face. He let out a pained scream and turned away to hold his face.

    I flung the door open, sharing one last broken look with Harper through the rearview mirror before I jumped out of the moving car.

    "PEN-" She couldn''t complete her sentence before I landed onto the concrete.

    Thanking whatever force it was that helped me stand on my feet as I made it out, with a surging pain in both of my ankles, I took a sharp, cold breath in, trying to regain my balance.

    I ran away, ignoring the loud calls for my name, because I could see a highway with few cars in the distant night. And I knew being far away from these people was the only thing that could help me breathe again.

    Clutching the book in my hand, ignoring the harshness of the ground under my feet, I rushed towards it.

    I''m going home.

    I''m so fucking done.

    I looked up at the few misty clouds floating in the darkened sky, now hiding the moon. I bit my lips, taking in sharp and rapid breaths.

    Why did I trust her again? How could I let myself be in this situation... Again.

    "I''m such a fucking idiot." I bit my bottom lip, feeling a sharp sting on it and a liquid emerging from the injury.

    Suddenly, the night''s dim disappeared, and all I could see was light. I looked down quickly, eyes widening at the sight that greeted me.

    A loud honking echoed through the night, and before I completely registered what the vehicle heading towards me at a deathly speed was, I was already in the air.

    I couldn''t feel much, as I limply lay on the ground. Cheek on concrete, I listened to the muffled screams around me and watched the blood from my head form a pond around me, staining the shiny black book sitting a few inches away from my head, open.

    I could die right now.

    My surroundings got darker by the moment.

    But the thought of death didn''t faze me much. I came close to it too many times for it to scare me anymore.

    I''m stronger than this.

    I''ll be fine.

    <hr>

    Harper had stopped the car in a frenzy. She had gotten out to check up on her friend after she ordered her anxious and feral husband to stay in the car, at the top of her lungs.

    Harper''s had a terrible feeling about it all. That was why she came to check up on Penelope in the first place.

    She thought herself numb to the entire situation. She truly hoped she was. But she was crying as she looked around in a craze for Penelope.

    She wasn¡¯t outside. Penelope was running in the other direction in full force, barefoot in the dead of night, like the crazy woman that she was.

    The night sky was sprinkled with glowing white, stretching into the distance. And there she was; a girl Harper thought she could never meet again, clothed in black and slowly merging with the night sky. For a split moment, that had been the painting.

    Harper started running in hopes of catching up with her Penelope. She yelled her name out, but she didn¡¯t hear.

    Recognizing that one of the white dots in the distance was getting bigger by the second, Harper screamed louder. Still no reaction.

    Eyes wide open at the white dot that had turned into a vehicle with a passed-out driver, she opened her mouth to bellow Penelope¡¯s name as loud as she could, but what came out instead was a scream at the sight of her best friend''s body being flung in the air.

    She didn¡¯t have the guts to go closer to it.

    She stopped in her tracks and shakily took out her phone. Benjamin was running to the scene in terror.

    A shaky hand held Harper''s phone to her ear while she waited for the ringing to stop, a second hand on her belly.

    Her eyes temained fixated on the bloody scene, never blinking, hollow and shaky.

    ¡°911... yes, there is something I''d like to report.¡±

    <hr>

    Penelope Horne:

    Birth: January 21st year 1997.

    Death: September 12th year 2024.

    <hr>

    Day 1: Start

    The familiar scent of aged wood gently tickled my nose, prompting me to open my eyes. Silence enveloped the room as my gaze cautiously wandered.

    For a moment, I was lost between consciousness and the lingering haze of... what?

    The chamber boasted a lofty ceiling adorned with intricate hand-carved designs from marble and dark stone. The windows lined the walls, wide yet small in length and placed too high to allow any view of the land. Nothing but the sunlight and the clear blue of the sky outside could filter through.

    My legs were swollen, bare, and sore, planted firmly on the chilled white marble floor. My hands pressed against a sturdy ebony desk-like stand before me. I tried to shift, only to feel the cold bite of iron around my wrists. Shackles. What the fuck.

    I breathed in and out, attuned to the calm and rhythmic rise and fall of my chest as I breathed.

    Okay. I think... I think I''m alive.

    My pulse quickened in disbelief. After everything¡ªafter that¡ªI¡¯m still here.

    What a relief.

    ¡°Lady Hiba, would you care to elucidate the nature of your association with Lady Penelope Ashdown, past or present?¡± A voice broke me out of my stupor, making me jerk my head towards it.

    Lady?

    Surveying my surroundings, I realized I was in what seemed to be a traditional courtroom.

    Uh... What?

 My Imagination Must Be SO Vast

    <Undetermined Time-period Before Waking up in A Courtroom>

    I have been waiting so long, so much so that I lost track of the time.

    I have no clue how long it has been. An hour? A day? A month?

    It feels as though a century has passed, and yet... No beeping.

    I can''t hear the beeping of the machines, the clattering of the doors, no voices of doctors, no shuffling or nurses chattering... nothing.

    I hear absolutely nothing.

    ... But this is alright.

    I know how it goes: I''ll wake up in a hospital bed, ask someone about where I am, act oh-so surprised and confused that I am in a hospital, look around and realize that I am alive and well, be told that I risked death and that I... I survived.

    There''s no way I''d die. The world wouldn''t do that to me. Not after everything that has happened. Not now.

    I must be in a deep coma.

    Right.

    It''s alright, I''ll wait some more.

    ~

    It''s dark and empty, wherever I am. I feel like I am everywhere and yet nowhere. I have control over nothing, not even my thoughts.

    But I have my memories, and that''s a positive I must clutch onto.

    For instance, I remember that night, when I was hit by the vehicle with the giant lights and dropped something that got drenched in my blood; that book, Wholeheartedly Yours.

    I wonder if anyone bothered to pick it up when they took me to the hospital... I hope they did.

    It''s an object that can never be replaced or replicated. Its memory is a bright, irreplaceable one.

    "Happy eighth birthday!!" A raspy voice exclaimed, pushing a rectangular, girthy object on the table, and positioning it next to my birthday cupcake, which sat on a chipped plate.

    I looked up at my mother, smiling from ear to ear, feeling tears rush to my eyes from the sheer joy that I had gotten a birthday gift for the first time, in addition to the whipped cream on the cupcake.

    "Is this mine?" I asked, watching the excitement paint itself on my mother''s tired features as she nodded.

    Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was still bandaged, and her left eye was blue. And yet, she watched me unwrap the gift with a careful, proud gaze.

    And there it was, the first gift I had ever gotten; A black, shiny book, with words carved on its cover in such elegant font.

    I reached over the table, clumsily wrapping her into a tight hug. "Mom, I can''t even read the title." I giggled against her shoulder, making her laugh in turn.

    "You''ll learn." She giggled.

    I didn''t know at the time. I wasn''t aware that this book would become the best and most exciting thing I had throughout my childhood.

    I wasn''t even smart enough to understand half the words I read in it. Hell, I couldn''t comprehend the plot and events properly until my seventh time re-reading the novel.

    The story had been a little puzzle I solved the more I researched the meaning of each word.

    And the story was an inspiring little tale, at that.

    I hadn''t been disappointed, reading about the romantic and magical adventures of Estelle Pureheart, as she navigated her tough world, discovering friendship, trust, and love.

    It wasn''t until I grew older, that I found out that those three were all but little sweet lies. Falsehoods they whispered into children''s ears, hoping to paint their dreams a vivid color before reality suddenly came crashing down on them one day.

    To think my childhood idol was living in a fairytale while idiot little me made it a life goal to live like her.

    At least now I see how cheap and over-the-top everything was in Wholeheartedly Yours. From the magic to the plot, to the main character and her luck.

    It was all such dogshit writing, such impossible dreams.

    It was the perfect story to give a lonely child like me a reason to live and look forward to every coming day...

    ... Wait, I''m being sad again. Thinking about these things is useless now.

    I need to wake up!

    I have shit to get done. I''m almost done with my residency; I can''t be sitting in a coma right now¡ª

    <Back to Present Time>

    ¡°Miss Loraine, would you care to tell us about what your relationship with Miss Penelope Ashdown is, or was?¡± A voice broke me out of my haze, making me jerk my head towards it.

    I looked around where I was, which seemed to be some sort of old-fashioned courtroom.

    Uh... What?

    The voice belonged to a guy standing far to my left. He wore a long deep brown cloak with two white strips on his left shoulder. This particular shade of brown seemed duplicated in all of the attending staff''s clothing, throughout their different designs.

    He spoke to a woman sitting in the witness testimony box located beside the elevated judge¡¯s bench.

    The witness was a young girl with long red hair and small brown eyes. She wore some sort of light yellow puffy dress and big golden earrings.

    Wow¡­ I MUST be dreaming.

    The judge¡¯s bench was situated directly before me, a safe distance away. He wore a black robe and held a wooden hammer in his left hand, two things that normally would make anyone in that position intimidating, but... He looks like, twenty-five or something... Is this a joke?

    Additionally, I would have expected a white wig to accompany his, uh, costume, but I suppose even vivid dreams like this one are half-assed in my head. Instead, it''s just a bunch of blonde curls slicked back on his square-shaped head.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    The blonde judge ¡ª a man much too young to be taken seriously ¡ª had his violet eyes set and completely fixated on the woman sitting on the witness stand.

    Violet eyes, huh?

    What a messy dream.

    ¡°I have known Miss Ashdown for a very long time, Your Highness¡ª I mean, your honor... Longer than I can recall. We have met through Trevor, my cousin, and her fianc¨¦.¡± She pitifully looked up at the blonde judge, who offered her his full attention. ¡°I suppose it would be better to phrase it this way,¡± she threw a sharp look my way. ¡°Miss Ashdown made friends with me to get close to her now fianc¨¦ and my cousin, Trevor Vielle.¡±

    The court gasped in unison, which had me rolling my eyes.

    The tea isn''t THAT hot, guys.

    The witness passed a hand over her forehead, sighing.

    ¡°I knew of that. I was fully aware of her nature and what type of person she was. She is my friend of 17 years¡­¡± She spoke lowly, though her voice was (somehow) echoing through the entire courtroom.

    Dream logic.

    ¡°And for her to go this low¡­ Your honor,¡± she looked up at the judge once more. ¡°I am not surprised at all.¡± She shook her head, solemn. ¡°It is Trevor we are talking about, after all... And that woman, who once was my friend, I know would do anything for the sake of Trevor. To hurt an innocent girl because she felt her presence around her fianc¨¦ to be dangerous is no exception to this rule.¡±

    While the witness spoke, I got bored, so I opted to explore the rest of the faces present.

    To my left was a table with words in a language I couldn¡¯t understand. I would expect no less from my dreams.

    Two people were sitting at said table, a woman in her forties, with luscious brown hair and large, charismatic eyebrows. Next to her, dozing off, was a cloaked figure, leaning back and tapping his index on the rest-arms of his chair. He wore a black cloak and mask, and the only elements about him I could discern were the sharp black eyes with which he blankly stared at his desk.

    Before I could inquire around anymore, something registered in my ears.

    ¡°Stand straight.¡± A deep voice spoke to my right, startling me and making me realize I was hunched over trying to peek at other people to my sides.

    I instinctively turned to the voice¡¯s owner, body still tilted forward, only to have the breath knocked out of my lungs as soon as my eyes met his.

    Blood. His eyes were the color of blood. The thin black circling them, the hints of a golden hue lost in the crimson color of his irises. They looked clear, too real.

    My heart tightened and chills ran down my spine.

    This dream feels real, and it¡¯s making me want to throw up.

    The crimson eyes¡¯ owner wore a collarless black blouse with puff sleeves. He was several centimeters taller than I was, had a sheath tied to his waist, and disheveled soft red hair. His eyes looked tired ¡ª puffy, even. He looked irked, sharing my gaze.

    ¡°Stop looking around like an idiot!¡± I heard a hiss behind my back, urging me to check the source of the new voice.

    Turning back, an unexpected sight greeted me.

    There was an entire crowd watching this trial. So many people were present that several were watching standing up at the very back of the spectator seating.

    A woman sitting in the first line was leaning over me, looking up to meet my gaze.

    ¡°Look concerned. A little sad!¡± Her eyebrows were drawn together, her nose red and cheeks wet. ¡°Attempt to appear as though you regret what you did!!¡± Her words were low, but as aggressive as possible.

    What I did?

    Something dawned on me at last.

    I looked down at the square inside which I stood, at my shackled hands, shabby clothes, and bare feet.

    Oh, I¡¯m the culprit of this trial. I''m the defendant.

    The woman who had spoken to me just now was sitting in the first row, her wrinkly cheeks were drenched in tears and her complexion was pale. She seemed to be in her forties, wearing her chocolate brown hair up in a bun and wearing a simple, black, puffy gown ¡ª the kind that¡¯s in fairytales.

    A man cleared his throat to her right.

    He was dressed to the nines. A three-piece grey suit, luscious neck-length golden hair. He was holding onto a black cane that was positioned between his thighs. His posture was immaculate, and so were his features. Despite the wrinkles around his eyes and the few white hairs on the sides of his head, he looked better than most men in their thirties.

    ¡°Richie, stop teasing your sister!¡± Another woman spoke, this time to the crying senior woman¡¯s left. She looked much like her, just younger. She had the same long brown hair, an identical hairdo, green eyes, a pointy nose, and the same color as her dress but with a different pattern needlework.

    She was holding a baby in her arms, wrapped in deep green satin cloth while a young boy of around four years old sat on her lap. There were two other kids to her left, a boy and a girl of around the same age, and the girl was on the verge of tears while their assumed mother scolded the boy in an attempted whisper.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you see that your aunt is getting punished? Sit straight, people are watching!¡± She hissed.

    I couldn¡¯t help but scoff at the sight of this supposed family of mine. Really, what a joke.

    ¡°I cannot find it in my heart to excuse her behavior, your honor.¡± The witness spoke, catching my interest again. ¡°What she did to Miss Estelle is unpardonable.¡± The witness¡¯s eyes found a certain person far to my right, sitting at the prosecution. ¡°Goodness. Trevor, too. Look at the state of my poor cousin,¡± the woman winced, watching the two supposed victims in tears.

    I turned to see what she was talking about, and who the victims were. But because they were sitting to my right, and thanks to some random attorney (I think) sitting closer to me than they did, all I could see was the back of their heads behind the attorney''s side profile. The color of their hair, more specifically. A redhead, with wild auburn locks and another blonde dude¡¯s head.

    The witness stood up in solidarity, giving the two a reassuring look.

    ¡°Trevor Vielle and Estelle Pureheart, I truly wish you two find closure in the end.¡±

    ¡­ And there it was, my confirmation.

    The guy playing judge, the one sitting behind me looking like a Greek statue, and the guard keeping an eye on me so begrudgingly. They all had such peculiar appearances. Such familiar descriptions.

    The attorney covering Estelle and Trevor¡¯s faces from me leaned back to stretch, letting me catch a glimpse of her at last.

    Sun-kissed skin, rosy cheeks, wild, curly red hair, sitting softly on her shoulders, and the purest set of purple eyes to exist. Those were the exact features of Estelle Pureheart, the female lead of my favorite childhood novel.

    I had dismissed it at first, because of how ridiculous it was. But my silly little suspicion was right. I am indeed dreaming about Wholeheartedly Yours of all fucking things.

    Estelle Pureheart, the admirable main lead watched the trial in stiff silence, her gracious being seemingly wrapped in what seemed like a hollow. A glow-like aura one can¡¯t help but feel curious about.

    My goodness... Is that¡­ Perhaps, is that hollow the famous ¡®Main Character Energy...?¡¯

    Word for word, this setting was the living incarnation of the description mentioned in the book. From the color of the sky to the shade of the public seating, even the characters'' outfits were the same as cited in the book.

    ¡°This is wild.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but grin in stupefaction, eyeing the sheer splendor of this setting my brain had managed to cook up.

    Page 201. No, 204.

    Chapter 39: The Trial

    Is this because I''m in a coma? Are these precise illustrations a result of my imagination? And if so, just how much more impressive can this dream get?!

    I HAVE to find out.

    With a clear goal set in mind, determined to explore the outside and the rest of this dream before I woke up again, I grabbed the dirty, worn-out fabric of my dress and set foot out of the culprit¡¯s stand, stifling my urge to giggle in sheer excitement.

    A sharp, collective gasp resounded around the entire courtroom, making me stop dead in my tracks and look up in surprise. A deathly silence then fell upon the room, and chills ran down my spine at the number of eyes that were suddenly directed at me and my foot that was set midair, about to land outside the box.

    Like a breeze, he had appeared before me. Facing me with solemnity and something of a grudge firing at me through his crimson gaze, was the redheaded knight. He was in my way, quietly holding my gaze with a hand on his sheath.

    ¡°Did we perhaps BORE you, Lady Ashdown?¡± A voice I had yet to hear spoke out, making the already quiet public seating fall into despair, all looking up at the figure sitting directly behind me.

    ... I think might have fucked up.

 This Was No Dream

    ¡°Oh dear,¡± my dream-mother exhaled in surrender, a hand on her mouth as she, too, directed her vision at the man speaking.

    ¡°Well then,¡± I turned to the judge. He spoke with solemnity. ¡°I suppose there is no exigency for any other testimonies.¡±

    ¡°Your Highness!" A middle-aged man with a receding hairline, in a brown gown springs up from his seat behind the defendant¡¯s desk. "I-I mean, your honor," He was drenched in sweat, a damp handkerchief in his fingers. "Please consider that¡ª¡±

    ¡°Enough!¡± The prince howled. His words echoed through the courtroom.

    This is so over the top that it''s giving me chills. Like, tone it down with the melodrama, won''t you?

    ... It¡¯s not like my sentence will change because the prince is angrier now.

    I couldn''t help but glare at him, reminded of his upcoming lines.

    ¡°I, Kendrick Braveheart," The prince shared my glare. "With the jurisdiction I have been granted by His Majesty the King over this trial, declare it time for the verdict.¡±

    Looking at him from where I stood, I could perceive nothing but a noble-sounding man, passionate about solving this terrible crime and bringing another criminal to justice.

    But I knew what happened behind the scenes. I knew he only acted so noble because his fixation, Estelle Pureheart, was involved. I knew that the jurisdiction he talked about, he was granted after practically begging at his father''s feet. All so he could quench his violent and senseless desire to avenge her.

    After all, Kendrick Braveheart was not only this kingdom¡¯s crown prince, but a prevalent member of Estelle¡¯s harem, and the obsessive villain she would later need to defeat.

    ¡°No¡­¡± I could hear my dream-mother muttering lowly. ¡°Please, have mercy¡­¡± She repeatedly whispered.

    ¡°All rise!¡± The bailiff ordered, making all attendants bolt up.

    I had no clue if this was even accurate court etiquette, but that didn''t interest me as much as the recognizable descriptions I spotted once everyone had stood up.

    The man standing next to the main victim, Estelle Pureheart, was slightly taller than her, and similarly bruised up. His hair was messy, his under-eye bags clear from a distance and his figure quite slender.

    That was him. Trevor Vielle. Penelope Ashdown''s fianc¨¦ and another male lead in the book.

    I would appreciate it if he stopped staring at me so intently, though.

    Breaking away from his insistent gaze, I took notice of the other redheads standing behind Estelle ¨C her family, probably ¨C including the witness from earlier, who was standing beside a bald young man clothed in armor.

    ¡°Should he not like, discuss the verdict with the jury...?¡± I asked my dream-family in a quick whisper.

    Even my voice was different. It was much more soft-spoken, melodic, even.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot, Penelope.¡± Someone I hadn¡¯t taken notice of spoke out in a composed tone. ¡°Prince Kendrick retains His Majesty''s highest trust in guiding this trial.¡± She tucked a lock of her straight blonde hair behind her ear. ¡°Why would he need the jury¡¯s opinion?¡± She casually asked, throwing me a nonchalant glance through her brown eyes.

    ¡°The verdict stands evident if you ask me.¡± The other sister spoke out. ¡°Imprisonment for a couple of months is the most he can do.¡± She spoke in a solemn, yet haughty tone. ¡°Though a fool, you remain Marquis Vernon Ashdown¡¯s daughter.¡±

    ¡°Perish the thought!¡± The mother knocked on her chair (wood). ¡°What do you mean, prison!?¡± She hissed at her daughter. ¡°My baby cannot go to prison.¡± She patted her chest, looking up. ¡°She will not. Right, Mr. Ashdown?" She gave her husband a questioning look, receiving no reaction or answer. "She will not, indeed.¡± The woman answered her own question, continuing to tap on her lower neck.

    I let out a bitter chuckle.

    ¡°Prison is the least of your worries,¡± I whispered to myself, turning back to the prince, who was listing her crimes off a long paper.

    ¡°¡ªPhysical violence against a commoner in plain sight, damage of public property on Mallebou Avenue¡­¡±

    Now that he mentioned these crimes, I couldn''t help but think about the person responsible for them being discovered in the first place.

    I would have looked around for him, had I not known that William Westenburg, the main male lead who went around gathering all of the possible victims that could sue Penelope before the trial, had enough pride in him to refuse to attend the trial in the end.

    <blockquote>

    "My sentence would have remained unchanged, had your lover not bothered to beg around for useless witnesses, Miss Estelle. Death will remain the only verdict that wicked villainous woman could possibly deserve." Kendrick grinned, making Estelle''s heart warm up. His hair fluttered against the wind, and his eyes glistened with soft, friendly affection as he watched her carriage set off, leaving him behind.

    Wholeheartedly Yours, chapter 50

    </blockquote>

    Indeed, William wasted his time. After all, Penelope Ashdown''s faith remains the same.

    ¡°¡ªAnd for the physical harm of her fianc¨¦, son of Count Vielle, Trevor Marshall Vielle, and daughter of Viscount Pureheart, Estelle Pureheart, using Chaos Energy!¡±

    Once more, the hall erupted into whispers.

    ¡°Of all times¡­ Despicable...¡± The Marquis, my dream-father, whispered behind me, clenching his cane.

    ¡°This was proved through the mana found in mister Vielle¡¯s broken ribs and the traces left on Miss Pureheart¡¯s cheek and hairs.¡±

    ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± I couldn¡¯t help but mutter, a bitter grin on my face. ¡°No matter how long you ramble on¡­¡±

    ¡°For these reasons, I, with the power granted to me by his majesty King Baldwin Arthur IV, sentence Lady Penelope Ashdown, second daughter of Marquis Vernon Ashdown¡­ TO DEATH!"

    ¡°... A death sentence is too fucking much,¡± I gritted my teeth.

    The courtroom fell into chaos as soon as the words left his mouth.

    Meanwhile, I was trying not to laugh at the situation, taken aback by the accuracy of the events.

    Laughing out loud after that would certify me as a nutcase.

    <hr>

    Marchioness Marceline, Penelope''s ''dream-mother'', had lost sensation in her knees and simply dropped back onto her seat, pale as a ghost. Her sisters, who had been more comfortable than necessary up until now, were left completely speechless.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    But the most affected by the prince¡¯s words had to have been the Marquis.

    Marquis Vernon¡¯s pride and dignity felt nonexistent as he was stared down by the pretentious brat that was the crown prince.

    ''All because of a useless fucking daughter.'' He thought.

    While the entire courtroom had been on fire, a woman was gathering her courage to speak her mind at last. Penelope watched the woman with an anticipant glance, her clear blue eyes locked onto the woman''s plump and tense lips.

    ¡®Here it comes,¡¯ Penelope thought. ¡®That despicable monologue.¡¯

    ¡°She is¡­!¡± Estelle yelled out, catching the attention of the attendants. ¡°She is but a woman madly in love!!!¡± She screamed at the top of her lungs.

    Penelope chuckled as soon as she had heard that line, shaking her head as she redirected her eyes towards the prince who had been sneering at her just moments ago, to find him surprised at the reddened, angry features drawn on Estelle¡¯s face.

    ~

    One righteous, overly dramatic monologue later, Penelope¡¯s life had been spared.

    The logistics of this trial weren¡¯t exactly comprehensible, but the book had never claimed to be accurate on any front whatsoever, whether it be historically, given the rather modern speech mannerisms and hairdos of the characters in contrast with their clothing and the locations, or be it the accuracy of the trial hearing procedures or rules.

    This world had been a mess when she read it, and it was still a mess while she dreamt about it.

    Thanks to Estelle¡¯s standing up and speaking about morals like Loyalty and Love, Penelope Ashdown was relieved of her death sentence and was now making her way to the bathroom for a pee break she begged for.

    It was mesmerizing, watching Estelle crying to the prince, pretending like the reason she got beaten up alongside Trevor in the first place wasn¡¯t because they had betrayed those very values, and went behind her fianc¨¦ and his fianc¨¦e¡¯s back and attempted to have an affair.

    The crown Prince ¡ª being a male lead as he was ¡ª was moved to tears, drowning in her violet eyes, and decided to forgive the culprit and let her off with a smack on the wrist (His words).

    The smack on the wrist being a life sentence, obviously.

    ¡°I hereby sentence you to a lifetime of hard labor under the Suttone Lands¡¯ jurisdiction.¡± Kendrick brought down his hammer with a loud thud. ¡°Case dismissed.¡± He announced. He then stood up and quietly left the room, followed by a dozen men.

    The room exploded with noise as soon as the door had closed.

    <hr>

    ¡°Alright, I think I¡¯ve had enough soap opera-level drama for a lifetime.¡± I sighed, washing my face at the sink.

    Once my sentence was spoken, I begged my dream-mother to let me go to the washroom. The marchioness begged her husband and he managed to get the approval. Now here I was, in a closed space, alone, with the chance to finally take a breather.

    This dream is way too intense and stressful for no apparent reason. It might as well be a nightmare at this point.

    I kept my eyes shut as I washed my face to avoid accidentally looking at the mirror sitting right in front of it; it just didn¡¯t feel right to do so in a dream.

    I straightened up, eyes still shut, and led my wrist to my mouth.

    ¡°Time to wake up.¡± I smiled and took a good bite at it.

    One could call this a weird solution. I call this a tried-and-true shortcut to waking up from a bad dream.

    ¡°My Lady, you have a visitor.¡± A feminine voice spoke outside the bathroom door.

    ¡°A visitor, my ass.¡± Another feminine voice spoke out.

    I could hear the doorknob being turned.

    I frowned, shutting my eyes harder as though it would make the pain from my teeth''s sharpness against my skin any better.

    Why am I not waking up?!

    Both my wrist and mouth hurt like a bitch. Yet, I could still feel my feet firmly planted on the ground. I could still smell a lemon scent coming from the marble floor. I was still in this nightmare.

    It was when warm liquid droplets were trickling down my wrist that I had to open my eyes. Confused, angry, and panicked.

    ¡°Why am I¡ª!?¡± I yelled out, slamming my hands on both sides of the sink. ¡°Why the fuck am I not waking up!?¡± I ground my teeth, looking up in a flash of anger.

    My eyes had landed on the mirror.

    The sight that greeted me sent chills down my spine.

    ¡°You must be decent because I shall enter now, sister!¡± The voice from behind the door spoke, swinging it open.

    Through the mirror, I saw a woman¡¯s reflection.

    Long, flowy, and curly golden hair locks, curtain bangs against porcelain clear skin, all greasy and untidy, stained in grime. A mole underneath the left side of pale, plump, and chapped lips. A refined pointy nose and a bluish bruise on the right side of the forehead.

    My heart shriveled inside my chest, the longer I stared into the set of clear blue eyes staring straight into my soul.

    A perished sense of envy towards the reflection in the mirror, projecting the image of a woman whose beauty I had never seen the like of, left behind a pungent, paralyzing sense of loss.

    ¡°Sister?¡± The voice calling me was faint, buried amongst the millions of questions that invaded my head, all at once.

    How is this not real? Why can I still feel the injury on my wrist? Why is every sensation I have so clear? Am I never going to wake up from this scene? ... Is this reality?

    A panging, screaming sensation had my entire body numbed, leaving my eyes wide and tearful as I stared into my image.

    Who is the woman staring back at me?

    I reached out to the mirror, immediately horrified at the identical motions of the woman in the mirror.

    I could hear it now.

    I could feel it in my bones.

    The pain from that night coursed back to my mind. The loud honking. The blinding lights. The cold concrete and the warm touch of my blood forming a pond around my corpse.

    My chest was on the verge of exploding. My jaw had been clenched as the tears rolled down my cheeks. Nails were digging into the palms of my hands while I tried my hardest not to scream, not to break the mirror in front of me, not to lose my sanity.

    I can''t deny it any longer.

    I... That night, I...

    I died.

    ¡°... I suppose you do possess a heart, after all.¡±

    Breaking me out of my resentment-fueled stupor, I looked up at the woman who had invited herself into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. It was one of the marquis¡¯s daughters, the blonde one.

    The woman approached me with a delighted grin on her face.

    ... I have no fucking clue what¡¯s going on. But this isn¡¯t a dream. I can¡¯t deny that anymore. I¡­ I am not in my body at the moment. Instead¡­ I somehow inhabited that of Penelope Ashdown.

    ¡°It is quite strange to see you so quiet¡­¡± The woman said, holding up the skirt of her beige robe as she walked closer, avoiding the few droplets of unrecognizable crimson liquid on the marble flooring.

    And the Penelope Ashdown I know has a set, very clear ending in the book.

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± She looked around the bathroom. ¡°Nothing seems to be broken either... Perhaps, have you finally lost your marbles?¡±

    Penelope Ashdown is destined to die.

    She let go of the dress once she was a couple of feet away from me. ¡°I mean, it isn¡¯t as though you were sentenced to die, sister. It is but a life sentence!" She grinned, feigning optimism. ¡°Anyhow¡­ you must be asking yourself: Why is my dear younger sister here!?¡± She widened her eyes in performed wonder.

    I swallowed, quickly wiping my wet cheeks.

    I can¡¯t let that happen.

    ¡°Then, I shall tell you right away.¡± The woman¡¯s delighted expression dropped dramatically. She stepped closer to me. ¡°I¡¯m here to give you a speech I have waited a long, long time to¡ª¡±

    Disregarding her words, I fell to my knees, letting my shabby and worn-out dress splatter on the ground, encircling me.

    ¡°Please,¡± I hastily and clumsily grabbed the woman¡¯s hand, looking up at her with as pitiful of a look as I could muster, nose runny and tears freshly dripping down. ¡°I¡­ I need your help...¡±

    I''m not exactly sure of what''s going on. I have no idea why I''m in someone else¡¯s body or how I''m still alive in the first place. I can''t currently comprehend most of the things that are going on. I feel like I''m going insane.

    Nevertheless, there was a single, loud thought in my head holding my sanity above loss. Simple and clear:

    I won¡¯t fucking die again.

 Who Was This Woman?

    No matter what... I won''t die again.

    <hr>

    Delilah looked down upon her elder sister, bewilderedly holding Penelope''s distressed, half-mad, teary clear blue gaze.

    She had never in her life seen Penelope look so desperate.

    Delilah had not known one could feel so horrified and pleased at the same time.

    Indeed, she did come here to make her despicable, monster of a sister beg, but¡­ She didn''t actually think it would work so easily...?

    My speech¡­ She thought. I stayed up all night rehearsing it¡­ This reflection left a bitter taste in her mouth.

    But none of that mattered now. What did was that she needed to find a way out of this chamber before this crazed sister of hers dragged her into deeper waters. Penelope hadn¡¯t yet made her proposal, but what she would ask of Delilah was all too obvious.

    ¡°I am NOT going to break you out of this place.¡± She declared, trying to shake Penelope¡¯s hands off.

    ¡°No, not that¡­¡± Penelope clasped Delilah¡¯s hands tighter, making Penelope¡¯s sleeve fall a tad, revealing the skin of her wrists.

    Delilah¡¯s eyebrow twitched as she caught a glimpse of deep red liquid in an oval shape on it, emerging from what seemed to be a morsel wound.

    This wench really is insane¡­ She couldn¡¯t help but sneer.

    Penelope scanned the opulent bathroom with a glance before leaning closer towards Delilah. ¡°Listen, I need you to lend me cash.¡± She murmured.

    Cash?

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°COIN!¡± Penelope hissed, frantically looking over to the door at the sound of a light knock on it.

    ¡°My lady," Alice, Penelope''s lady-in-waiting, spoke out behind the door. "The guards are ready. We must depart shortly.¡± She said in that monotone voice of hers.

    ¡°We shall be there in a moment," Delilah sighed as an answer.

    What a mess.

    Delilah couldn¡¯t help but scoff, shaking off her sister¡¯s dry hands and fixing the skirt of her beige, haute couture Marbret gown that she had sewn especially for this trial hearing.

    ¡°I cannot help you.¡± She expressed, solemn. ¡°One,¡± she held up her index. ¡°It is hopeless; you cannot buy your way out of a sentence from the Crown Prince. Do not be ridiculous.¡±

    Delilah let her arms drop back down while she walked to the sink.

    ¡°Two,¡± she said, opening the tap and wetting her hands in the warm water gushing out of it. ¡°I simply won''t throw my life and reputation at risk for you... I know we may be sisters in name,¡± she closed the tap and turned around. ¡°But are we?¡± She faked a wince.

    Penelope stood back up and brushed her clothes.

    ¡°And most importantly,¡± Delilah met Penelope¡¯s gaze with an amused stare. ¡°You must be aware that I would never venture into such a terrible investment, dear sister.¡±

    Penelope didn¡¯t deserve Delilah''s help. A part of her, a very microscopic one, wanted to help her out of the sheer pity she felt towards her idiotic, good-for-nothing sister. But not even Delilah''s gracious heart could muster up the generosity she needed to have to¡ª

    ¡°You owe me this much,¡± Penelope said.

    Delilah cocked an eyebrow.

    ¡°Huh?¡± She sneered. ¡°Since when?¡±

    ¡°Since I saved your life,¡± Penelope stated, staring right into Delilah¡¯s soul with an empty, freezing gaze. ¡°I, your good-for-nothing, idiotic sister, am the reason you can stand here acting so haughty.¡± Delilah stiffened. ¡°You owe me at least a couple thousand Keps for that day...¡±

    A nerve bulged on the corner of Delilah¡¯s forehead, staring at her sister in fury-induced awe.

    This woman¡¯s audacity never failed to surprise her.

    ¡°You insolent little bitch¡­¡± Delilah grinned through gritted teeth. "That was more than a decade ago. And you have the audacity to use it against me in this situation?"

    Penelope extended her palm with a faint grin. ¡°Yes. Pay up.¡±

    ~

    Alice was living one of those days where time felt like a lie.

    Her thoughts were a prison to her soul, and though she was used to such a feeling, it was especially torturous today.

    All she did and everything she saw felt passive and unremarkable, even to herself. She could not recall her breakfast or whom she spoke to and of what.

    Yet Alice couldn¡¯t help it. All of it was eating at her conscience; a compound of regret, despair, and utter, unfiltered rage. Why did her fate constantly betray her this way? Why was it her greatest enemy?

    She slid in between the dozens of guards and people clouding the corridor leading up to the bathroom where she needed to be.

    ¡°Have you heard?¡± She recognized a maid¡¯s whisper. ¡°About Alice!¡±

    ¡°No, what about her?¡±

    ¡°You know she has been Lady Ashdown''s lady in waiting since, essentially, forever.¡± Hannah, a maid from the left haul and Alice¡¯s loudest most inconvenient existence spoke in whispers. ¡°Well, I heard she is accompanying the lady!¡±

    ¡°Goodness! To prison?!¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    ¡°Oh dear¡­ But how could that be, she isn¡¯t involved at all, is she?¡±

    ¡°No, but you know... Ladies-in-waiting are Korpa''s blessing on nobles, so it must¡ª¡±

    Useless gossipers. She thought, redirecting her mind to the worrying dialogue she heard beyond the bathroom door.

    ¡°I said stop moving!¡± Lady Delilah hissed.

    ¡°I am fucking trying.¡± Lady Penelope retorted through gritted teeth. ¡°But my arm is not a damned stick. How about you be more gentle!¡±

    Alice had walked out of hearing range for that useless gossip and into the bathroom, forgetting to knock.

    Having already swung the door open, she sheepishly knocked and made her way in.

    "My lady,¡± she looked up at the two, a part of her still surprised by the sight she was witnessing. ¡°Would you like me to help?¡±

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    In the middle of the bathroom, Penelope was on her knees, her right arm held up. Delilah was standing in front of her face, red and out of breath. The fabric on the sleeves of her Ladyship was pushed down to her shoulders, leaving her right arm bare. Lady Delilah had one hand on Lady Penelope¡¯s left shoulder, and the second on her arm, pushing down a golden bracelet so it would join the four others sitting on her upper arm.

    Lady Penelope''s arms were whitened by the tight golden bracelets they carried. Her left upper arm carried seven total, while the right one held four for the moment.

    Both women were looking at Alice now.

    ¡°Her nonchalance worries me.¡± Lady Penelope said to her sister, without turning around to look at her. "And what to do, she knows now."

    ¡°It is nothing new. That maid of yours had always been a source of dreadful sentiments for me. But no need to worry, her lips are sealed. She is your maid, you idiot."

    ¡°My maid?¡± Lady Penelope asked, she paused for a second, then turned back to look up at Delilah. ¡°Matterless. Continue. Alice, or whatever, come help us. We have no time.¡±

    Alice stepped forward to join in and help her ladyship complete their peculiar mission, but a certain realization fell upon her suddenly, making her stop in her tracks.

    A long line of shivers climbed up her spine as she locked eyes upon Penelope Ashdown¡¯s body.

    ¡°Argh, can you be less of a cow while you do this?!¡± Lady Penelope shut her eyes, her head lowered as she muffled her pain.

    ¡°Shut your mouth, I am focusing.¡± Lady Delilah pushed another bracelet down her arm, teeth gritted.

    Something was missing in the space Alice was in.

    She could tell, even through the immense noise in which she was imprisoned.

    A certain voice was absent. No, it was no longer existent.

    Her eyes widened the more she felt that absence, the longer it lasted. How could she not notice all this time?

    That woman...

    ¡°Argh!¡± Both women grunted, parting from one another.

    Penelope let her arm drop and fell back to sit, out of breath. ¡°Finally.¡± She looked up at her sister, smirking. ¡°The transaction is done.¡±

    ... Who in the world was that woman?

    ~

    Outside the Royal Court of Justice, the waist-high, silver metal barriers were barely enough to suppress the people¡¯s outrage; in fact, the commander in charge of Area Management had to send over three Central Forces squadrons to help suppress the people¡¯s outrage while they stood in mass alongside the roads leading out of the Capital; the same roads today¡¯s criminal, Penelope Ashdown, would be taking on her way to Suttone.

    It had taken fifteen minutes for the news of the prince¡¯s sentence to spread, and even less time for the roads leading to the city¡¯s exit to spawn all residents with a single thought in mind.

    Our first Life Sentence in a while. Let us see her off properly.

    Jonathan, a man in his thirties whose hairline was receding and who had left his flower shop unsupervised to attend the event was snickering, anticipating the little entertainment he could get from watching another fool be brought to her knees against his country¡¯s justice system.

    The sun was at the highest point in its clear blue sky when the large wooden doors to the Royal Court of Justice swung open.

    The few dozen people, alongside Jonathan, who somehow managed to make it inside the Royal Court¡¯s very gardens and onto the route to its exit were fighting the knights¡¯ panicked embrace. They jumped up and down in an attempt to take a clear look at the people making their way out.

    The attorneys were the first to appear, wearing the Royal Court''s signature brown cloaks and holding files under their arms. Behind them, a handful of familiar faces emerged. The Pureheart family, followed by Countess Vielle and her bruised son, both looking as grave as ever and lastly, a handful of guards, in full bronze armor, hailing a designated, peculiar carriage to their side.

    ¡°That¡¯s her!¡± Jonathan yelled, holding down a knight¡¯s arm.

    ¡°Stand back!¡± Another knight ordered to Jonathan''s right, gritting his teeth as he, similar to his colleagues, tried harder to push the people off the path.

    ¡°Penelope Ashdown!¡± The crowd was yelling. ¡°There she is!¡±

    Jonathan saw it over the knight¡¯s shoulder. His eyes glistened at the sight of a golden head of hair. Walking out with a guard on each side of her body was a woman in a worn-out grey dress. Her wrists were shackled in heavy metal, and her feet were bare.

    ¡°What a sight!¡± Jonathan grinned in satisfaction.

    ¡°You despicable witch!¡± A woman behind him called out, catching the culprit¡¯s attention as she headed towards the designated carriage.

    ¡°I hope you die in jail!¡± The crowd shouted, fighting the overwhelming knights¡¯ power as they successfully pushed them off the roads.

    Jonathan wanted to sneak a look at the criminal¡¯s expression. Was she crying? Was she angry? Just how satisfying could a caught criminal¡¯s expression be?

    ¡°Heh,¡± His eyes widened, having caught a sight that sent chills down his spine. A pair of chillingly clear blue eyes stared right into his soul. ¡°What a bunch of lifeless fucks.¡± The woman mouthed.

    ¡°Why¡­¡± He stepped back, letting go of the knight whose body he was pushing against. ¡°Why is she smiling¡­¡± He trailed off. ¡°Crazy bitch!!¡± Jonathan yelled, throwing himself at the knight in front of him to try and get past his siege.

    That cursed bloodline of hers must be the origin of her arrogance! How infuriating!!

    However, the knight pushed back with a light arm motion. But as gentle as he tried to be, Jonathan¡¯s body was flung to the ground, backward. Looking up, disoriented, he met a glare from the redheaded knight he had been trying to tackle.

    Once his eyes met the blood-red color of the knights¡¯ eyes, it finally dawned on Jonathan.

    The knight, unlike all of his colleagues, wasn¡¯t wearing any armor. How couldn¡¯t he notice?

    ¡°S-Sir Yonge¡ª¡± Jonathan was pale, eyes widened. "I¡ª!"

    ~

    Inside the courtroom, the man in the mysterious cloak who had been dozing off sitting at a desk beside his attorney for several hours by this point was finally called to the stand. It was his turn to be prosecuted.

    When he had come to, everyone else had left, following behind the ¡®wicked woman¡¯ whose trial had just ended.

    It was Caesar¡¯s first time seeing the Royal Court of Justice in so much chaos, so filled with people. Naturally, he was curious to know what sort of crime the woman who was prosecuted before him had committed to solicit so much fame.

    But his hopes were let down before he could even hear of her crimes.

    He had already been suspicious since that good-for-nothing Kendrick would be taking over the judge¡¯s seat instead of Cross-eyed Marshall, but watching the red-headed victim walk in, he simply scoffed and threw his hood over his head.

    ¡°Don¡¯t sleep in the middle of a damn trial.¡± Robin, his attorney hissed.

    ¡°I prefer to keep my brain from rotting.¡± He adjusted his face mask and leaned back, ready for a sweet nap. ¡°And no one will know, trust me.¡± He reassured her, closing his eyes.

    ¡°If you sleep I will walk out again.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t let his attorney, Robin, abandon him again. The last time that happened, he had to play attorney and defend his own case like a clown in front of Cross-Eyed Marshall.

    That bastard still makes fun of him for it.

    "And I''ll tell your grandfather about this." She said, making Caesar''s eyebrow twitch. Caesar promised the Duke to stir out of trouble for now...

    ¡°... Fine.¡± Caesar grabbed a pen, a sheet of paper, and tried his hardest not to doze off.

    Now that it was his time to shine and get prosecuted, he was patiently standing at the culprit deck while his attorney went to shake hands with the defendant¡¯s attorney.

    Only a couple of people were left in the public stands, which was bothersome, but it couldn¡¯t be helped. He had to take the mask and hood off.

    Caesar¡¯s fingers ran through his neck-length, finely cut black hair while he scanned the court.

    ¡°Why isn¡¯t he here yet?¡± His black eyes landed on Robin, who was walking back, brushing up her eyebrows with her fingers in an attempt to ¡®get into the proper mindset.¡¯

    Caesar stifled a chuckle, looking away before she caught it.

    ¡°He must be seeing the Crown Prince off.¡±

    "Oh," he cringed. "I pity him." Caesar remarked.

    "You offend a great deal of people by being so inconsiderate, Mr. Ferdowse." The defendant''s attorney, who seemed like another stuck-up senseless man remarked, fixing his glasses.

    I should have a talk with him after the trial... Caesar thought. How funny would it be if he was as easy of a target as his client.

    ¡°The judge is here!¡± A man announced. ¡°All stand! His honor Marshall Lefthay will be the judge for today''s trial.¡±

    Caesar pursed his lips, watching as an old man with a crossed left eye made his way to the high bench centering the room. The old man sighed, organizing his papers and putting on his tiny glasses.

    ¡°Be seated.¡± Cross-eyed Marshall ordered, searching for the culprit¡¯s name in his papers.

    But as soon as he spotted it, Marshall threw the papers down and leaned back in his seat, looking down at the culprit as he took off his glasses.

    ¡°¡­ For fuck¡¯s sake, Caesar¡­¡± He articulated, making all attendants either bite back a grin or gasp in surprise.

    Caesar nodded, his sharp canines showing through the slightly embarrassed grin he wore. ¡°Interesting word choice¡­¡± He nearly let out a laugh.

    Well, it was understandable.

    After all, this was his second time standing in this court in front of Judge Marshall this month.

 Devil May Care

    <hr>

    I get it. I''m supposed to be overjoyed. I mean, anything is better than being dead, no?

    Being trapped in the world of the shittiest book you''ve read, as an insignificant character that''s destined to die is nothing. Being dead later is always better than being dead now, right¡­?

    The night breeze was soft against my skin. The air was chilly, making it even cozier to hold a warm bowl of soup in my palms. The croaking of the frogs had started a couple of minutes ago, and the longer I sat there, huddled over on a rock, staring into the muddy trail, the angrier I got.

    ¡°I have shit to do,¡± I couldn¡¯t help but mumble, eyes watering again. ¡°Yet here I am.¡± I slowly sipped on the bowl, watching the muddy road where my carriage¡¯s traces remained.

    I looked down at my wrists. One was roughly bandaged and the second had a new bite bruise dripping with fresh blood on it.

    ¡°Wow,¡± I wiped the tears off my face using the prickly sleeve of my clothing. ¡°This sucks so fucking much¡­¡± I sniffled, drinking up the remains of the soup in a swift motion.

    The carriage ride to this current location was five uncomfortable hours long. I found that to be baffling at first, but then I remembered that this was a time when journeying was a suicide mission, with high risk, low entertainment, and long, painful hours of sitting idly.

    Thinking about it has me on the verge of tears all over again.

    My assigned dining spot was a rock facing the road we came from. The carriage was parked somewhere far up the road from where I could barely perceive it. If I crossed the trail, I would be in a forest that stretches along the road, lengthening over the horizon. Far up the muddy trail, I could see an old coachman making his way into the dark, holding his belly ¡ª probably to go relieve his natural urgencies. Behind me, I could hear chatter and laughter echoing in the distance. The knights supposed to be guarding me and the maids assigned to care for said knights were all gathered there enjoying their lives.

    I want to, but I can''t even fault them for that.

    What I can fault them for, however, is the fact that they shoved my lonely ass here, surrounded me with four ¡®Prison Stones'', or whatever they¡¯re called, with a warning that if I left my assigned perimeter I would be scorched to death with like, sorcery, or something.

    "Listen here," one of the two knights accompanying me said, a sly grin on his barely visible face. "You try to escape, you''ll..." He threw a playful look at his young colleague who walked on my other side. "You''ll burn!" He warned, his eyebrows arching to emphasize the words and make it as dramatic as possible.

    His colleague laughed. "Right. WE might not be here to guard you, but something WORSE is!" The friend leaned over to me, grinning. "Prison Gravels!" He proudly stated.

    "Prison Stones." His friend coughed. "... Holison, you idiot."

    The idiot''s grin fell as he caught the words, and clumsily stood straight again. "Yes, Prison Stones. That is what I said." He reassured me, then turned to his friend with a hesitant look. "Our division can''t afford them th-"

    "Either way!" the friend interrupted Holison, shaking his head as his gaze lingered on the idiot. "If your silly little mind tells you to run away," He sneered at me, grabbing me by the arm and propelling me towards a random rock. "Remind yourself that you''ll be scorched to death the moment you endeavor to."

    I regained my balance swiftly.

    "That''s your new dining room, my lady." He pointed at the large rock surrounded by ant nests. "Now, be a good girl, and don''t try anything funny."

    I couldn''t help but throw a half-begrudging, half-skeptical look at the two. The idiot knight gave a half-assed courtesy before getting pulled away by his friend. And thus they disappeared into the shadows.

    Through the loud noises, I discerned footsteps closing in on me, which had me wiping my tears away in haste.

    ¡°Do you unwind in my presence or something...¡± I sniffled, standing up.

    I patted my puffy eyes in hopes of camouflaging that I had been bawling here alone for thirty minutes, then threw a look back. ¡°Alice?¡±

    And there she was, this body¡¯s lady-in-waiting.

    Nights in this world were the darkest I had ever seen, and even still, I could perceive her figure, faintly moonlit. I could make out her delicate, plain features and striking, peculiar eye color.

    ¡°I came to retrieve the bowl, my lady.¡± She said through her monotone voice.

    Retrieve the bowl, my left butt cheek.

    This constant resting poker face, with her piercing, cotton-candy pink monolid eyes, her low bridged, round nose, and her shoulder-length straight brown hair, sitting right above the collar of an off-white print gown, with black flower bud patterns all over.

    All of it was the bane of my existence.

    Because no matter how I tried to shake her off, to get her away from me, to sit alone for five fucking minutes, I couldn¡¯t. Why? Because she would find her way back here.

    To somehow be somewhere near me, the excuses are never-ending.

    Worst of all, I couldn¡¯t read her in the slightest. No matter how I tested the waters, no matter what I said or did, not only did she remain unreadable, but she made it feel like she was the one seeing right through me.

    ¡°Do you how many days it will be?¡± I asked, sitting back down. ¡°This journey.¡±

    She thought about it for a moment before speaking. ¡°About ten days, my lady.¡± She knelt and seized the bowl.

    Ten days, huh?

    Based on the map I sneaked a peek at from the coachman¡¯s belongings this afternoon, we will reach that place in a week.

    Meaning I had one week to execute my plan. Seven days to make sure I survived.

    ¡°Is there anything else you need, my lady?¡± She asked.

    Allies. I need to find at least three trusty people to sneak me out of this hell. Shit.

    I turned around to look up at her, and there it was.

    That look.

    ¡°Yes.¡± I nearly sneered, facing the distrustful, cold look in her eyes. That look was the biggest reason why I could never trust this woman. "Are there stones threatening to set me aflame if I tried to get too far?"

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    Eyes set on her monotone expression, I expected a solemn lie, if I even got an answer.

    But Alice remained quiet. Her pink gaze lingered on me while she thought.

    The corners of her mouth curled up. "... No. There are none." She simply said. "I shall be back in a while." She alerted me before walking away.

    <blockquote>

    ¡°Oh my goodness! Lady Estelle, have you heard?¡± Merinda ran up the stairs, holding a folded newspaper.

    ¡°Be careful, Merinda.¡± Estelle worried, standing atop the staircase, ¡°You might fall!¡±

    ¡°My lady,¡± Estelle¡¯s friend was out of breath as she spoke, palms on her knees. ¡°Penelope Ashdown!¡± She said. ¡°She¡­¡± Estelle watched her maid with worry in her eyes, more worried for her health than what she would say. ¡°She is dead!¡±

    Estelle¡¯s eyes widened, watering at the mention of death.

    ¡°Oh dear,¡± she held a hand over her mouth. ¡°How come?¡±

    ¡°It is all over the newspapers! They were attacked by lake monsters, the Slithering Fokchik breed!¡± Merinda said. "It is said that everybody who attended her died alongside her. How tragic is that?!" Merinda looked up, batting her hazel eyes at a surprising sight. ¡°My lady, are you crying?!¡± It was Merinda¡¯s time to worry. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°That poor girl¡­¡± Estelle sat on the stairs, disregarding the dust they must have collected, because she didn''t shy away from being natural in ALL of her actions. ¡°To face death in the end¡­ How pitiful.¡±

    ¡°What is the matter?¡± William¡¯s deep, deep voice sent chills down Merinda¡¯s spine. She sprung up, head lowered.

    ¡°Your grace,¡± She said, addressing the man walking up the stairs, eyebrows furrowed.

    Wholeheartedly Yours, Chapter 41

    </blockquote>

    William Westenburg had joined the scene and the topic changed soon afterwards. The author used this as a reason for Estelle and William to reconcile after she cheated on him, or at least tried to, and they went out for a fancy dinner afterward, to cheer her up.

    That small mention in the book of how this character dies. That was the only clue I had about when my second death was due.

    ¡°Interesting¡­¡± I muttered.

    Penelope Ashdown''s trial and death were a tool to advance the plot and nothing less.

    ¡°Now that I think about it,¡± I looked up at the misty sky and the blurry moon. ¡°I guess Penelope Ashdown was destined to die regardless of the trial¡¯s result¡­ How pitiful indeed¡­¡±

    And with that thought, Day 1 of this journey had finally come to an end.

    ~

    Day 2: Start

    The sun had barely risen by the time I successfully made it out of the campsite.

    While I was walking back with a tipsy Alice yesterday night, watching the knights passed out outside their beds, on the ground, and in the cold. Some were singing asleep, others were hugging their armor or cups of spilled beer, and some maids were yelling nonsense, dancing to no music, and sleeping in tents that weren''t their own, I couldn''t help but feel the urge to attempt an old-fashioned escape shot from this place.

    I mean, they''re basically asking me to, aren''t they?

    I thought about it for a good five seconds and then decided that risky endeavors are my forte and that I could totally pull this off.

    I was pleasantly surprised to see that everyone was beyond hammered and completely knocked out when I woke up before dawn. The entire place reeked of alcohol, too.

    And that''s how I ended up here.

    ¡°Ow,¡± I breathed at the sensation of a thorn stuck to my foot.

    Though the gloom prevented me from the sight of my bleeding feet and ankles, I had enough of a vivid imagination to paint a clear enough picture for myself.

    I was still barefoot, dragging my dirty talons across the grassy, gravelly hill leading to my Checkpoint, out of air and out of sweat to shed.

    Since no one thought I could rid myself of the shackles they made me sleep wearing, leaving the tents was easy.

    A bracelet of gold goes a long way when given to the right person. And the drunken money-hungry coachman I paid before going to bed, while Alice was out of sight, happened to be more than proficient in pickpocketing.

    The only real worry I had while traveling till here was that I might get zapped by some kind of sorcery from those stones they spoke of. But I¡¯m pretty sure they were bullshitting me, those two knights.

    Prison stones are too expensive for a measly handful of knights to afford, and to use on a weakling such as this body''s owner. Even in the book, they were only once, and that was with the Magic Tower Head''s permission, so...

    The road I took was the one we came from. To my left stretched yards and yards of yellowish greenery along a meadow, and to my right were woods characterized by such tall and bulky tree trunks that I could barely imagine what the leaves resembled. I was climbing the muddy road as I had mapped an escape route inside my head yesterday during dinner.

    Now I just needed to make it to the traveling merchant stand I glimpsed through the window deeper into the woods yesterday, and I would be saved.

    ¡°Crazy people,¡± I muttered, tightening my hold on the thick and crusty fabric of my everything-at-this-point-covered attire, holding it up to not tumble while I dragged my feet uphill.

    I could hear my heart beating inside my head, and the sound got louder the higher the sun rose above the horizon to my left.

    ¡°First of all¡­¡± I whispered to myself, quickening my step. ¡°I¡¯m too young to be confined.¡± I was breathing aloud at this point, keeping my gaze down to make sure I didn¡¯t catch a boulder with my foot. ¡°Second of all,¡± I looked up to measure the distance before I reached the large boulder; my checkpoint. "I''m too young to be dead."

    A brownish, man-sized boulder appeared in the distance, filling me with excitement.

    Now I just need to take the route carved beside it, which leads into the forest.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± A voice resonated to my right, within the woods.

    Every inch of my body had gone numb at the unexpectedness of this voice. Slowly, I turned my head towards the person calling to me.

    And as soon as I met his gaze, I couldn¡¯t help but hold my breath.

    The man emerging from the woods was a knight, as showed his (tilted?) bronze shoulder armor and brown leathery attire. The kingdom¡¯s Slithering Black Snake emblem was carved on his short chest plate. His skin was a rich brown color, contrasted with the black color of his messy hair. His cheekbones were prominent and his jaw well-defined, with a goatee making his triangular-shaped face even more distinct.

    But his complimentary features didn¡¯t hold a candle to the pleasing nature of his eyes. A round, hooded golden gaze.

    This color I don''t remember ever reading about in the book.

    How can that be?

    ¡°Y-Yes?¡± I replied, mustering up a pleasant smile.

    The stranger looked around me, as though looking for something familiar. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed and his mouth was in a light pout.

    I don''t think he''s trying to discern my identity.

    ¡°Do you perhaps know how I could get back?¡± He asked, yawning.

    He wiped sleep off the corner of his eyes and scratched his jaw.

    ¡°Back where, Sir?¡±

    ¡°To the campsite.¡± He remembered to add. ¡°I believe I am lost.¡± He admitted, shoulders slumping.

    ¡°Oh! Well, I am afraid I cannot help you, Sir. I know not of any campsite in the area.¡± I said, internally proud of my smooth, sophisticated language.

    His golden gaze lingered on mine for a moment, blinking in hesitancy.

    ¡°Who¡­¡±

    I could feel droplets of sweat run down my right temple. The fatigue of crossing such a distance with this frail body was slowly catching up to me.

    ¡°May I ask you to identify yourself?¡± He squinted his eyes. ¡°Your appearance is... familiar.¡± He nodded, thoughtful.

    Shit.

 Wow Thats Rude

    ¡°I''m¡­ Oh, wait! I remember now!¡± I exclaimed, turning away from him, hoping to prevent any further inspection of my appearance.

    Why did this body¡¯s appearance have to be so appealing? It¡¯s such a pain in the ass that people remember it.

    I would much have preferred one resembling my original body.

    One could say that my plain expression was dull, or that my short brown hair and deep-set green eyes rendered my appearance less feminine than what was conventionally accepted, but I loved how seamless I could be when I so wished to be.

    ¡°It¡¯s there,¡± I pointed at a random point. ¡°I saw smoke emitting from over there, last night. I believe it might indeed be your destination, good sir.¡± I nodded.

    "Really?"

    I quickly looked at the meadow over which the sun was hanging, nearly risen all the way.

    ¡°Shit, I¡¯m late.¡± The knight muttered, once he, too, acknowledged the sun¡¯s current positioning. ¡°Alright, I must be off before people realize I left¡­¡± He yawned again.

    Given his messy hair, the leaves stuck to his back and head, his incomplete armor, his puffy face, and his words, I can only conclude that he must have skipped night watch to go sleep in the woods.

    Sounds like they don¡¯t pay him well.

    Pinning that thought somewhere within my collapsing mind, I took in a deep breath in preparation for my next step.

    ¡°Well, then,¡± I said, looking up at the man who was fixing his slanting shoulder gear. ¡°I shall be on my way.¡± I nodded, giving him a clumsy courtesy, and then my back.

    ¡°Alright, thank you!¡± He exclaimed behind me, making me let a smooth breath out as I strutted away in victory.

    This was scarily easy.

    I threw a look back after walking a few steps and couldn''t help but grin like an idiot, seeing as he, too, was walking away, towards something that was approaching.

    I turned around, giddy as I located my checkpoint again.

    I took a couple of steps, getting back in the mood when something dawned upon me, making my grin drop flat.

    Something''s approaching?

    ¡°WE FOUND HER!!¡± A distant cry made every bone in my body shudder.

    ¡°WE FOUND HER!!¡± A distant cry made every bone in my body shudder.

    I threw a hasty look back, gritting my teeth at the sight of four horses ridden by fully armored riders galloping up the muddy road, diverging the air and directly coming at me.

    ¡°THERE SHE IS!!¡± They roared

    ¡°I¡¯m so dead.¡± I bit my lips, grabbing my skirt like a bundle against my belly, feeling the chilly breeze on my calves and lower knees.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Between trying to convince the handful of angry muscular men that I was totally not trying to escape and making a run for it, the second option sadly was much more plausible.

    I lifted a leg, preparing for a sprint up the road, eyes set on my destination.

    But I hadn''t moved another inch before I caught a silhouette to my right, a presence that speechlessly threatened to harm me the moment I made any move.

    ¡°I thought you looked suspicious.¡± The golden-eyed knight said through gritted teeth.

    He set a firm hand on my shoulder, forcefully spinning me to face the galloping knights only a few yards away.

    ¡°Come up with an excuse for the both of us." He ordered, speaking lowly and motionlessly, standing next to me.

    ¡°Huh?¡± I turned to look up at him. His gaze was fixated on his distant colleagues, a neutral look on his features.

    "If you manage it, I shall lie for you.¡±

    I simply blinked at him, then turned back to look at the knights, who were seconds away from joining us.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t trying to run away. We were on our way back just now. That is your context.¡±

    ¡°Oh-Okay.¡± I nodded, looking around us as quickly as I could. What in the world kind of excuse am I supposed to come up with?!

    An affair? No, we''ll both be hanged.

    I need something simpler. Something dumb, but plausible. What about...

    ¡°You insolent bitch!¡± The leader of the bunch, with tan skin and coy hair, roared as soon as they had halted in their approach. He dismounted from his horse in a single motion and strode towards me, fist curled up.

    The knight beside me took a semi-step forward, opening his mouth to speak. But before he could utter a word, the man raised a firm palm, eyes bloodshot and eyebrows furrowed.

    I took a step back, looking up at the two in fearful realization, eyes wide as I anticipated what his body language signified for me.

    He threw his shoulder back. ¡°HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!¡±

    Before I could even blink, the man''s chest was in front of my face, and a hurled fist had come in contact with my lower right cheek. He had landed an uppercut on my jaw.

    At first impact, and for a split moment, my consciousness slipped away from my grasp.

    I had lost control over my body as everything became black. My teeth bit at my tongue and my jaw snapped and dislocated before I landed on the ground. A warm liquid ponded within my mouth and trickled down my nose.

    I blinked up at the bunch through teary, unfocused eyes, leaning back on an arm while the other held my face which was in sharp, throbbing pain.

    The scenery hadn''t changed much from earlier, the sky¡¯s bitter blue color was only a tad lighter, the tree trunks seemed shorter now that I was sitting on the ground, and fronting it all were four horses, three mounted by other stranger knights. Closer than the horses were was the commander¡¯s vague silhouette.

    With a few blinks, ears momentarily unresponsive, the portrait was clearer.

    His glare was still fixated upon me, shoulders slumping forward as he held his fist in his hand, his shrunk pupils communicating to me his urge to throw himself onto me and beat me dead.

    Even closer to me than the commander was the stranger, who had his back against me, standing in between the two of us.

    ¡°Sir, is there a problem?¡± The golden-eyed knight asked, his tone chillingly calm as he stepped closer to his commander.

    ¡°HOW DARE you try and fucking ESCAPE! What is your purpose!? Huh?!¡± The commander bumped against the golden-eyed knight¡¯s shoulder as he closed in on me, shaking an accusative index down at me. ¡°Are you trying to have us BURN AT THE STAKE!? HUUH!??¡± His eyes were bloodshot, droplets of sweat sitting on his roughly shaved beard.

    The man¡¯s voice echoed across the meadow behind me, even after his lips had fallen shut. He breathed heavily, thinking of what to say next.

 Something Dumb But Plausible

    I could feel my hands shaking, and his posture had me wondering if these would indeed become my last moments in this hellish second life. I might be about to get beaten to death by this rabid dog.

    ¡°Please be calm, sir.¡± A voice broke me out of the 101 thoughts that were about to send me spiraling. I looked up at the man standing in front of the commander, catching a cold, piercing, disdainful golden gaze directed right to me. ¡°She was not escaping. I bore witness to it all.¡±

    The commander furrowed a brow, still hunched over at me. He turned sideways to look up at his golden-eyed soldier. ¡°What?¡±

    I spat out the blood pond that had formed inside my mouth, sitting up despite the numbness in my joints.

    ¡°I never tried to escape,¡± I stated, glaring back at the golden-eyed knight with as much, if not more disdain than he held for me. ¡°I¡¯m here¡­¡± I couldn¡¯t fully open my mouth; my voice was barely audible. ¡°To take a piss.¡± A rush of blood urged me to spit it out again.

    I wiped the blood trickling down my nose.

    A scoff left the lips of one of the riders still on their horses. He had a distinct scar instead of his right eyebrow, a firm and rubbery-looking lesion. Looks like a keloid scar.

    ¡°Quite the lady you are.¡± He muttered.

    ¡°... Is this true, Truman?¡± The commander turned to the golden-eyed man.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°I woke up very early with a sick stomach and needed to go to the restroom. Everybody seemed to have passed out for some strange reason. I was honestly quite afraid¡­ Some knights were even sleeping outside, in the mud!¡± I made sure my tone was confused, and not too dramatic. ¡°I met a coachman who was suffering from a hangover, or was drunk, I¡¯m not sure. I asked him for the keys to my shackles and he brought them over, bless him. He entrusted me to Truman, this gentleman knight, who kindly escorted me out here to, uh,¡± I threw a sheepish look at the rider who laughed earlier. ¡°go to the toilet.¡±

    I can¡¯t think of a better way to put this.

    ¡°¡­ Soldier?¡± The commander glanced at Truman again, eyebrow furrowed.

    ¡°It is all true, Commander.¡± Truman nodded.

    The commander¡¯s skeptical air lasted only a moment.

    ¡°Right!¡± He sighed as his tense stance melted into a slouch and a smirk formed on his lips. ¡°Our security is not so frail that a woman can escape through everyone and reach this meadow without a single person on her trail!¡± He laughed, looking for approval from his subordinates.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I was saying all morning!¡± With a receding hairline and a missing tooth, the other rider giggled, wearing a proud look.

    ¡°Truman, your shift must be over now.¡± The scarred rider stated.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad it finally is.¡± Truman¡¯s eyes were droopy again.

    ¡°You have such shit luck, my friend.¡± The scarred rider said, grabbing the reins of his horse.

    ¡°All of the night shifts always end up within Truman¡¯s fortune. In a way, it is amazing luck.¡± The toothless rider laughed.

    ¡°I shouldn''t have played boulder, parchment, shears to settle the matter again...¡± Truman said, making everyone chuckle.

    While they conversed within themselves, I stood back up (barely), and gently helped my jaw in place.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    I breathed in and out, ignored the relief that I wasn¡¯t facing breathing problems, and stopped moving my tongue in fear of touching one of the several bleeding injuries inside my mouth. I used my free hand to dust my disgusting clothes and comb my hair back down. I stretched a few strands above my shoulder so I could check it out again, and as expected, the barely golden strands from a day ago had turned an even dirtier, duller shade of grey.

    ¡°Well then,¡± The leader put a hand on both sides of his body. ¡°Let us go back and load.¡± He ordered.

    He mounted his horse and gestured for Truman to follow along with me.

    Quietly, I did as they demanded.

    The fact that no further questions were asked about the matter, despite the degree of anger with which the leader knight approached me, could only be explained by these men¡¯s humongous pride, and it being hurt by the thought that I could have succeeded in leaving the campsite unnoticed.

    I can¡¯t believe the day has come when I am grateful for a man¡¯s inflated ego.

    But I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m dead, either, so¡­

    ¡°You deserved it,¡± Truman said, walking to my side.

    I kept looking forward, discounting his words.

    No, I didn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t fucking deserve to be beaten. I don¡¯t deserve to be in this situation.

    Before I realized it, my palm was bleeding from the pressure of my nails digging into its flesh.

    More injuries to treat. This is ridiculous...

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I simply muttered, gently holding onto my jaw, suppressing the tears rushing to my eyes at the surging pain shooting from my face down my throat and up to my forehead.

    It feels like my face will fall off.

    <hr style="font-weight: 400">

    Commander Blert Blach was no fool.

    Every inch of his body itched to deny it, and in the end, he couldn¡¯t but pretend to have been convinced, but he was no idiot. That woman was too suspicious for his liking. Her words weren¡¯t believable in the slightest.

    It hurt his very core, yes, but he had a legal duty to discover the truth.

    Was that black knight a traitor? Was she indeed planning to escape? Could he finally fire that foreigner and kill that spoiled-bitch off?

    The commander had to find out.

    The muddy trail led to a yellowish meadow completing the one that stretched to their right, and there, the riders could see khaki-colored tents, extinguished bonfires'' smoke drawing white, vague lines that reached into the bluish sky and distant figures walking back and forth, carrying things, taking down tents, collecting clothes...

    Once Brett and his company became within sight range for the rest of the soldiers, the handful of knights who were rounded up next to the extinguished bonfire sprung up. Some of the servants stopped amidst their chores to spread the word, that ''What a relief! The Commander is back!''

    The campsite was a mess, just like Blert had left it.

    Most of the tents set up the night before had collapsed within themselves, leaving their fabric dragging on the ground for the hounds, the horses, and the people to stomp on.

    The maids were running around, barely in uniform, collecting the scattered alcohol bottles, the clothing, the armor, and the food, hoping to tidy things up before it was time to leave.

    Half the order of knights was within the forest, still looking for Penelope Ashdown, while the other half who were left to guard the campsite was now running downhill to join the found prisoner, their companions, and most importantly, Blert, their Commander.

    "Commander!"

    "Commander Blert, sir!"

    Blert''s little minions approached him and his riders with open arms.

    Blert held back a grin to save face. He couldn''t show how proud he was of himself. He had a reputation to uphold as the stoic, monster of a leader that he was.

    Instead, he held up an arm, signaling the soldiers to halt before they scared the horses.

    "Yes, yes, we found her," Blert nodded. "Now calm your ti-"

    "Commander, we''re so fucked!" Holison ¡ª the dumbest knight under his charge ¡ª cried out.

    This statement was a call back to reality for Blert.

 All Roads Lead To Rome

    After realizing he was snickering from ear to ear despite his mental effort not to do so, he only now saw that the knights'' expressions weren''t filled with relief and joy at his sight, but with panic and worry instead.

    "What''s the matter?" Blert frowned, dismounting his horse and walking up to his armored subordinates.

    "Commander Blert, Sir¡ª" Holison was out of breath. His baby mustache dripped with sweat as he spoke. "A man came running into the campsite twenty minutes ago. And he said¡ªHe said he was from a Merchant Guild." The lad''s eyes were trembling in panic. "And that their PILOT fell unconscious and isn''t breathing!"

    Blert''s glare softened to let the information simmer.

    "Did they check his pulse?" The woman spoke out.

    "I don''t believe so."

    "Does he have any record of serious illnesses or¡ª"

    "Who gave you permission to speak?" Blert snarled at the woman, making her raise her eyebrows, seemingly taken aback at his and her own words.

    Her voice was melodic to most ears, but not to his. He needed her to keep her useless mouth shut so he could figure the situation out.

    "Force of habit, I guess..." She muttered out of Blert''s hearing range.

    "So, Holison, what are we supposed to do, put him out of his misery?" Blert scrunched his nose.

    "Yes." Holison swallowed. "I mean, no! They want a medic! They asked for any possible medical assistance, but¡ª"

    "Our medic is completely out of commission." Fars, Blert''s toothless minion chimed in. "He was crawling on the ground uttering gibberish, the last I saw of him." He said. "Which was an hour ago."

    ''That irresponsible little shit.'' Blert thought. ''... Well, if we can''t help, then that''s that.''

    "Then send Melissa." Fars ¡ª that bigmouth ¡ª added. "She''s a Holy Cleric, her powers should do the trick."

    Wasting precious Holy Mana on some stranger when Blert could use it for someone more valuable, like himself or his knights, would be utterly folly.

    "Sending Melissa to serve a stranger? HA! What are we, a holy temple?" He glared Fars down.

    "Well..." Holison trailed off, catching Blert''s attention. "The patient is unfortunately not someone we can ignore, Commander, sir. The man whose life depends on us right now is none other than... He is the oldest son of Duke Kimberlye." Holison cringed.

    "AH!" The two riders also cringed.

    Blert''s eyes were widened. "WHAT¡ª! Never mind what I said, send Melissa, NOW!" He yelled out. "I-I shall accompany her myself¡ª!"

    "Oh, we really are screwed..." Truman nodded, his eyes wide, standing next to the two equally stunned riders. "Because Melissa drank yesterday."

    "HUH!? What do you mean, she drank?!" Blert''s eyes were protruding out of his skull. "Is this true!? HOLISON!" He turned with a deathly glare to the lad.

    "Yes, Commander Blert, sir!" Holison stiffened, straightening. "Melissa Lithers was found unconscious an hour ago. She is currently awake, and has admitted to the grave sin of drinking alcohol last night after much pressure from her colleagues, sir!"

    A despairing silence befell the group. The few knights standing behind Holison seemed in pain from the entire ordeal, the riders next to Truman were whispering amongst themselves, and Truman was feeling dizzy from all the commotion when a certain whisper caught Blert''s hearing, breaking him out of his mind prison.

    "Now her holy powers won''t function for weeks..." A feminine voice whispered.

    He glanced over at his prisoner, who was deep in thought as she observed the situation.

    ''It''s all because of her...'' Blert''s head was hurting from all the pressure. ''I''ll need to teach that bitch a lesson... But all in time.''

    "Holison, walk that woman back to her quarters for now." He pointed to Penelope using his chin.

    "Yes, commander, sir!"

    Holison grabbed Penelope Ashdown by the arm, but she shook him off with a sneer and started walking on her own, followed by the awkward little knight.

    Once the two were out of earshot, Blert began.

    "If word gets out about our little celebration yesterday night, consider yourselves dead." He pointed to the group. "I''ll even do the honors myself. If the temple finds out about our clergywoman''s little..." He leaned in. "Sin." He whispered. "Your heads will, likewise, sit on a spike by the end of the week."

    His would, too.

    "MOREOVER!" He jumpscared everyone listening. "If our honored Fourth Division of the Penalty Forces fails to rescue its biggest funder, young Duke Robert Kimberlye, then what will become of all of us?!" His eyes wandered from one paling soldier to another.

    "The commander is right. Good thing the messenger didn''t accept to walk with Holison into the campsite." One of the knights who came with Holison nodded.

    "He invited him to come inside?" Fars questioned.

    "It is only polite, I suppose." Truman nodded, making the rest of the party unsure whether or not he was being sarcastic.

    "Matterless." Blert said, "Holison, bring back the knights wandering in the forest. Educate them on the situation and let them join the ones here to continue preparing for us to leave."

    "To leave?" Fars interjected. "But how will we excuse our lack of aid, sir?"

    Blert decided he had no other choice but to create an excuse for his medic and cleric''s absence, one so urgent that not even a Kimberlye could complain about needing to ''wait'' for their turn.

    Yes. It was decided.

    His hand was already itching for it.

    <hr style="font-weight: 400">

    I had no desire to do it, but I might need to.

    I have to consider milking this opportunity and save this nobleman''s life. He could be useful in helping me get out of this situation!

    ... Or not?

    I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m trying to be smart about this, but wit has never been my forte; a fact that I can never question again after going ahead with that shitty escape plan.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    How I regret that now...

    I needed to be more careful. I can¡¯t afford to be so reckless ever again¡­

    As I watched the lot engage in a very desperate conversation, I couldn''t help but wonder if it would be worth the stakes I¡¯ll be facing once I revealed that this body¡¯s owner, Penelope Ashdown, one of the most useless, dumbest figures in high society, could actually save a dying man using no holy powers or education.

    No... The commander would be onto me, the people here would become wary of me, and it would likely cost me my already puny discreetness.

    Yet... The idiotic part of me constantly trying to self-sabotage is pushing for me to give it a shot.

    I mean, let¡¯s be real, I¡¯m in a melodramatic novel.

    I possessed a body that has me looking like I¡¯m some frickin runway model. Would it be unrealistic for me to hope¡ª no, to expect that the man I would save will turn out to be a hot dude with a dark past and daddy issues who¡¯ll fall in love with me at first sight and pretend he actually fell in love with our banter or something as false?

    Probably not.

    Am I confident in my ability to save AND charm someone to save my life?

    Absolutely not.

    Yeah, it¡¯s too much of a gamble, even for me...

    I''m not even done with my residency yet. Eight years of preparation isn¡¯t enough. What if the nobleman dies in my hands? I would be killed on the spot.

    Chills ran down my spine at the thought of it, as I dragged my feet, following behind Holison.

    Though slow-witted, this lad with an acne-full face, crooked teeth, and wide shoulders seems to possess some sort of charm to him.

    He''s the idiot who gave away the Prison Stones being a bluff last night, too.

    "This is where I leave you, lady." He said, turning to me once he was in front of the carriage. "Oh!" He exclaimed, looking at a figure behind me. "Miss Alice!"

    "Alice?" I threw a glance back, and there she was. My out-of-breath, monotone lady-in-waiting.

    Well, actually...

    "You." Alice''s nostrils were flaring. She stood a few feet away, having just come out of the forest.

    "Oh, boys!" Holison called out, having caught sight of several other figures following in Alice''s trail, also exiting the forest. It was a bunch of armored men, possibly less breathless than she was. "Have you heard¡ª?" Holison ran up to his older colleagues and disappeared into their crowd.

    My gaze fell back on Alice.

    She didn''t look so monotone, closing in on me with glaring pink eyes, rumpled hairs and untidy clothes. There was a handful of tree leaves stuffed in her hair.

    Why was she in the forest?

    "Long time no shee." I smiled awkwardly, holding my jaw, a little flustered by her unexpected ability to... uh, human, I guess.

    Alice''s angry gaze broke away from me and landed on the knights who had left the forest moments after she did. Within half a second, she seemed to have remembered or realized something, because her stare softened and her aggressive steps halted.

    She sighed and continued walking towards me in a composed stance.

    "Miss Alice, be sure to shackle the criminal and put her in the carriage!" Holison ordered before walking away with his panicking colleagues towards the commander''s location.

    "So," I turned to the lady-in-waiting. "Given your body language, I understand you were worried about me, Alice?" I threw her a smug look.

    She was probably looking for her lady in the forest.

    She might be disappointed I''m back. That''s probably why she seemed mad at first.

    "As a matter of course, I was looking for you out of obligation, Lady Penelope. But, I would not dare contradict your anticipations of my concern towards your well-being."

    "So you don''t care if I disappear or not," I stated.

    "You misunderstand my words a great deal, my lady." She took the leaves out of her hair and fixed it straight.

    Yeah, because you wish for me to disappear.

    I gave her a knowing look.

    After all, Alice''s fate was sealed the moment her lady committed this crime. Now, she has to accompany her to jail and tend to her while there, despite having committed no crime. And it is all on account of Penelope Ashdown and some terrible luck that made it so she happened to be her personal lady in waiting.

    How cruel is it that this world¡¯s nobles can¡¯t even go to jail alone, they have to drag their servants with them? Like, what punishment is it if they have someone they can order around to carry the burden with them?

    Her eyes coldly stared me down, filled with a sense of challenge rather than condescendancy.

    "Well, it''s good I don''t have to worry about you worrying about me, then." I nodded.

    I never did. But at least now I never will.

    She opened the door for me to get into the carriage, and left to get those cursed heavy metal shackles.

    Once inside the carriage, I sat on the hard wooden seat and leaned back against the wall behind me, I pursed my lips and let my eyes wander around the vehicle''s insides. Nothing was interesting to look at, the walls were wooden and old, the windows were dirty and their glass was thick, with bars blocking the meadow''s view.

    But I kept looking around like this vehicle had the most intricate design I had ever seen... Because it felt too awkward to look at her; the woman loudly sobbing, sitting in front of me.

    "Oh, Korpa, forgive me!" She cried, sniffling gross snot in and out with each breath.

    ~

    Thirty minutes later, and the elderly woman with dull blonde locks wearing a blue cloak that covered her upper face was still sobbing.

    "Shut the fuck up." Was all I wanted to yell.

    But...

    "Oh Korpa...!" Melissa, the sinful clergywoman cried into her palms.

    "Don''t kick people who are down." I recalled my mother''s words on a scary night. "Most people deserve to fall. Especially if they''re above you. But kicking someone who''s down isn''t suited for the likes of us. We''re too familiar with the feeling. It''s not right to do it if we''re ever in a position to."

    My mother''s words echoed a little bit on the dark street, carried by the cold breeze that was slowly freezing us both to death. Our noses were red and our limbs were trembling. We were in a corner of the street, out of sight, wrapped in aluminum foil and waiting for the sun to rise.

    "Ma, I''m bad at metaphors."

    "People who are down means people... Well, people like you and I." She admitted, giving me her best smile, unaware that ten year old Penelope could see the heartbreak and anger in her eyes.

    I nodded, but at the time, I wasn''t quite aware of what she had meant.

    We had just been kicked out of our home by a group of drug dealers who bought it from my mother''s boyfriend at the time. I saw a gun for the first time that day.

    Ah... The good old days.

    "It was him..." Ma''s voice traveled out from pits in my mind I had shut out, painting a new scene from my past. "Your fucking dad..."

    As the memories arose, I began to breathe longer in an attempt to redirect my thoughts. But...

    "Are you really okay with this?" A blank faced man had asked. I clutched my throat, gasping for air. "Your mom died yesterday."

    My mother is dead.

    Ma is fucking dead.

    HOW CAN I BE OKAY WITH THIS?

    My breaths were inefficient, I was suffocating.

    My eyes widened at the influx of unwelcome thoughts.

    Stop.

    MA IS DEAD.

    "Stop..." I held my head.

    It''s not my fault. It''s not your fault. You''re okay....

    But it wasn''t working. Shit. It wasn''t fucking working.

    I kept my eyes wide, trying my hardest not to blink. Even as tears streamed down my face.

    Because I knew. As soon as I did... All I would see was her co¡ª

    "My lady?" A voice pierced through the screetching in my head.

 Happy Thoughts

    "My lady..." Alice had opened the carriage''s door, letting in light from behind her. I blinked, breaths irregular.

    She stared at me, eyes wide, eyebrows arched in both surprise and horror.

    "How..."

    Catching herself before she spoke further, Alice blinked and broke away from my gaze. She pressed her lips together and gave me a resolute look.

    "No, I must fetch a physician."

    "He''s...!" I reached out, but she was already marching across the meadow, head spinning around as she frantically searched for the doctor.

    I let my hand fall in surrender and turned to the clergywoman sitting across from me. She raised her head off her lap and gave me a tearful look.

    "I cannot even help you..." She moped, a long sob escaping her lips before she let her head fall back onto her lap to cry some more.

    I needed to calm the beating in my chest and prevent the tears from falling so uncontrollably. I sniffled, taking deep breaths as I pushed down the terror-inducing memories threatening to rise to the surface. I laid back against the wooden seat.

    I can''t deal with this right now. I don''t have the time to be sad.

    Right.

    I have to think positively. Happy thoughts.

    I closed my eyes.

    Think happy thoughts.

    Remember, Penelope, you¡¯re adorned in gold right now. You¡¯re beyond wealthy, even beneath your dirty, raggedy, smelly gown.

    Delilah had insisted she couldn¡¯t sneak in actual gold coins and decided to get jewelry instead. As a result, the blood circulation in my entire body has taken even more of a hit than my pathetic heart at the moment.

    Seven golden bracelets were under the sleeves, and exactly on the upper side of my arms. I might barely be able to feel my arms, but on a brighter note, each is adorned in fourteen thousand Keps! Furthermore, my corset was stuffed with two diamond necklaces worth twenty-five thousand Keps each. And that would have been enough for our original deal, had I not spotted the six rings on her fingers and the pretty earrings she wore.

    With those also in my bra/corset, I am a proud, walking seventy to eighty thousand Keps.

    Well, minus the golden bracelet gone to the coachman.

    ... What a waste that was.

    I rested my head against the seat''s back, relieved I could finally breathe again, at least through my nose.

    I wasn''t very keen on acknowledging it, but since medical attention from someone else was currently impossible, and letting my injury fester would only lead to complications, I had to treat my jaw myself... And now seems like a good time to do it.

    I put my fingers on it, examining for the pain.

    "Ow," I muttered, keeping my fingers away from my face as I took a deep breath.

    I wish I had an anesthetic right now.

    I''ve never done this for myself before, but I have treated several dislocated jaws in my past life.

    Admitting to a past life is wild.

    I shook my head to drop the thought/panic.

    I carefully manipulated the jaw, tightly shutting my eyes and lips to suppress the pained moans. I gently guided the lower jaw forward, then backward, applying controlled pressure to re-align the jaw bones.

    A few seconds in, I foolishly thought I was getting used to the bone-shuddering pain when my vision suddenly flashed white as I jerked my head against the seat and muffled a scream. I had made a false movement.

    I slowly opened my left eye to check on the clergywoman, but she was too busy sobbing aloud to notice me. I sighed and wiped the blood leaking out of my mouth using the sleeve of my clothes.

    Once the dislocation was successfully reduced, I let out a smooth breath from my mouth, which I could now move slightly better.

    I would typically recommend a jaw splint for myself, but I''m sitting in a wooden carriage lighted with a torch head hanging from the ceiling, parked in the middle of nowhere, so that''s completely out the window.

    I was drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, and feeling slightly lightheaded from the procedure. I firmly held my jaw with my palm while I scanned the fabric I wore.

    Perhaps I could rip some of it and use that...

    My eyebrows arched upwards at the sight of some white silk fabric set on the wooden seat next to the clergywoman.

    New plan.

    I hunched over carefully, hand-stretched and mouth drooling at the thought of the fabric''s gentle touch against my cheeks. But, before I could snatch the fabric from the unnoticing woman''s side, a sudden knock on the carriage''s window made me jump back to my seat in surprise.

    I turned to the source, shivering at the sight of Commander Blert''s silhouette through the dirty, vague glass.

    I opened the door, letting it slip from my grasp and open to its maximum width. He stood in front of the door while I stood on the staircase to the carriage''s inside. For the first time, I stood eye to eye with him, which gave me a strange sense of satisfaction.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    His arms rested by his hips, and his air was hard to read.

    Blert''s gaze lowered, and he put his arm forward a little and gave a curtesy. My jaw itched with pain at the memory of its last encounter with this man''s fist.

    I looked left... and then right.

    ... Is he... He can''t be...

    "Apologies for interrupting your peace, revered miss." He said.

    "Do not fret it, brave soldier. I am undeserving of your kind regards." The clergywoman''s frail voice sounded behind me, making me purse my lips.

    Of course, he''s not talking to me.

    "You." He sternly met my gaze, his deep-set hazel eyes torched with grim delight. "Follow me."

    With those simple words, and without a second glance at me, he directed another curtesy at the elderly woman sitting in the carriage and marched towards the forest.

    "Why?" I asked, stiffening my facial muscles. "Sir." I added lightly.

    The commander''s stride halted. He carefully spun to look back at me, his bushy, weirdly shaped eyebrows pulled together and his mouth in a downturned U.

    "Are you questioning orders, prisoner? You think you have such a right?" His eyes glared at me with a subtle earthy warmth, almost burning through my gaze.

    "N-Not that," I admitted, fearing for my remaining healthy bones. "... Fine," I mumbled, nose scrunched. I stepped down the stairs of the carriage and closed the door, my heartbeat loudening as I began to panic.

    It''s fine, Penelope.

    I looked around the two of us, reminding myself that even within the forest, with the deadly silence that encirled this camp at the moment, everyone could hear me if I called for help. The other knights were within earshot, if not visible, and Alice would come looking for me soon.

    I wouldn''t be alone with this guy. Not really.

    I swallowed, shuffling my feet across the wet soil, following in his stride.

    I attempted to memorize our path, but after endless minutes of marching on crispy leaves, I couldn''t tell one tall tree from another. All I could see around us as the commander finally came to a halt was an identical replica of the same tree sample pasted around us too many times to count¡ªtall trees with thin trunks and hat-like crowns.

    Each breath I took came in a shallow gasp as I pursued the Commander, each step echoing my growing paranoia. The forest seemed to close in around us, the birdsong eerily absent. I felt the weight of every tree, every bush as if the forest itself held its breath.

    The tents that were once within my perspective were now nowhere to be seen, I could no longer hear the rattling of furniture and the neighing of the horses.

    My heart rate was through the roof, my stomach was heating up from the anxiety and my eyes were shooting all around the plains, examining the place for any other presence.

    A small voice called to me from the very back of my head;

    He knows. It warned. He knows about your stupid pretense. You''re fucked.

    "Say it here." I stopped. "I''m not going to follow you further," I stated, chin held up.

    I can barely tell where we came from. I have nowhere to run.

    "Huh?"

    With the same air of condescendence from earlier, the commander turned around to look down at me. He bared his yellow canines at me as he snarled;

    "Did I hear that aright?" He was now facing me, cocking his head to the side. "You shan''t follow me anymore, you say?"

    "... No."

    "Really now?"

    "I won''t." I shook my head, as though to insist upon my response. "We''re isolated enough. You can speak now, Sir." My attempt at sounding polite was ineffective, given the unfazed snarl on his face.

    The commander paused a moment, as though pondering the matter. His lips turned into a thin line as he stepped closer to me.

    Before I could react, within two strides, I was not only within reach but within his hold, as he grabbed my arm and yanked me to the ground.

    I yelped, closing my eyes as I landed on the ground, beside the foot of a tree trunk.

    Shit.

    Unconsciously, I looked around, examining the area for people. For help.

    We''re alone. We''re alone. You''re alone.

    My chest rose and fell at an increased pace. The spot where his skin came in contact with mine was itching painfully, so much so that I had to press on it with my firm palm.

    My vision traveled between being blurry and clear, blinking heavily.

    "Sure. Let''s talk right here." He knelt to meet my height.

    The image of the Commander''s shade-covered silhouette, breathing warm huffs into my face overlapped with the one from my memory.

    My heart shriveled slowly within my ribcage.

    The same distance separated the commander and me, the same feeling smothered my throat, and the same horrifying silence shrouded the woods around us as the one that detained me that day.

    "Tell me, prisoner." The commander''s nutty breath crashed against my face, making my stomach churn. "I am so curious." He leaned in even closer, teeth gritted. "Do you take me for a fool?"

    A nerve was throbbing on his forehead, and I fought to keep my hands from trembling and my expression neutral.

    "Sir," I began, but my voice faltered. "S-Sire... I would never," I declared.

    "Ha!" He jerked his head back. "You, with the scant knowledge gained from the mere two books you have read, think to outwit me? A fucking division commander, with a feeble tale about relieving yourself? Ha!" He laughed again, his yellowed teeth bared in a furious grin.

    "Listen," I tried to reason with him, ignoring the chills crawling up my spine as he reached for an object on his waist. "I can explain. I promise."

    I can''t outrun him.

    I can''t call for help.

    I can''t fight back.

    It''s alright. I can just try and convince him.

    If I tell him the truth... Maybe he''ll believe it. The truth might convince him. The truth is...

    "Listen, to tell you the truth, I''m..." My voice caught in my throat as I looked up to meet his gaze. "I''m not the person you think I am..." I stuttered, my vision blurring with the sensation of the ground wobbling beneath me. "I didn''t commit the crimes. I''m... I know- I know you must have noticed that I''m- I''m different. Maybe if you knew her, I mean me, before this you could tell." The words were itching to leave my throat. How fucking much I wanted to say it. "M-My name isn''t Ashdown, it''s... It-It''s Hor¡ª"

    ... What are you doing?

    Penelope, stop crying like an idiot.

    "I''m..." My eyes blurred with tears as the words left my lips. "I swear... I''m innocent." Warm tears rolled down my face.

    I didn''t raise you to be this weak.

    Blert cocked an eyebrow, looking slightly confused.

    Since when did honesty work anyway? Backtrack. Backtrack. What the fuck are you doing?

    "What I mean is..." I looked up at him, trying to seem as innocent as possible, letting the tears drip off my eyes to clear my vision. "I didn''t bribe the coachman. I would never try to run away. So I''m innocent."

    "Interesting... I never said you bribed anybody, Miss Ashdown." The corners of his mouth curled up.

 Survival Instinct, or Something

    My mouth stood paralyzed as the realization dawned on me.

    "Not that I needed to know, for the coachman has already recounted your little misadventure to me. Trusting an old fool with a job to lose and a family to feed, all for a bit of coin you offered him. How fitting it is of your character." A wicked grin spread across his face. "Miss Ashdown."

    My eyes widened at the sensation of a dagger¡¯s sharp edge against my neck.

    ¡°I¡ªI am a prisoner of the Empire,¡± I stated. I don''t even know what that means. ¡°You cannot kill me. You will hang... Please...¡±

    The commander grinned.

    ¡°And who said I was going to kill you, wench?¡± He pressed the dagger against my skin.

    He leaned in closer, whispering the words into my ear;

    ¡°I shall slit your throat just deep enough to ensure that you survive but can never again speak with that sweet voice of yours. I shall leave you in such peril that, conveniently, only with the aid of our two available medics could you even hope to survive... You know, you should not feel too badly about your little misadventure. If anything, it was an opportunity to see a bit of the world¡¯s light, for today would have been the day you died either way."

    The smugness in his voice made me grit my teeth.

    Thinking about how I''m facing death again after so many promises to make it out alive this time, to create a new life for myself and ensure I survived fueled me with such hatred. Hatred I don''t even know where to direct.

    There must be some irony to how trivial my life is, no matter where or who I am, to how fucking incompetent and pathetic I am every time I need to save myself...

    There was some bitterness to my knowing full well that no one would bat an eye once I passed, just like the last time.

    "So you''re killing me or not?" I couldn''t help but mutter.

    "Let us find out, shall we not?" An annoyed huff crashed against my neck before he jerked his head back and dug the dagger into my neck.

    For a fleeting moment, it felt as if I were already dead; the air in my lungs ceased to exist, and all I could see was the pleasure in his widened eyes as he held my gaze.

    In an ideal world, I would possess the reflexes to deflect his blow and attack him suddenly, then run and prevail heroically.

    But I don''t.

    All I could do was watch this moment unfold, determined only by the thought that this man was despicable, unrecyclable waste and that perhaps there could be a way to survive a slash wound to the neck in this world. Magic exists here after all.

    Maybe, just maybe, I could survive this, too.

    Eyes wide, pupils locked with Blert''s vicious browns, the blade''s edge dug into the fleck of my neck, poised to carve a horizontal line across my throat.

    I should have died then.

    I shut my eyes, a part of me glad that I could finally rest.

    ... Perhaps death was the only possible happy ending I could get.

    Even with the convenient knowledge of the book, my years of medical practice, and my modern-world experiences, I still managed to fail. Who''s the idiot who entrusted me with a second life anyway?

    With that thought, the corners of my lips lifted.

    Whoever it is... I''d still like to thank them.

    "I shall leave you in such peril that, conveniently, only with the aid of our two available medics could you even hope to survive..." He said.

    How nostalgic...

    "Drop it." My fingers clawed at the scalp of a girl whose name I barely knew, her soft hairs entangled in between my fingers. "Jess, was it? You better give me your loudest scream before you turn bald." I pulled her hair tighter, making her look up at me.

    She was in our brown and white school uniform, and though the memory of her facial features had gone blank since, I could still recall the feeling I had gotten as she looked up at me, eyes filled to the brim with helpless, utter rage.

    "You fucking psychopath." She gritted her teeth. "LET GO OF ME!" Her scream echoed through the corridors.

    I looked up to see the concrete-covered yard outside through the empty classroom window. The principal was still heading there.

    "Louder." I pulled at her head tighter, my heart beating faster as I watched the principal close in on the gym entrance.

    The blonde girl let out such a screech that my ears began to ring. The moment following that, I looked over at the yard, and the principal''s gaze was searching the building''s window for the scream''s source. His aide pointed at us with a fat frown, and after a quick exchange of words, the two middle-aged men began running towards the entrance of the school.

    "-lope!" His voice echoed through the yard. "PENELOPE HORNE!!"

    Once the two entered the building, I grabbed my phone and sent a quick message to my accomplices. And once that was over with, I threw a glance at Jess, who was fixing her hair and grunting from the injuries on her arms and knees.

    "You think you''re being a loyal friend." She stated, fixing the collar of her blazer, her gaze fixated on something in the window behind me. "But you''re just a sad, evil little shit who lets losers use her like a guard dog." She stepped back, expecting me to retaliate physically.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "... Watch that pretty mouth," I said, expression blank. "Or else you''ll get downstairs through this window." We were on the second floor, therefore, it technically wasn''t a death threat.

    I threw a look at the window and as expected, it was Harper and Benjamin, who cautiously walked out of the gym, clothes untidy.

    I looked down at the bruises on my arms from this girl''s retaliation. Through the corridor, I had heard the principal and his aide''s running steps closing in on us, and at that moment, a smile drew itself on my face.

    [You''re a lifesaver.] Harper''s message read. [Thank you]

    A little shit who gets used by the people she cherishes the most.

    As I watched Harley and her boyfriend wave me an excited goodbye through the window, feeling the principal''s approaching, looming figure behind my back, I couldn''t help but wonder: What''s so bad about that?

    As this memory flashed within my mind, my eyelids flew open and I took in a sharp breath.

    "WAIT-!!" I exclaimed, feeling tingly, warm liquid leaking down my neck. I groaned against the edge of the dagger, eyes wide open as I grabbed the man''s left and tightened my hold on it. "Sir, wait. There is something I must tell you! Wait, wait!"

    The dagger''s motion stopped, and the commander''s eyes seemed slightly curious about my sudden flip.

    "You don''t need to kill me," I said, my conviction renewed as I finally understood what was going on. "I have a better idea for you."

    "Hm?" He cocked a displeased eyebrow at me.

    A commander who hosted a grand, illegal celebration while on duty to guard a prisoner of the empire; Commander Blert Blach.

    He and his colleagues got too drunk for their own good, got their medic drunk beyond saving and even convinced their holy priestess to break her Oath of Mental Balance which is the source of her healing powers in the first place, making her lose her abilities.

    For the totality of these gravities, this man would one hundred percent be hung at the stake.

    Therefore he needs an excuse, a distraction, to turn the attention away from his ploys that''re onthe verge of being undone.

    Just like I used Jess to create enough noise and divert the principal''s attention from the gym that day, the commander is taking things up a notch and decided that Penelope Ashdown''s death is the only noise loud enough to cover up his nasty ass.

    My death was to happen, not because I fucked up for trying to escape, but because this man was a fucking idiot.

    "You are trying to kill me as way to hide the priestess''s sin. Am I wrong?" I asked. "Doing that would be reckless at best, especially when you can fix this situation otherwise."

    "Reckless, you say?" He muttered. "You must think highly of your worth. Do you perhaps believe anyone would give a shit if you died, Miss Ashdown? Because you would be mistaken."

    "I know that much already. My family has given up on me, and I own no fortune that could make it a big deal if I were to die. However," I swallowed. "You cannot get out of killing me unscathed."

    The commander''s left eyebrow twitched.

    "''A noble murdered at the hands of a commoner!'' I trust you are aware of the reaction that headline would solicit. Even if you put your best efforts into concealing this fact, I promise you that you will not succeed at doing so. It will revealed, and once that happens, no noble of this empire would want short of your public execution. Albeit I am a worthless noble, I remain a Marquis''s daughter. And if this Marquis''s daughter was murdered for seemingly being disobedient, and that only, I am sure forgiveness would be something you beg for very dearly."

    I am a reader of Wholeheartedly Yours. I know what kind of fucked up, classist, shit-world this is.

    "However, I have a deal for you."

    "Your audacity knows no bounds, wench." The commander''s dagger pressed against my neck even further, making my breaths quicken.

    "Just hear me out. You won''t regret it." I basically pleaded.

    "Speak a word that isn''t to my liking and we shall both die."

    "Alright."

    Sick little shit.

    "These rules may apply to you in the case in which you seemingly kill me for no reason. However, imagine this: Commander Blert''s prisoner disguised herself as a healer, was mistakenly sent to the merchant''s caravan to ''heal'' the nobleman. If this fails, it will be completely my fault, and I will die for causing the death of a fellow nobleman. But if this succeeds, and I manage to do it, there will be no repercussions for either of us, and we can peacefully continue this journey as it was."

    "You mean to tell me you intend to heal the merchant? Nonsense."

    "If I don''t, you would have both the motif to kill me and the excuse to cover for your lack of medical assistance, as I could easily take the fall for the drugging of the priestess and the state of the physician."

    Thia was an unrefusable deal, unless he was an idiot. No, not even an idiot can''t refuse such a good alternative for his pathetic little plan.

    "... Miracle." He muttered, pushing me to the ground and standing up to dust his knees. "A noble woman with a decent amount of intellect. Must be because of her survical instinct." He muttered to himself.

    As soon as he had let go of me, air filled my lungs again and I gasped for more. I held my neck, touching a warm liquid on the side of it. Thankfully, the pain was faint compared to everything else I''ve been through, so it should be fine if I bandaged it before I went to see the nobleman.

    "I will go tell the merchants that we are sending someone after all. Figure out a way to pass for a revered miss. I will take you there myself, so don''t entertain silly thoughts about another escape attempt, or else I may slit your throat right there."

    The commander walked away, and reminding myself that I didn''t know the way back, I similarly stood up and followed suit, despite the trembling in my hand and the ominous feeling I had about this plan.

    I might get a heart attack from all of this stress, how annoying.

    ~

    "But..." A maid trailed off, watching me with a suspicious gaze.

    "Do you wish for your master to die? ''That it, miss?!" An agressive Blert spat at the maid standing between us two and the tent in which the merchant lay.

    "Her holiness needs privacy in order to harness her powers. You must listen to her orders." Truman encouraged the maid to leave, clueless.

    I analyzed the campsite through the two holes in the light blue cloth which covered my face; Everyone seemed in a frantic state, whether it was the maids, knights, and even the horses.

    Well, I guess it''s stressful if your boss publicly collapses on a work day, leaving you and your coworkers guessing about what''s going to happen to you if he dies.

    "Let us hurry inside." A firm Alice spoke by my side, taking a step forward and nudging the maid out of the way. She threw a glare my way, then opened the tent for me, Truman and Blert to enter.

    Alice wasn''t supposed to know. Like Truman, she should have been fooled by my immaculate disguise where no limb in my body could show and no word on my part has been spoken until now. I gave Blert all onstructions on the matter, too...

    So how come she''s been giving me a ''you sneaky little fuck'' look since she volunteered to join me and Blert along with Truman on the way here??!

    Speaking of the way here, it''s a lucky thing that these people''s caravan was set barely seven minutes away from Blert and his prison-guards''.

    My hands were clammy as I stepped in, disregarding the 101 voices in my head telling me about how dead I am once I walk in and find that the man I''m about to take as a patient is beyond saving at all...

    "You can do this." I muttered, clenching my fists at the sight of the tent''s broad interior.

 Not This Kind Of Man

    "You can do this." I muttered, clenching my fists at the sight of the tent''s broad interior. "Truman will be the only one in there with me." I announced, putting a leg inside before I felt a strong grip on my arm.

    I was lightly propelled backwards. "If that man dies." Blert discreetly whispered beside my face, making me smell his nasty-ass breath.

    I scrunched up my nose and shook his hand off.

    "People will notice, let go." I ordered. "Until he does, which he won''t, act composed and don''t let anyone in other than Truman. Got it?" I glared.

    Blert couldn''t see my glare, but he could hear the audacity in my voice, which made a vein throb on his forehead. He gave me a long look while I entered the tent with Truman.

    The tent was larger than the main one we left at camp, and the entire place was furnished, leather and wool on every chair and on the large bed in the middl¡ª No time to be envious, where''s the patient?

    It took me a look around to realize he was on the ground, looking as though he had collapsed only just now, an open letter in his hand and a letter opened beside his body on the carpet.

    "Why''s he there!?" I exclaimed, running to his side.

    "I believe the servants were too afraid of touching him and being accused of being the ones to murder him. So no one dared touch the young lord since he collapsed."

    I shook my head as I sat next to him, repositioning his back straight and his face towards the side.

    His tongue hadn''t been swallowed, thankfully.

    Noting the man''s pallor, I grabbed his wrist and checked for a radial pulse.

    I watched his face as I confirmed a slow and faint pulse, making me frown. My first instinct was to lay my head over his chest, to look for any unusual sounds.

    I ripped off the light beige blouse he wore to inspect his chest, but underneath it, his torso was shielded in what seemed like a leather corset, hard as wood.

    I couldn''t help but throw a half-confused, half-annoyed look at the man.

    He would be mostly in his thirties, with black gelled-back short hair and long black lashes resting above his closed eyes. His physique was leaner, with an unusually long stature and toned arms resting beside his torso.

    His face was getting red, what the hell did that mean...?

    Okay, I gotta get rid of the chest plate first.

    As I reached for the gear, Truman spoke over my shoulder. "Make sure you do not touch the protection gear, your holiness. It is enchanted in numbing poison. I can smell it." I took my hands back, sniffling to detect the scent he spoke of, but to no avail.

    People in this world are a different breed, I swear...

    Due to his thick leather shield-like clothing, I couldn''t even hear the patient''s heartbeat.

    "Truman," I called in my normal voice, turning halfway, the blue hood covering half my head rustling against my skin to the side. "You''re now involved. Keep this a secret, okay?" I said, ripping the light blue cloth off my face and throwing my head back to make the hood fall off.

    I wouldn''t be surprised if he had already realized I wasn''t the clergywoman given the way I was running earli¡ª

    "Holy shit, WHAT!" He took a defensive step back. "You were our healer all along!?" His golden eyes were as wide as they could get.

    "I..." I frowned, at a loss for what to say.

    Move on. Move on, Penelope. Focus.

    "Sure. Whatever. Come take off this guy''s leather clothes somehow. I need to access his torso."

    Although the maid who led us here mentioned nothing concerning any trauma or injury or bleeding history, my heart shivered at the thought of his fainting being due to some sort of internal bleeding. Mostly because I had few tangible ways to confirm or treat it.

    I also would hate to see his blood..

    "Yes, revered lady." Truman knelt down, eyes plastered on the guy.

    While Truman worked on the man''s chest plate, I took note of his sudden eye motions, and discovered something interesting.

    Not only was the man awake, but he was pretending not to be as such, meaning there are no signs of confusion or pain he is feeling.

    They must have lied about his medical record.

    An heir to a dukedom, leading the largest merchant group of the empire, accompanied by no servants whatsoever while he and his frail health paraded about the lands.

    It''s either he''s a reckless idiot or a prideful brat. And knowing his status in the empire, having heard brief mentions of his father in the book, and examining his features once more, taking note of the raven hair and pale skin, something dawned on me.

    This is him, the Main Villainess''s older brother!

    Thinking about it, he must have woken up just now...

    I had to fight off the corners of my mouth from rising into the sinister smile it wanted to become, because I was about to save a villainess''s beloved brother... I need to leave my mark. This guy needs to remember me.

    Truman put a hand on his hip, where his dagger hung. "I fear I might be compelled to use a dagger to settle this matter, revered miss."

    "A dagger?" I repeated, eyeing a twitch on the patient''s lips. "No need," I said. "That could endanger the patient''s life."

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    I wasn''t lying. Knowing he''s awake and listening, he might make a sudden motion and we could end up with a murder case.

    Worse yet, awake as he might be, he was still ill. His breathing was faint and his temperature was quite high. For now it should be a little over 38 degrees at best, but I''ll figure out what to do if it goes up higher than that...

    <hr>

    Robert had been feeling slothy and lightheaded since he woke up in the morning.

    He was having quite the trouble with his breathing, something that wasn''t unusual, which was why he hadn''t paid his symptoms much attention.

    But, for him to abruptly lose control of his limbs and watch himself collapse, only to regain consciousness later... Even Robert, with all of his ''I haven''t the time to attend to this matter'' attitude, was starting to think he might need to make time for a priest''s visit again.

    Sitting up on the ground of his tent, feeling lightly dizzy, he wondered if it would be suitable to call for one amidst their journey when, "You can do this," Robert heard someone muttering to thenselves at his tent''s entrance.

    How embarassing for them, He thought.

    "Truman will be the only one in there with me."

    Truman? Robert knew no man of such a name.

    For reasons he couldn''t point out, Robert''s good sense had left him as he heard two stranger figures step in, because instead of standing up and regaining his grace, he threw himself to the ground and played dead. Absolutely disgraceful.

    "Why''s he there!?" Robert fought the temptation of opening his eyes to check on what the owner of this melodic voice looked like, but Robert was a a man of grace, well-educated and well¡ªThis woman was touching his wrist! The audacity!!

    The woman ripped off his clothing, and Robert''s self-control began to thin.

    There was another man next to them, and the man spoke softly, but at this point Robert couldn''t hear things properly, his entire body was tingly, his head was throbbing, and worst of all, the stranger woman was touching his hands and chest, letting him know of how soft her skin wa¡ª

    No. What in the world was he thinking? Robert wasn''t this kind of man. If anything, he must punish whoever this woman was for laying her dirty hands on a man of his caliber. She must be some maid pretending to know in medecine. Robert found the simple thought of a woman with such shamelessness nausceating.

    "... dagger..."

    What? A dagger! Were they trying to assassinate Robert!?

    "Shit¡ª" He heard the woman mumble.

    A foul-mouthed as well. How aggravating!

    "He''s swea¡ª ... I need to¡ª ... Truman, go fet¡ª"

    Truman?

    Feeling a lock of soft hair on his neck, Robert flinched.

    Along with the sniff of lavender from the stranger''s intruding hair in his space, whether it was willingly or unwillingly, Robert ended up taking a glimpse at the intruders.

    A tall dark skinned fella, with toned muscles and a disturbing eye color, and closer, a woman...

    Robert blinked, his vision between blurry and clear, his breaths between faint and nonexistent, his heart between throbbing and... enamored.

    Her eyes were a clear sea, trapped inside two crystal, shredded in raw and intense determination. Her neck was long and sturdy, her features delicate, yet sharp. Long and luscious hair, in long waves of a pale golden hue, reminding Robert of the clear desert sand in his favorite hourglass. Plump and rosy... Lips...

    Oh dear, is that the Temple''s emblem on her chest? Robert gasped, his consciousness slipping away from his grasp. It''s a woman of the Temple. Oh no. Oh Korpa... Oh no...

    Robert Kimberlye wasn''t a gullible man in the slightest. If anything, he was everything else. He was responsible for the biggest trading business in Yilderen. He was Duke Kimberlye''s only and favorite son. He was the cold gentleman who broke women''s hearts because work came before anything else. Because there was nothing so important as his ambitions.

    He must be ill. Right... He was ill. These thoughts were temporary and would surely leave his loyal mind and heart within the next hour. He was certain.

    ... Is it legal to marry a priestess...? That was the last remorseful thought tjat occured to Robert before he drifted off into a deep slumber.

    <hr>

    I opened his eyes using my fingers, but he seemed to be unconscious now.

    Alright, I don''t need to act like a graceful and calm, professional woman now.

    Let''s just hope he''s impressed with me or something... Actually, let''s just hope he survives first.

    "Fetch that pillow, Truman." I pointed to one of the pillows on the guy''s bed.

    I can''t believe these people get to sleep in a yurt, furnished with a bed and everything while I had to sleep on little more than dry ground...

    "Here you go, miss."

    Using the large pillow Truman gave me, I propped up his feet.

    "Grab that dagger and take this plate thing off." I motioned to Truman''s hip, where he hung a glass dagger. He nodded and knelt by my side.

    While he did that, I stood back up and stretched my back. I then gathered my hair into a bun as it had gone loose earlier because of the way we ran here. I cringed at the burning sensation from the injury on my neck that I had hurriedly bandaged before we came here, and noted sweating all over the patient''s body, which urged me to grab something to wipe it off, and...

    ~

    "Diabetes." I told Truman, who stood by the entrance while I rewore my clothes.

    I had summoned the young lord''s personal servant and had them spill the beans about his real medical record. Turns out he has polyuria, which means he pees oddly frequently, and the reason this illness had gone unnoticed till now was because the young lord ''only believes in the Temple''s healing prowess, and finds that physicians are under-qualified to treat his troubles.''

    And because priests use magic and don''t actually have any medical knowledge per se, they would only appease his symptoms relatively each time, while his illness was never named or thought to be a chronic disease.

    "Detebeses." Truman spoke out to the people outside the tent in such a confident tone that I had to question what I said.

    I pulled on his sleeve and insisted. "Diabetes."

    Half the man''s body was out with the public who were worried about their leader, while the other half I could see and speak to. His head turned back and forth between the tent''s outside and inside. He was communicating with the strangers outside in my stead, since it was frowned upon for priestesses'' identities to become public.

    Though I don''t see what that has to do with me talking to them, but I respect it.

    "They are asking if he''s alive and well." Truman turned to me.

    "Yes. He''s currently asleep. I gave him two tablespoons of honey, which should do him some good for now. I will prescribe him a diet he needs to follow very strictly." I told Truman, which he repeated to the people outside. "Oh, and I insist that he sees a physician. His condition is terrible for someone with type one diabetes. I don''t care if he doesn''t have time, if he doesn''t want to die within the next few months, he needs an urgent solution to deal with his illness."

    Did people even call it diabetes at this point in time...?

    People clapped and gasped of joy when they heard the ''yes''.

    While Truman retold them what I said, a figure approached the tent and abruptly made its way in.

    Big eyebrows and a honey-colored gaze, it was none other than Blert.

    "I dare say I am impressed, priestess." He gave me a forced grin, which he dropped immediately. "Now grab your shit. We''re leaving."

    "Leaving?" I threw a look back at the patient who was now peacefully sleeping on his bed.

 Partner in Crime

    "B-But he needs to be looked after until his physician arrives. Plus, he needs to be supplied with insulin somehow, and I was thinking¡ª"

    "Beg ya pardon," Blert grabbed me by the arm. "But who was it that asked you to think, dear revered miss?" He looked down on me with a fierce look, reminding me of the tingling injury on my neck. "Both of you, follow me in quiet." He instructed and left the tent.

    I threw a look at Truman, but he was using his pinky finger to clean his ear, looking around the tent.

    I don''t think I have a choice for now.

    Thus, I followed in Blert''s steps.

    Once the cloth acting as door to the yurt-like giant tent was lifted for me to pass, light softly seeped in through the two holes allowing me vision behind my mask. The surroundings were much less chaotic than when we had just arrived, and most of the servants were all crowded at the tent''s side.

    As soon as they laid their eyes on me, they stepped up to us.

    "Revered miss!" People started yelling. "O revered miss, our savior!"

    "Thank the creator, people." A firm voice spoke out; Alice. She stepped between the crowd and I, giving me her back.

    "The revered miss has done what was in her power." Blert interjected, pulling me out of the crowd and towards the forest. "Miss Alice, Knight, let us go." He declared, directing us toward his campsite once more.

    Behind us, we could still hear the maids and knights celebrating, unaware of the severety of their lord''s illness.

    The note I left by his side, which I made Truman write since I am currently illiterate, should spread a bit of awareness about his illness ¡ªhopefully.

    "Ow," I couldn''t help but squirm, as Blert''s bony hand purposefully squeezed tight on my arm, making me grit my teeth. "... Just you wait, you piece of shit." I muttered under my breath. "Your days are counted."

    Smug and strong as he might seem now, the earth is round, and what goes around comes around.

    If anything, what''s coming around for this Great Commander will be most satisfying. I''ll make sure of it.

    As we walked through the forest, branches cracking under our steps and leaves dancing in our presence, a chill-inducing thought came back to haunt me.

    I was four days away from my death scene.

    ~

    The sun hung high in a clear blue sky, casting sharp shadows on the bustling campsite. All equipment had been gathered; maids were filing into their wagons, and the coachmen readied themselves for departure.

    Once again, I found myself garbed in these damned rags, with my golden treasures weighing heavily on my arms, constricting my blood flow. I stood by the door of my prisoner''s carriage, the air crisp as we waited for the journey to begin.

    My cold, fat shackles weighed down my wrists while I absentmindedly fiddled with a thick piece of dark wood I had picked up on our way back from the Merchant Guild''s camp.

    I analyzed it with an urge I hadn''t gotten in a while.

    If only I had something sharp...

    "Hey Alith," I called to the woman standing beside me on the carriage steps, having accepted my current lisp and predicament of talking weird. I forced myself too much earlier, trying to look like less of an idiot in front of my openents and stuff. It was just Alice now, the worst she could do was make fun of me.

    She was occupied, leaning inside as she tossed a bag under a seat. Since our return, she hadn''t spoken a word to me. She pretended to be busy and let me sneak into my carriage, change back into my rags and adorn myself once more with my burdensome treasures.

    Earlier, I had spoken with Melissa in a secluded corner.

    "Remember. You may not have fully atoned, but that man''s life is saved because you made the right decision in the end." I fixed her with a resolute stare, her blonde hair shining dully in the light. Melissa, the middle-aged woman, had complied with the urgent request that me and Commander Blert had made¡ªto let me borrow her identity.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "L-Lying is a sin," The woman''s green eyes were swollen. "I deserve to go to prison. W-We all do."

    This, perhaps, explained why she was sitting in my prisoner''s carriage bawling her eyes out.

    "Right, lying is a sin," I retorted, my tone hardening, "but drinking and endangering the lives of those you were sworn to protect is fine."

    Too many lives had been at risk because of this woman.

    "Listen, I''m not asking you for a favor. Hiding what happened here is the only salvageable decision you can make here. It''s either that, or you get me, the commander, yourself, and everyone else involved a death sentence. Is that what you want?"

    "... No." She mumbled.

    "Your Kopra saw what you did here," or was it Korpa? "He knows your intentions and he witnessrd how this scheme saved lives. I''m sure he''s forgiven you already."

    She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it, her expression sorrowful. There were traces of tears on both of her cheeks, and despite myself, I felt a pang of sympathy. I can never stand to see people cry.

    "Now wear your clothes and go live your life." I kept my expression stern. "Keep your powers disappearing a secret. Play ill or take a vacay or something."

    "... Play ill?" She repeated.

    "Feign illness or take some time away." I explained. "Oh, and a vacay is holidays." I remembered to add.

    "... Alright." She said in a small voice.

    "Yes, my lady." Alice''s stern reply came from within the carriage. I looked up at her, but all I could see was her back. She was tapping the seats and checking whether the source of light functioned.

    "Look ath me ven I tok to yu." I added, annoyed.

    Alice paused for a second, and then begrudginly turned to me.

    "What is the matter, my lady?"

    I wondered if Penelope Ashdown would have smacked her for her tone... I''d expect no less from an infamous villainess.

    Too bad I didn''t have it in me to be a villainess right now. My neck, jaw, and feet ached; I didn''t need to add my arms to that list.

    "Do yu have anything sharp on yu?" I asked, showing her my hand-sized piece of soft black wood. "I want to twy carving dis into something."

    Alice''s calm demeanor faltered for a moment, her expression one of confusion.

    "Since when do you indulge in such... frivolous pastimes, my lady?" she asked, quickly adding, "Beg your pardon."

    ... Maybe I should smack her after all.

    "Fwiwolous?" I grinned, though the effort was painful. "And since when did yu have it in you quethtion me so bwazenly, Alith?"

    "...Need I apologize?" Her pink eyes flashed with defiance.

    "That won''t be nethethary," I shook my head, dropping the unnecessary tension. "Zust... go fetth me a sharp rock or something... Oh, and if you happen to be caught, I will zeny my inwolvement, zust to be clear."

    "You mean to tell me to be careful? I will, my lady," Alice said. She descended the carriage steps and offered her hand to help me inside the carriage.

    I took her hand and settled onto the hard wooden seat. Alice swiftly departed, her spotted dress swaying as she walked away, her brown hair so smooth it reflected the sunlight.

    A strange feeling nagged at me as I watched her go.

    Why do I have such a shit feeling about Alice''s pretty pink eyes?

    <hr>

    Alice hated it. She absolutely despised the fact that she had no clue what her mistress was thinking.

    How on earth is she able to save a dying man?! That woman never touched a book since the days Alice would literally force her to read!

    And now? Now she could think for herself, make decisions for herself, and worst of all, she no longer kept Alice informed of her every thought she had and every move she wanted to make.

    Alice felt estranged from her own reality. She racked her brain for explanations, turning over every possible theory to account for the unexplainable, unprecedented changes in her mistress. But only one explanation, absurd as it was, made any sense at all.

    "That woman is not Penelope Ashdown," Alice muttered as she sifted through a handful of rocks on the ground near the edge of the forest. "Carving? She might as well apologize to me next!" Alice scoffed, glancing up at the sky.

    "Miss Alice," a slimy voice called out, interrupting her thoughts. Her expression turned blank as faced the source of the voice.

    Toothless Fars.

    "Would you mind giving me a moment of your time?" The knight asked, hiding a droopy, wilting bunch of flowers behind his back.

    Alice wanted to roll her eyes but refrained. It was better not to engage.

    "I have no time to converse, Mister. My place is by my lady''s side," she said respectfully, discreetly slipping the sharp rock she had found into her pocket and attempting to pass by him.

    But, as always, Fars couldn''t take a hint.

    He grabbed her arm and thrust the bouquet toward her, causing her to recoil.

    "Just ten minutes," he insisted, his smile wobbling.

    Perhaps it would be worth it to poison him instead... Alice briefly considered, giving him a blank look while a certain blue miniature jar sat in her pocket.

 Goot Luk

    Afternoon had come, and the camp was set once more. Truman headed for the knights'' bonfire, to which he hadn''t been invited, but he decided to attend anyway.

    Truman wasn''t exactly trying to curry favor, that wasn''t how he thought of it, at least. He was trying to extort money out of anyone he could. And if a little groveling was what it took, then so be it.

    He was yawning, trudging his feet across the ground when his vision began blurring.

    When was the last time I slept more than an hour...? He wondered, but the memory eluded him.

    His limbs grew heavier with every step, his mouth agape in another endless yawn, when he caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

    It was the same scent he had noticed when he gor lost after he took Thomas''s night shift in exchange for three silver coins.

    Speaking of Thomas, Truman wondered if he might be persuaded to let him take his shift tonight, too...

    "Whatewer happened to human wights..." A feminine voice interrupted his thoughts, coming from just a few paces to his left.

    Penelope Ashdown. That was the source of the lavender scent.

    Oh, right. I should confront her about her lies. Truman debated. She wasn''t a clergywoman; she was just a kind lady...

    Truman altered his course, heading for the prisoner''s ''dining area'', which was barely fifteen meters from the knights'' bonfire. Commander Blert had made this arrangement to ensure stricter security.

    Blert had expressed his disappointment in Truman''s behavior after Penelope''s last escape attempt, making him swear never to reveal that she had impersonated Melissa at the Merchant Guild''s tent in exchange for forgiveness.

    He also ripped a large chunck off of his wage for the journey. That was the only part that mattered and angered Truman.

    "I miss weawring shoes..." Penelope sat on a large boulder, leaning over to massage her feet. Truman could only see her back as he wobbly closed the distance.

    There was an empty soup bowl set to her side on the wet, grassy ground, and for once, her hair didn''t look like a messs of locks, but had gone back to its flowy golden nature after she was allowed to clean and brush it this morning.

    "You," Truman began as he drew near.

    Penelope jumped, startled by his voice. She turned to him with a sharp glare.

    Truman intended to apologize for scaring her, but as he opened his mouth, only a long sigh escaped, and the tall man collapsed to the ground, face-first.

    Penelope jumped again at the sudden thud, her glare softening into surprised worry.

    She quickly assessed the situation¡ªshould she call for help, or flee before the knights arrived and blamed her for his sudden collapse?

    Penelope she didn¡¯t have time to ponder further. Her blue gaze, surprisingly calm given the circumstances, was fixed on Truman when a long, deep snore escaped his lips.

    Penelope got off the boulder and stepped closer to his body, the grass crunching under her feet.

    He¡¯s beathing, she observed, noting the steady rise and fall of his back.

    Kneeling beside him, Penelope gently used her index finger to push Truman''s face off the ground and to the side so he could breathe more easily. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, and for the first time, she noticed the pronounced dark circles under his eyes.

    "He¡¯s asleep," she mumbled, rising to return to her rock. She glanced back at Truman, who now slept as soundly aa baby.

    "Pay..." Truman mumbled. "... Full... asshole."

    "... Weirtho." She said, snorting at her inability to speak properly still.

    She made a point to remind herself that she was the real weirdo here.

    Payment... Penelope''s mind whirred with an idea.

    ¡°Thwuman?¡± she called softly, receiving no response. ¡°Do you want to be rich?¡± she asked, louder this time.

    ¡°¡­ Hm.¡± Truman flinched slightly at the word rich.

    Sitting on her rock, she thought it all over. She recalled Truman¡¯s night shift, which had followed a full day¡¯s work¡ªshe noted that she had seen him laboring before she attempted her escape. His attitude toward the other knights, his evident exhaustion...

    A wicked grin spread across Penelope¡¯s face as she stared into the darkening woods around her.

    ''I think I found one.'' She thought, a flare of delight making her blue eyes sparkle under the moonlight. ''A candidate to be my partner in crime.''

    Day 2: End

    <hr>

    Day 3: Start

    I was humming a tune, watching the knights on their horses gallop beside my prison carriage. My cute little stone golem-shaped black wooden sculpture was wedged between the metal bars of the window. I had named him Pip.

    For the first time since I arrived here, I had a good feeling about this day.

    Last night, I finally found him: a suitable partner in crime.

    I had a list of requirements for a partner, and he needed four essential attributes: in need of money, Slow on the uptake, Trustworthy, and Can protect me.

    And Truman checked most of these.

    My gaze fixated on Truman, whose large build made him stand out from his peers, even as he rode the shortest horse in the bunch.

    ¡°Alithe,¡± I called to the maid sitting across from me. We were alone in the carriage, as usual. I hadn¡¯t realized she was trying to sleep, given her droopy eyes.

    "Yes?"

    "How well awe you acquainted wid Thruman?"

    I sound like I''m three, god damnit.

    I wondered if a potion existed that could spare me from the hellish pain I felt every time I opened my mouth to talk. I couldn¡¯t brew an anesthetic for myself just yet; I didn¡¯t have the freedom to roam and gather the necessary ingredients either.

    "Well enough." Alice replied.

    "I newer sheen you tok to him do (though)?" I cocked an eyebrow.

    "Are you dissatisfied with my usefulness, my lady?"

    No, just questioning your truthfulness.

    "Does he pik up ode jobs?" I put a hand on my jaw, grimacing at the pain.

    "... Yes." Alice galnced at my motion with a glint of malaise in her eyes. "I¡¯ve heard he collects herbs and sells them to the medic. He also takes on shifts from his colleagues in exchange for money. He, well, to illustrate, he has a habit of asking people if they have any labour he can help them accomplish, to the point where he gained the nickname of ''QuesTruman.''"

    He plays dumb, but I have a feeling he''s sharper than he lets on.

    "I have a question," Alice spoke up from the seat facing my own, breaking me out of my fantasies of freedom.

    Alice had been quiet since morning, as usual, and this was the first time she spoke to me in a while. As soon as the words left her lips, she seemed to cringe at herself, glare at space and then look back at me.

    Her hair appeared a shade darker within the carriage, as did her eyes.

    "What is it?" I asked, a little too welcoming of her question.

    "There," she pointed to my neck. I looked down, remembering the injury I had quickly bandaged using the fabric I meant to steal for my jaw. "What happened, in your opinion?"

    In my opinion? The hell?

    "Nearly got beheaded by the cowander."

    Alice didn''t seem surprised by my revelation, more by my brutal honesty...

    "... I will talk to the commander about the physician''s negligence." She kept a careful at the clumsily bandaged injury. "He was specifically assigned to keep you healthy. Your father paid an extra fee for his presence at our side."

    Marquis Ashdown? That''s unexpected.

    "Okay," I leaned back in my seat. "Goot luk."

    I turned back toward the horizon, where the world seemed to stretch out endlessly, a greenery-covered hill, both beautiful and treacherous in its vastness. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the landscape, dulling the dust kicked up by the horses¡¯ hooves and the creaking wheels of our carriage.

    Though the metal bars of the window obstructed my view, I had grown accustomed to their presence by now.

    I was slowly falling into a slumber, something to be expected given how I got three gours of nightmares last night and barely one of real sleep.

    A sudden thought jolted me awake. "By the way..." I murmured, my eyelids heavy with the weight of exhaustion. "Healing pot-potion... Can I buy one?"

    Alice, ever vigilant, responded immediately. "I shall try to¡ª" but her words faltered as her eyes drooped close. "Get it..."

    She fell asleep. What an unprofessional...

    Before I could finish that thought, my head slipped and fell against the window, and for the first time in the past two weeks, I fell asleep.

 Principles of an Irredeemable Commander

    For the first time in a while, I fell asleep.

    <hr>

    Blinking shallowly, a child perceived a large mirror across the room, reflecting an empty, dirty sofa. No matter how long she stared, there was no reflection of herself.

    To her left stood their old bookshelf, the one Bernard would break in a month or two during one of his tantrums.

    She looked down at her small hands, decorated with blue bruises. Her height barely reached the table¡¯s edge; she was the size of a child.

    Her steps were guided by a force she couldn¡¯t resist¡ªher actions once upon a time.

    The child walked out of the living room, finding herself between the peeling walls of a dim, familiar corridor.

    ¡°Bernard, I swear to God, if you lay your disgusting hands on her again...!¡± Her mother¡¯s screeching voice echoed from the bedroom.

    At the corridor¡¯s end, two doors faced each other¡ªher mother¡¯s room on one side, her own on the other.

    ¡°You deaf? I said I didn¡¯t touch the kid! You want me to say it louder?¡± A man¡¯s hoarse scream rattled the walls. ¡°I DID NOT TOUCH YOUR FUCKING KID!¡±

    ¡°Yeah? And I¡¯m supposed to believe you? What, I¡¯m blind now?!¡±

    The child¡¯s eyes locked onto a drawing at the end of the hall, high on the wall. Three figures clumsily drawn on white paper: a tall man with a face scar, a woman with a black eye, and a little girl holding a tiny violin. It was the happiest drawing the little girl could make, and her mother was so proud she hung it on the wall.

    ¡°Listen, I¡¯m telling the truth. Now fuck off before I get mad. Hear me?¡±

    The child¡¯s small fingers trembled as she walked closer, eyes on the drawing as its characters began to melt, dripping off of the frame.

    ¡°WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WE¡¯RE NOT DONE TALKING!¡± Her mother¡¯s voice was sharp, almost breaking.

    ¡°I''m sick of these screaming matches! Let go of¡ª Let GO...! Crazy-ass bitch!¡±

    The closer she got, the more the drawing warped. The kid with the violin cried as the figures¡¯ smiles twisted into angry, dripping messes. The child felt a pang of sorrow for her drawing.

    ¡°What did you just call me? BERNARD!¡±

    ¡°I CALLED YOU WHAT YOU ARE, NOW FUCK OFF, CAMILLA!¡±

    The child reached the crack in the door to her mother¡¯s room. Inside, two figures stood inches apart: a man with narrow shoulders and a long head towering over a woman with long, disheveled hair and a gaunt frame.

    Camilla¡ªPenelope¡¯s mother¡ªhad always been too hot-headed for her own good, and now her deep-set green eyes bore into her lover with deadly intent.

    ¡°Get out. Now!¡± Her breath heaved, sending her curls flying as she shoved Bernard in the chest.

    ¡°You fucking¡­!" Bernard regained his balance, teeth gritted as he closed in on her again.

    ¡°GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!¡± Camilla refused to budge.

    The little girl turned away, unfazed by the slap sound, her mother¡¯s cry, or the cruel insults that spilled out of Bernard''s mouth.

    She stepped into her own room and headed for her beat-up bed. Her bruised arms reached to hold her pillow, revealing a shiny black book underneath it. Ignoring it, she refocused on the pillow. She sat on the bed, her small feet dangling as she closed her eyes, pulling the pillow closer and closer to her face.

    An older, ghostly version of the bruised girl sat on the ground, leaning against the bed beside her younger self''s little feet. The older girl blinked quietly, watching her own bruised wrist. The pained screams and sobs from her mother''s room, the suffocating little girl on the bed, and the chilling realization that Penelope was having a nightmare¡­ all of it slowly dissolved into a cold, familiar clarity.

    As her teeth sank into her wrist, Penelope knew¡ªshe needed to wake up before this nightmare swallowed her whole.

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    <hr>

    A warm hand touched my shoulder, sending signals to my stomach to wake me with an untamable nausea.

    My eyes snapped open¡ªthough they felt heavy, and my body jolted away from the arm.

    A warm hand touched my shoulder, sending a jolt of nausea twisting through my stomach.

    My eyes snapped open, though they felt heavy, and my body instinctively jerked away from the touch.

    Color flooded my vision, painting rusty metal bars behind a thick layer of dirty glass set into a wooden wall. My lap was a tangle of ragged fabric and shackled hands, a bitter reminder that this wasn''t a nightmare, too.

    "Don''t touch me," I ordered, still half-awake, glaring at Alice, who stood by my side with the carriage door open behind her.

    "I spoke, but you weren''t listening, my lady," she replied, her expression monotone.

    "Scream at me nexth time o''something. I''d hate it less." I grumbled, standing up and following her out of the carriage, the dull ache in my limbs reminding me of how long I''d been in this hellhole.

    Alice, ignoring my request as always, reached out to help me out. I rolled my eyes and jumped down on my own, trudging across the ground that felt like it was trying to swallow my feet.

    As I surveyed the camp, I spotted him¡ªTruman¡ªstanding a head taller than the rest of the crowd.

    "Truman, go help with the horses," barked some guy holding a list, waving Truman off toward the horses'' area.

    Oh, I have an idea!

    My eyes narrowed as a plan formed in my head, and the corners of my mouth lifted into a mean grin.

    I must¡¯ve perked up at the thought because Alice turned to me with a suspicious frown.

    I must have perked up with my newfound idea because Alice turned to me with a suspicious frown. I quickly turned away from Truman, not wanting her to figure out what I was up to.

    "You," a voice slithered through the air, making every hair on my body stand up. "Follow me."

    Blert, with his permanent scowl and large nose that seemed to have been broken one too many times, stood to my left, his usual aura of menace wrapped tightly around him.

    My neck itched at the sight of him. What a piece of shit.

    He was dressed in a stark white blazer with silver armor strapped on his chest and hunched shoulders, emblazoned with a Black Slithering Snake emblem. The number 4 was stamped on his left breastplate, a reminder of the authority he wielded. His twin daggers, black as the night and just as deadly, hung at his side. One of them was responsible for nearly slicing my throat open just yesterday.

    "Talk hewe," I snapped, my tone as stern as it was angry. "The last time I fowowed you to ''talk,''" I shared his gaze with a piercing one. "I nearly got killed."

    Blert¡¯s eyes, beady and devoid of warmth, narrowed to slits. His lips curled in a sneer as he scanned the area, ensuring no one overheard our exchange. I could almost hear his teeth grinding as he restrained himself, his knuckles whitening around the hilt of one of his daggers.

    ¡°We¡¯ll speak in the carriage, then. But make no mistake, woman, you¡¯re wearing my patience thin,¡± he relented, waving a hand at Alice, signaling her to leave.

    Alice gave the two of us a shallow nod and stepped away, turning back to glance at us every two steps.

    "In your dweams. That''s still out of sight."

    "You''re getting on my nerves," he hissed, his nostrils flaring. "I''m already discontented with what I''m going to talk about. Don''t make me break another bone of yours."

    I gave him a long, hard look, weighing my options, then nodded at Alice to go. There were servants everywhere, busy setting up the camp, retrieving materials from the caravan behind my carriage. The coachman still sat on his perch, waiting for his horses'' turn at the watering trough. It wasn''t private by any means, but it was safer than whatever Blert would suggest otherwise.

    "Pick a repayment," he ordered as soon as we sat down, the door creaking shut behind us.

    My eyebrows shot up, sleep evaporating from my system in an instant.

    "A Wepayment?" I echoed, certain I was hallucinating. "From who? Don''t tell me¡ª" I covered my mouth with a hand, my eyes wide. "The young duke?"

    "No, you insipid fool. From me."

    My grin disappeared as quickly as it had come.

    Blert repaying me? This had to be some kind of twisted joke.

    "... Why?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. This was no act of generosity. This was Blert, begrudgingly settling a debt he couldn¡¯t stomach owing.

    Calling him a piece of shit is an injustice to the words. But to think he has principles, how surprising.

    "Don''t ask foolish questions." He crossed his arms, the fabric of his blazer crinkling. "Unless you want to forgo the offer?"

    "No," I said quickly, my brain kicking into gear. "Alright. Easy. Set me fwee."

    "Ha! Absolutely not." His snort was devoid of humor.

    Sure, I had a list of demands, but that was the obvious first choice. He was a fool to think I wouldn¡¯t ask.

    "Fwee me of my shackles, then."

    "No way in hell. You¡¯ll remain bound until I see fit."

    I leaned back, folding my arms over my chest, giving him a look that said I was done playing games. "Then what¡¯s the point of this shit? You say I¡¯m to choose a wepayment, then you refuse everything I sugzest. Do you find this amusing?"

    Blert¡¯s face contorted with anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

 So Hungry

    For a moment, I thought he might hit me, making me cringe. But instead, he exhaled sharply.

    ¡°Very well,¡± he said through gritted teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll replace your shackles with a spell. You¡¯ll be free to move as you please. But mark my words, your every step will be known to me. Try anything foolish, and I will kill you without hesitation. Do you understand?¡±

    "Okay..." I said meekly, half afraid, half confused by his constant need to be aggressive.

    ¡°Consider it done,¡± he spat, as though the words tasted foul in his mouth. ¡°My debt is paid, and I owe you nothing more." He sneered at me, his satisfaction barely concealed. "I¡¯ll cast the spell tonight. It will bind you until the day I die, so look forward to that," he added with a vicious grin as he got up to leave.

    I sat there, contemplating the absurdity of being shackled by magic instead of iron, when another thought struck me.

    "And shoes," I said, my voice cutting through the stillness as he began to walk away.

    Blert froze mid-step, then turned to glare at me. "I said one reward."

    "Shoes." I repeated, tone firm. "It is a simple request." I replied, not bothering to hide the exasperation in my voice.

    "... Fine.",

    I smiled sweetly, fully aware of how much it irked him. "Thank yu."

    Blert grumbled something unintelligible as he stormed out of the carriage, slamming the door so hard it rattled on its hinges, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

    If there was one thing I¡¯d learned in my godforsaken life, it was that I needed to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of kindness, every bit of happiness¡ªand, in this case, a pair of shoes.

    ~

    Maybe a dozen minutes had gone by while I waited alone in the carriage when the door creaked open just a crack.

    Before I could react, a pair of shoes flew through the gap, landing with a thud at my feet.

    My face gathered into a confused frown as I glanced at the glass.

    Blert stood outside, his face a mixture of irritation and something else¡ªembarrassment, perhaps?

    His eyes flicked to the shoes and then back to me, as if daring me to say something.

    Before I could, he turned sharply on his heels and bellowed, ¡°Holison! Get over here!¡±

    His voice was harsh, a cover for whatever discomfort he felt. With that, he stalked away, leaving me staring at the worn shoes now lying on the carriage floor.

    The door opened wider, letting in Penelope Ashdown''s personal maid, who took on the confused expression instead of me.

    "It''s happened..." I muttered, my expression melting into an innocent child''s grin.

    My breath hitched as I stared at the shoes, which seemed two sizes too big for my feet. A wave of emotion swelled in my chest.

    The thought of no longer feeling the sharp sting of gravel cutting into my bare feet and the constant chill of the earth seeping into my bones was almost too much to bear.

    I reached for the shoes. The leather was rough against my fingers, and the soles were worn thin. But I was grinning from ear to ear.

    This was goodbye to jagged stones biting into my skin and icy coldness creeping up through my legs.

    I slipped them on, my feet swimming in the too-large space, but the relief was immediate.

    As I adjusted the shoes, trying to make them fit as best as I could, Alice continued to watch me, her silence heavy with suspicion. Finally, she broke it.

    ¡°Where did these come from, my lady?¡± she asked, her voice faintly laced with curiosity.

    I looked up. ¡°I''m a lucky vitch, that''s where,¡± I replied, letting out small giggles as I stretched my feet.

    Penelope Ashdown''s feet were a pale porcelain color; her skin was smooth, her ankle slender, and the whole had a pinkish hue that remained despite the dirt and dryness caused by poor hygiene.

    I had thought it a waste for such a pretty and delicate body to remain in such a rough state until now.

    But worry not, wherever you are, Other Penelope. I will build you back up. I''ll take such good care of us that you''ll regret leaving your body to me.

    Where have you gone, anyway?

    Alice¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

    ¡°Since when did you employ such unseemly language, my lady?¡±

    ¡°I am no lady, not anymore. I am a pwisoner of the empire. I might as vell play my part, no?" I said, turning my attention back to the shoes and fiddling with the laces as an excuse to avoid her gaze. ¡°A bit of luck does find its vay to the likth of me, afte all.¡±

    "I suppose so." She mumbled, giving me an unconvinced look as she stepped out of the carriage. "I shall be attending to my duties now, Lady Penelope."

    I nodded and leaned back in the chair, my grin slowly fading as I watched Alice make her way out.

    "Absurd. Me and questions," Alice realized, looking slightly shaken as she walked away.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Alice was either too shrewd or too observant for my liking. I couldn''t tell which, but I had an inkling she would be a troublesome partner.

    Nevertheless, she is going to prison for Penelope Ashdown''s sake, and she must carry a great deal of hatred for her in her heart. But I am not that woman.

    I won''t be fabricating excess sympathy for someone more fortunate than I am. That isn''t how I live.

    And I can''t afford it, anyway.

    I might feel a bit guilty about it once I make it out of here, but I will make sure to remember, then, now, and ever after, that I am the real victim here.

    Everyone else can choke.

    I sat there for a while, the worn-down shoes now clinging to my feet feeling like a small victory. It wasn''t much, but out here, where the horizon was clear and the world seemed so deceptively simple, it felt like I had gained a little more room to breathe.

    And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I¡¯d figure out how to use this ridiculous spell against him, and he¡¯d soon wish he had just left me in chains.

    ~

    A grassy patch dotted with a few boulders in the middle of a treeless horizon¡ªthat was my dining area for the night.

    As for dinner...

    ¡°Awe they pewhaps twying to poison me? Be honest.¡± My voice echoed faintly into the quiet night, my frustration barely masked.

    Several meters away, the real campsite was set up¡ªa bustling little world of light compared to the sad cloth I sat on, cross-legged, staring out at the endless, colorless horizon. The large bonfire at the center of their camp made it look like a city of light. Around it, the knights and maids were clearly enjoying themselves, filling the air with booming laughter and lively chatter.

    To my far left, Fars¡ªthe toothless knight¡ªhummed an obnoxiously loud tune, as if to remind me that someone was always watching. If I squinted hard enough to my right, I could make out Truman¡¯s shadow standing guard beside a large boulder, quite a distance away. His stance made him look like a tree without a crown.

    ¡°Alice,¡± I called, rolling my eyes as I spotted her head poking out from behind a boulder a few steps ahead.

    She straightened up, slightly startled, her shoulder-length hair falling into place as she stepped into view. ¡°You knew I was here,¡± she stated, sounding somewhat surprised.

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m not blind,¡± I replied dryly. I had seen her hiding while Fars escorted me here.

    I gave Alice a long look, waiting for some explanation for her unnecessary presence. But she merely dusted her black dress and kept her gaze away, her pale pink eyes betraying her lack of desire to even talk to me.

    ¡°I asked you a question,¡± I repeated, turning my attention to my ¡®dinner¡¯¡ªa half-cooked lizard on a stick.

    ¡°It is edible and carries no toxins, my lady. I made sure of it,¡± she nodded, her tone flat.

    ¡°I saw the maids plucking tthickens earlier¡­¡± I mumbled, turning the stick in my hand as I scrunched up my nose at the sight of the crimson creature¡¯s bloated belly. ¡°Can¡¯t you, like¡­¡± I leaned in, lowering my voice, ¡°steal some tthicken for me? I¡¯ve been thinking about it all nuun¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s nothing I can do, Lady Penelope. The commander¡¯s orders are absolute.¡±

    She didn¡¯t even hesitate. What an a¡ªwait, Blert?

    ¡°Blewt? Vat does he have to do with this?¡±

    ¡°Sir Blert spoke passionately to the cook about how you reminded him of a snake... And so the cook had the bright idea to prepare you... Well, a dinner fit for a snake."

    I shot Alice a disgusted look, my eyebrows knitting together.

    ¡°I¡­ Two gwown men," I began, but words failed me. ¡°You can go.¡± I waved a dismissive hand at her.

    This conversation is making me die inside.

    She nodded and turned away.

    ¡°Why awe you here?¡± I remembered to ask, tossing the lizard aside.

    Alice turned to face me, her expression as monotone as ever. ¡°Orders.¡±

    Right, orders.

    I nodded shallowly, watching her hop back behind her rock.

    I turned to Truman, who still stood like a stiff sentry in the night.

    His posture was rigid, but I noticed how his head occasionally bobbed as if he were daydreaming.

    ¡°Twuman,¡± I pronounced. His name felt unusual on my tongue.

    ¡°Yes!?¡± The knight turned to me suddenly, all the way from where he stood.

    My eyes widened. How did he hear me whisper from all the way over there?!

    ¡°Lady Penelope,¡± Truman closed the distance between us, blinking as though he¡¯d just woken from a pleasant nap. ¡°You called for me?¡±

    I stood up from the grass, meeting his golden gaze with an uneasy grin.

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± My eyes drifted to the glass dagger strapped to his waist, and I pursed my lips. ¡°Yes¡­ I cawed you because of, uh¡­¡±

    Might as well put my plan into action already. Here¡¯s to hoping I won¡¯t get murdered or something.

    ¡°I wequire a favor,¡± I whispered, my hand brushing against the bandages that wrapped my neck. The injury throbbed, a constant reminder of the danger I''m in.

    Truman¡¯s gaze was steady, his face showing little emotion, though there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that¡ª¡±

    GROWL.

    I froze.

    Was that my stomach?

    GROWWWWL.

    Truman blinked, then let out a chuckle, scratching his forehead.

    I clenched my fists, forcing a smile. ¡°Well¡­ it seemth my body is betwaying me.¡± My voice came out tight, almost strained. Totally because of my jaw...

    God, I''m so fucking hungry.

    ¡°I know,¡± he said with a casual wave of his hand, ¡°Me too.¡±

    I held myself back not to ask what he meant.

    ¡°Be that as it may, Sir Truman," Such big woman words.

    Disregarding the pain, I pulled my speech pattern together. I needed to play the respectable noblewoman. Very much so.

    "My need for your assistance is... quite urgent.¡± I watched him carefully, noting the almost indifferent set of his features under the moonlight¡ªrelaxed, perhaps even a bit bored.

    The guy had the air of someone who never quite paid attention to anything serious.

    ¡°I was hoping you might¡­ procure something edible from the camp¡¯s kitchen,¡± I said, letting a touch of exasperation seep into my voice. ¡°The lizard they served earlier¡­ There." I pointed to the stick on the ground. "It won¡¯t do.¡±

    Truman tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in thought, though it seemed more like a purposeful delay than genuine consideration.

    ¡°¡­ I could do that, I suppose,¡± he said slowly, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. Then, with a sudden, unnatural brightness, he added, ¡°For a small fee, of course.¡±

    Self-serving, are we?

    How convenient.

 Two Chiken In A Pot

    I feigned shock, letting my gaze drop to the ground.

    ¡°Is it truly chivalrous to charge a prisoner for a morsel of food, Sir?¡± I asked, my voice tinged with subtle, uncontrolled mockery.

    He seemed to think on it for a moment, his brow furrowing in confusion.

    ¡°Well, you are a noblewoman,¡± he finally said, though his tone wavered with uncertainty, as if he were reassuring himself.

    ¡°A noblewoman without means,¡± I countered.

    "Then I am not sure I-"

    ¡°But my father." I interrupted casually. "He is a man of great wealth and influence. He would surely reward the man who showed kindness to his daughter in her time of need.¡±

    In both of our dreams. That man would write a gold mine in Blert''s name if only he knew.

    Truman''s eyes gleamed at the mention of wealth. He crossed his arms over his chest, considering this new angle.

    ¡°And what would this great man of wealth think if I were to offer assistance¡­ at a price?¡± He insisted, making me want to roll my eyes.

    I leaned in conspiratorially.

    ¡°It is universally known, Sir, that Marquis Ashdown values loyalty above all else. A favor to his daughter could secure you a friend in high places¡ªperhaps even a handsome reward.¡±

    Truman shifted his weight, clearly tempted, but he hesitated. He looked up, as though searching the skies for an answer.

    The fact that this is about a piece of chicken is killing me...

    ¡°No gold on you now?¡± Truman asked, his tonne chillingly suggestive and his golden eyes coldly searching mine.

    A chill coursed through my spine at the realization that Truman must possess very developed hearing capabilities, to have heard my whisper from all that way earlier.

    The jewels adorning my body felt suffocating as I broke into a cold sweat, thinking he might have heard them clanking at some point.

    ¡°No,¡± I said firmly, meeting his gaze with pointed insistence. ¡°But my father¡ª¡±

    ¡°You said that already,¡± he interrupted, though not unkindly. He was more like a child trying to piece together a puzzle.

    I sighed inwardly.

    "And you might be the kind knight in question, Sir Truman. Imagine your name spoken with gratitude in the halls of my father¡­ such a gesture could be most rewarding. Any kindness you extend to me will be repaid, sooner or later, either by myself or by the Marquis himself."

    At the mention of the Marquis, a flicker of excitement crossed his face but quickly vanished. His suspicions seemed to dissolve.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± he began, but his words trailed off as he noticed Fars approaching from behind him, several meters away.

    I hadn''t even seen him coming yet.

    ¡°I suppose I could be of service,¡± he finally said.

    ¡°What are you doing, Truman?¡± Fars¡¯s voice was as unpleasant as his aura¡ªrusty, grating, and altogether uninviting. ¡°Why are you talking to this wench?¡±

    ¡°She¡­ uh¡­¡± Truman looked at me, his eyes pleading for assistance, as though the simple task of lying was beyond him.

    ¡°There was a large spider,¡± I offered smoothly, a new realization unlocked. ¡°Sir Truman was kind enough to help me dispatch it.¡±

    Truman nodded, his expression blank but agreeable.

    It was becoming clear that Truman lacked quick thinking, that or he was a terrible liar and knew so.

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Fars said, giving me a mocking look before sharply turning to Truman.

    "Yes, Sir."

    "Yes, Sir." Fars repeated, mocking. ¡°Years among us, and you still can¡¯t string together a proper sentence. Back to your post, Truman." He shooed the man with his hand and his eyes flicked to the boulder where Alice sat hidden, a sly grin creeping across his face.

    Truman remained unfazed, his hands resting lightly on his belt as he gave Fars a respectful nod and left.

    ¡°Were you mocking Sir Truman''s accent?¡± I asked, only now realizing that Truman''s speech did sound ever so slightly different from the rest of these dogs.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°Accent?¡± Fars barked a laugh. ¡°Ya deaf, woman? Even someone who doesn¡¯t speak the language could hear that obnoxious drawl of his.¡± He clicked his tongue, eyes going back to looking at the boulder.

    The only obnoxious thing here is you.

    Clearing his throat, Fars straightened his collar. ¡°Sit down. If you see something that frightens you, call for me. That foreigner is useless in a real crisis,¡± he declared loudly, though his words seemed more for Alice¡¯s benefit than mine.

    I complied. Fars, meanwhile, sauntered over to Alice¡¯s rock, his greasy grin widening as he adjusted his collar yet again.

    <hr>

    Truman felt just the tiniest bit proud of himself as he discreetly marched towards the prisoners'' quarters¡ªwell, the tent, really.

    The campsite was a modest affair, something Commander Blert was never too keen on admitting.

    With scattered canvas tents, a few flickering oil lamps casting a warm glow over the otherwise dim surroundings, and the occasional sound of a guard shifting in his sleep.

    The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp ground and grass mixed with the lingering smoke from earlier cooking fires.

    But there was another scent, one that stood out against the backdrop of the campsite¡ªthe unmistakable lavender fragrance that only a noblewoman like Lady Penelope could maintain, no matter where she slept or how unkempt her hair had become. Truman followed the scent to a black tent, guarded¡ªif you could call it that¡ªby two knights cozied up on either side of the entrance, deeply asleep, their snores merging with the night¡¯s sounds.

    In his palms, Truman held his treasure: Two chickens.

    Each one was meticulously wrapped in a dozen pieces of cloth¡ªjust to be safe. Truman figured that if anyone happened to interrupt his secret mission, he could always claim they were rocks. Not the most convincing cover story, but he hadn''t exactly been caught yet, so there was no need to worry.

    "Thankfully," he murmured to himself as he circled around to the back of the tent.

    Once there, he could make out two shadows inside, cast by the glow of an oil lamp that the ever-practical maid, Alice, seemed to carry with her everywhere at night.

    "My lady," Truman whispered, just loud enough to make the two shadows flinch.

    Silence followed, with one shadow still and lying down, seemingly trying to sleep, while the other hovered over something¡ªa piece of parchment, perhaps?

    ¡°You were awake!?¡± The one with the parchment hissed at her companion, hastily shoving the parchment into her chest as if it were the most natural hiding spot in the world.

    Truman swiftly looked away, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

    ¡°Must I announce my state of consciousness at all times, my lady?" The emotionlessness of Alice''s character was lsurprising given her agressjve tone. If you so wish¡ªthough it may be a challenge¡ªI shall endeavor to declare it from now on,¡± Lady Alice''s voice dripped with dry humor.

    ¡°... Smawtass¡± Penelope simply mumbled, stepping closer to the tent wall where Truman stood, her shadow looming larger.

    Truman''s senses were sharp, to an excrutiating degree.

    And so he could hear it; the clattering, ever so faint, of jewels on Lady Penelope''s body. He knew about it from the moment they met.

    At first, he thought she might have stolen them from other maids. But asking around the caravan proved his suspicions wrong.

    Her response earlier meant she did not want to share. And as desperate for gold as he was, Truman was no thief. He would earn that gold (or whatever it was), and not the other way around. That was his plan.

    ¡°I¡¯ve brought it,¡± Truman whispered, holding up the bundled chickens as if they were the crown jewels.

    ¡°Ekthellent,¡± Penelope¡¯s voice barely contained a childlike glee.

    It was a stark contrast to the dry, cold demeanor she maintained around the campsite. Though Truman was not typically observant of such subtleties, the knights had drilled it into his ears during their gossip sessions.

    Truman smiled, feeling a warm swell of pride at having completed his task.

    But then a small hiccup of realization hit him.

    ¡°Wait, how do I get ''em in?¡± Penelope¡¯s question mirrored his thoughts.

    ~

    A blonde, skinny lad ran through an expanse of flower-strewn fields, where the colors seemed to bleed into one another as the sun set with a surreal, accelerated grace. The sky was a canvas of shifting hues, the golden light turning to deep oranges and purples as if time itself was slipping away.

    The lad''s breath came in ragged gasps, each strained with the weight of his unspoken feelings.

    The wind played with his hair, and his large green eyes scanned the horizon.

    He saw her. Distant and ethereal.

    She was clad in a flowing dress of deep violet, the fabric billowed gracefully in the breeze, its rich color a striking contrast against the verdant fields.

    The scent of lavender seemed to follow her, wrapping around him in a comforting embrace.

    Driven by an overwhelming yearning, he quickened his pace. Two powerful steps, and he was upon her, pulling her into his arms with a fervent longing.

    In those precious moments, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent fill his senses. But as he clung to her, she slowly turned to face him.

    His heart froze at the sight. Her eyes were hollow, void of the warmth and life he remembered. Only tears stained her precious face.

    "You..." Her voice softly brushed against his ear. "Killed me."

    Thus, Penelope turned into dust in Trevor''s embrace.

    The world around him fractured, the vibrant fields dissolving into a nightmarish blur.

    Trevor woke with a jolt, his chest heaving as if he had been fighting for breath. His surroundings were now those of his opulent bedroom, yet the comfort of the luxury did nothing to soothe his racing heart.

    He looked down at his hand, where the ring¡ªsymbol of his eternal, unspoken love¡ªglinted mockingly.

    Trevor¡¯s dark circles and gaunt features were a testament to his unrest.

    "I..." He heaved.

    Trevor, only son to Count Vielle, had made up his mind.

    "I will save her."

 Spell Casting

    <hr>

    "Gueth ths commander''s orders aren''t tho absolute, huh, Miss Alice?" I muttered, biting into the juicy, tender piece of meat.

    No response came from Alice, who lay motionless on her bedding on the ground, feigning sleep. I quietly smirked.

    My gaze shifted to my newly acquired pair of shoes, sitting in front of my empty bedding, positioned beside hers. A grin tugged at my lips.

    "Life is goot." I whispered, a warm fuzziness filling my chest.

    "Is it?" Alice¡¯s voice cut through the quiet.

    She lay on her back atop a modest, deep green coverlet. My own bedding, a mere palm''s breadth away, remained untouched. The cramped tent held just enough room for the two of us, illuminated by the flicker of a low-burning oil lamp.

    I sat cross-legged, picking at the greasy remnants of the chicken, each tear of meat from bone filling the quiet with a soft crackle.

    The rich scent of smoke and faint traces of damp earth lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of oil from the lamp.

    Alice lay like how one would expect her to, with her cardboard-for-a-personality attitude. Hands resting neatly over her stomach, her neck perfectly centered on her pillow, her clothes for the next day sitting prettily folded on the ground above her head, without a single wrinkle.

    She sleeps like she''s the corpse at a funeral.

    "You are a prisoner of the empire, despised by the kingdom for something as petty as slapping a woman." Alice¡¯s voice was flat, as if reading from a ledger. "Your parents condemned you to rot, your fianc¨¦ has likely dissolved your engagement..." Alice trailed off, thinking of more things to list.

    And I''ll be dead in days. I nearly added.

    Alice''s words had slightly fractured the bubble of warmth I had allowed myself into.

    "I know." I chewed, dropping a bone to the ground beside the chicken¡¯s picked-over carcass. "That doesn''t stop me from appweciating this moment."

    Idealistic? Perhaps. But the feeling was real enough.

    I leaned back, disregarding the heaviness settling over me.

    Just a few days ago, I was barefoot and starving.

    "That makes one optimist amongst us," Alice said quietly, her tone softening, the words slipping free almost unintentionally.

    The tent''s light flickered with the dancing of the flames in the oil lamp.

    "Tell me, Alice. What appens to you if I were to die?" This was something I always wondered.

    Given the fact that Alice was not in the main story, not even as a background character, I had no way of knowing what kind of fate she and her caravan suffered.

    "If you were to die, disappear or run away and leave me here, my lady, the knight order will dispose me. For my existence would then become meaningless." The calmness of her tone was eery as she recited these words, eyes closed.

    "Why?"

    Someone as skilled as a lady-in-waiting dying pointlessly is a no short of a waste.

    Alice turned to me, opening her eyes to meet mine.

    "A lady-in-waiting''s soul is bound to her lady''s. My duty is to share your pains and joys, to think of your life more than my own and to put your best interests at value every moment that I live. If you die, I share your pain through death. If we¡¯re separated, I would be executed for failing in my duties.¡±

    I blinked, somewhat impressed by her ability to explain something so grotesque with such composure.

    One naturally feels bad for someone in her position, I suppose. Not that there anything I can do for her.

    "The Korpian Records of Yilderen. That''s where suth bullthit is cited, wight?"

    "... It is preferable that you not insult religious scripture, my lady." For a moment, the ghost of a grin tugged on Alice''s lips.

    Breaking the rules of the Korpian faith meant death, and I understood her caution. Yilderen, the so-called Kingdom of the Lasting, was where Wholeheartedly Yours took place.

    Absolute power was represented by the king, influenced by one thing and one thing alone; Korpian Clergymen.

    When the kingdom faced peril - something about dragons, curses and deities; typical exposition bullshit ¡ª it was the Korpians who found a worthy candidate to defeat the impending evil and establish new rule.

    Their call to glory was answered by the Braveheart household. So now the Braveheart bloodline is royal, and the Korpian faith basically rules on equal footing, hand in hand with the emperor under the pretense that they are simply his majesty''s advisors.

    The worldbuilding in that book was flat and forgettable. So even as I can unfortunately recite most passages in the book, I have but a faint idea of what the backdrop of the story really was. The book was too busy with Estelle''s harem and the descriptions of her immense beauty and cool personality to focus on the world and what it was.

    All I know is that magic people are bad, except rich and hot ones.

    Temple people are also bad, but most people are religious because it''s compulsory so no one actually cares.

    And the king is a wuss who remained neutral too long, till a war broke out between the mages and the clergymen.

    The war was probably the most horrid thing the book referenced. But the hopelessness of it was only relevant to highlight how grand a feat Estelle Pureheart managed to pull by stopping the war in the end.

    Yes. She singlehandedly stopped a full fledged war, using the power of love and a half-assed speech about her mixed heritage.

    I wonder if my chronic idiocy stems from that book killing my braincels as a kid...

    Oh, and now that I think about it, the War has not started yet. Penelope Ashdown''s trial occured within the first half of the book, a handful of chapters before Estelle and William''s (Wholeheartedly Yours'' winner male lead) chaotic-ass engagement party. The war starts roughly after that.

    I opened my mouth to speak, but Alice had fallen asleep while I was spacing out.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Wiping my hands and mouth, I gathered my hair (a soft blonde mess that''s way too long for my liking) into a bun and took out the parchment hidden in my corset. It was a stolen map, with a list of supplies scrawled on the back¡ªwritten in my own blood, no less, since I¡¯d been too paranoid to ask Alice for ink.

    She wasn¡¯t to be trusted, but she could be used. She seemed to prefer that to being dead.

    I gave her a long look, wondering if she would tell Blert about my transaction with Truman tomorrow...

    I put the folded parchment back into the corset and leaned back.

    A soft breeze tickled the tent¡¯s outer walls while I waited. For sleep. For the commander to arrive. For morning.

    I stared at my left ring finger, noting the pale line where a ring once sat¡ªa mark of Penelope Ashdown¡¯s past.

    Trevor Vielle¡­

    "Quietly leave your tent." A hiss resonated behind me, outside.

    I stiffened, my breath catching as I saw the silhouette crouched by the tent¡¯s thin canvas wall.

    "Sir Blert?" My eyes flicked nervously to Alice, still asleep. "I''m shackled," I whispered back, pointing to the iron shackle clasped tightly around my ankle.

    "No matter. I shall cast the spell from here. Proximity suffices."

    The low, rasping voice belonged to Commander Blert. He had promised me this spell, a binding magic that would allow him my location at all times. Why it had to be done in the dead of night remained a mystery.

    "Fowgive my curiosity, but why can''t you do this in daylight, Sir?" I couldn''t help but ask, on my knees facing his shadow on the canvas.

    "You would do well not to question my choices, girl," he snapped, voice cold and clipped. "Place your hands upon the tent wall, close your eyes, and be silent."

    I begrudginly complied. My hands pressed against his, separated by the tent''s canvas, slippery and chilly. A shiver raced up my spine when he spoke a language foreign to me, the words rough and repetitive.

    And then, suddenly; "Swear." He demanded, his voice strained.

    "Sweaw? On what?"

    "Just say it, you daft wench." His teeth were gritted, likely from the pain of casting the spell. "Swear!"

    I grinned at the pain I sensed in his trembling touch, waiting just long enough to make him suffer.

    When he began to groan and his touch threatened to detach from my palm, I huffed it, concealing my amusement.

    "I swear."

    Blert groaned, continuing the chant.

    ¡°Korpa, hearest thou mine pleas. Chain this woman to mine charge, ''til mind final breath be taketh and mine soul resteth in the land of the perished. Curse her steps with mine shadow and shroud her with mine will, ¡®til doom and flame swallow this wretched soul.¡±

    "Amen." I added, once sure he was done.

    Blert took his hands off the tent''s canvas. "A what?"

    I didn''t know why I said that. I just hoped flames swallow his soul soon... is all.

    "Is it done?" I cleared my throat.

    "Aye. You will feel it soon." The amusement in his voice was laughable.

    "I feew nothing." I snorted, detaching my hands from his and analysing the skin and nails'' condition¡ª dirty and dehydrated, but okay.

    Maybe the ritual failed and my luck struck for once.

    "No one shall know of this ritual except your lady-in-waiting. To every other person, you have been spared from cursed shackling by their merciful commander. Keep your lips sealed."

    "Alwight." I relaxed my shoulders. "Thankth." I remembered to add, watching Blert''s silhouette disappear off the canvas.

    And then, it hit.

    A fiery ache surged up from my gut, and I collapsed, coughing blood onto the dirt floor.

    A cacophony of sounds resonated within my mind, words I couldn''t grasp. Death.

    The tent that was already too tight for two people suddenly felt as though it couldn''t hold a single breath of mine.

    My eyes widened.

    Is this going to kill me? Am I dying? Oh god. Please. Please no. Not again.

    I groaned, opening my mouth to gasp as red liquid dripped down from my lips, pooling onto the ground.

    I curled into myself, hugging my belly as I struggled to breathe. My vision blurred, and my forehead pressed against the cold ground, too heavy for me to lift. Every inch of my body screamed in pain, and the whispers¡ªthose cruel, taunting voices¡ªswarmed around me.

    Tears slipped from my eyes, mixing with the dirt beneath me.

    ¡°There, there¡­¡± A calm voice sounded at my side, a cool hand gently caressing my back. ¡°You¡¯re not going to die from Sir Blert¡¯s localizing spell,¡± Alice reassured me, though her words took a moment to break through the suffocating fog. ¡°The magic is seeping into your body. That¡¯s all.¡±

    What if I can¡¯t handle this much magic? What if he was trying to kill me under the guise of helping?

    ¡°Stop repeating those thoughts, Lady Penelope. The pain will subside shortly.¡± Alice¡¯s voice pulled me back from the brink.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die,¡± I whispered one last time, my voice barely audible as the sweat cooled on my skin.

    <hr>

    A cloaked figure trudged across the mud, the soft squelch of his boots drowned beneath the vastness of the starry night. Caesar¡¯s gaze shifted upward occasionally, scanning the heavens with idle curiosity.

    The lands he crossed had once been a joy to traverse, but under the cold blanket of night, the world below him faded into obscurity, leaving the sky as the only point of interest.

    If I don''t soon relieve her of those insufferably arched brows... Caesar thought, a faint and amused grin spreading across his face at the thought of an eyebrowless Robin.

    His sharp black gaze glinted shallowly as he scanned his surroundings.

    Another sleepless night. Another endless stretch of road. Yet, it wasn¡¯t all that bad. Walking was nice. He¡¯d grown to like it, even after miles of it.

    And really, what else was he supposed to do? Robin had taken his carriage, his assets, and even his sketchbook¡ªthat one stung a little. Caesar chuckled at the thought, reminding himself that he deserved this.

    As he continued his aimless wandering, Caesar lifted his cap, letting the cool night air play with his dark hair, the breeze tousling it in messy waves. He began to hum, a soft and haunting melody drifting into the stillness of the night, so casually beautiful that it seemed to hold a secret. The dull ache in his legs was but a fleeting annoyance; pain held no true meaning for him.

    He scanned the horizon, noting the blind darkness around him, with only distant shadows breaking the emptiness. A grin flickered on his lips. He reached up, gently tapping his eyelids twice as he closed them.

    ¡°Release,¡± he muttered in a soft tone.

    When he opened them again, his vision expanded. The world snapped into sharper focus, each detail vivid and distinct.

    His now golden eyes gleamed like molten amber, reflecting the starlight with an otherworldly glow, piercing through the darkness with an unsettling intensity. They now saw what his artificially blackened ones could not.

    The distant trees, the swaying grasses, even the tiniest insects crawling along the earth¡ªall of it became clearer, more real. And with that clarity came a familiar dread, a weight that only his true eyes could perceive.

    To his left, deep within the forest across the meadow, a pitiful whimper pierced the night.

    Caesar turned toward it, his eyes slicing through the dense underbrush and towering trees until they landed on the source of the sound.

    There, hidden in the shadows, was a small, trembling creature with eyes dark and bewitching¡ªso dark and captivating that even Caesar, for a brief moment, found himself caught in their pull.

    He¡¯d always had a weakness for beauty, especially the kind that could get him into trouble.

    But that was of no consequence.

    His gaze settled on the injured winged fox. A young, fluffy creature, its wings delicate and shimmering in the moonlight. Regal even in its distress, with wide, expressive dark eyes that held a blend of vulnerability and elegant demeanor, it seemed almost as if it were the reflection of a shard of Caesar¡¯s allure.

    A soft yet wicked smile curled at his lips, revealing slight dimples on each side of his grin.

    As he shifted direction, humming softly and dragging his feet toward his newfound prize, he thought, That kit is mine.

 Ducks In A Row

    With that, the third day after which Penelope Horne''s soul entered this sacred world came to an end.

    Day 3: End

    <hr>

    Day 4: Start

    The air was crisp, and the sun had yet to fully crown the horizon. Our breakfast, as usual, had been distributed and eaten in a hurry before the maids kicked Alice and me out of the tent so they could dismantle it.

    Alice left to help with the rest of the procedures before departure, while I sat on a small wooden chair, watching in boredom and getting my daily fill of disapproving and disgusted looks from the servants, as well as a healthy dose of insults here and there.

    But today, they seemed especially eager... likely due to the whole shackles incident.

    "¡ªbe so merciful," a whisper came from behind me as the stableboy passed by.

    "Indeed. For a prisoner to be without shackles, how gracious of our Commander," a woman replied.

    "I suspect foul play," someone else interjected. "She must have given him something in exchange for such a favor..."

    "Dear Korpa, it can''t be," another woman giggled.

    I stiffened at the insinuation. Who said that?

    As I turned to throw a glare at the offender, another whisper floated from my right.

    "She must have earned the oh-so-dutiful Commander''s kindness somehow, don¡¯t you agree?"

    "An outrageous notion, if proven true," they gossiped.

    I didn¡¯t need to look around. I could feel the weight of prying, judgmental stares surrounding me. If I confronted one, a hundred more would be ready to tear me down.

    Fighting for my pride was one thing, but jumping into a losing battle would only make matters worse.

    In this case, it was best to momentarily go deaf.

    I was never the type of person loved by the masses, even in my past life as Senior Resident Penelope Horne. Being disliked was nothing new to me. If anything, it was better than attracting more attention from treacherous people. trash humans and backstabbers.

    I observed Blert dispatching half his knights to scout ahead of the caravan, while the rest, including Truman, were told to prepare for our escort.

    I leaned forward, trying to rest my head on my hand, but as soon as my mouth touched my palm, I flinched, remembering the dislocation. I remembered it, yet felt little, which made me frown.

    Only slight pain lingered at the touch.

    Hesitantly, I placed a finger on my chin, testing the sensation.

    "Oh." A small grin tugged at my lips when I realized I wasn¡¯t wrong.

    I had suspected that my numbness was due to accumulated exhausion after slurping down my liquid breakfast with ease, but now that I was fully awake, the truth was clear. The dislocation had healed¡ªmostly. A miracle.

    I opened my mouth and slowly moved my jaw, confirming my discovery with quiet excitement.

    "Alice!" I called out, startling Holison, who stood nearby daydreaming. "No lisp. Holy crap. Alice!" I called again, standing from my seat.

    Seeing no sign of the pink-eyed maid, I turned to look behind me; still nowhere to be found.

    "Miss Alice went towards the woods not long ago, Lady Prisoner," Holison offered, making me turn to him. "Please, return to your seat. It wouldn''t do to disrupt the workers."

    I glanced at the teenage knight standing straight, chin in the air, and chest puffed out. He seemed stiff, as if being watched, but his expression was genuine, his brown eyes glimmering with a juvenile sense of duty.

    I nodded hesitantly and sat back down. After a moment¡¯s pause, I remembered why I had been calling for Alice in the first place, and scanned the surroundings again.

    What''s Alice doing in the woods when we''re about to depart? Answering the call of nature, maybe?

    Well, it doesn''t really concern me. I can just ask someone else.

    "Sir Holison," I began. Holison looked down at me expectantly. "May I ask you something?"

    "Of course." He nodded, throwing a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching.

    There was a very brief mention of Marquis Vernon Ashdown in the book, this body¡¯s father. He was noted to be on the Mages'' side during the war¡ªsomething many of his fellow nobles saw as treacherous. But regardless, the Ashdowns were on the frontlines, and the reason was never disclosed.

    This rapid healing... it was something only characters with mana in their veins possessed. Namely, Elric Shaw, the Grand Mage and, well... Most blue-eyed people in the book.

    So, did this mean...

    "The Ashdown household... are they mana-blessed?" My eyes sparkled, a smile threatening to dawn on my expression.

    Holison nodded, as though what I had stated was but an appetizer for my actual question. "The Marquis himself, yes."

    "Okay." I smirked, tighening my lips. "Awesome." The word slipped out, my fists tightening over the ragged cloth on my thighs.

    Seems like I struck the genetic lottery in the Ashdown household.

    It was mentioned nowhere with in the book, but I should have known that Penelope Ashdown must have inherited a mana blessing from her father given the fact that she was even capable of hurting Estelle in the original book.

    The chaos energy mentioned my the Crown Prince during the trial... He must have meant Mana...

    Just off of the fact that my eyes are blue... I''m such a fool.

    I snickered like an idiot at the thought of all the ways I can exploit this newfound talent within me once I start a new life for myself, outside of this hell.

    "The Ashdown family is one of the most distinguished mana-blessed bloodlines in the empire, my lady. Their reputation precedes them, but... was that your question, my lady?"

    "Yes." I nodded, my excitement bubbling over as I put one leg over the other and looked over the bustling camp with newfound relief. "I guess we¡¯re a special bloodline or whatever," I muttered.

    Holison looked over at me with a thoughtful look.

    "Well... Calling mana-blessed people ¡®special¡¯ is a bit of an insult to the pure-blooded folk. You know...More than half the population carries mana in their veins; it is far rarer to find one entirely untainted by such¡­ impurity." His voice softened slightly as he continued. He pointed to Blert, who sat atop his horse in the distance, conversing with another knight. "Commander Blert himself carries the blessing of mana, though I imagine you¡¯ve never seen him stoop to using it."

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    These revelations served as a minor fall from heaven for my newly born hope. I looked down at my palms.

    "No, I haven''t," I lied.

    "Precisely, my lady. I¡¯ve known the commander for as long as I can remember. He is..." Holison leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a guarded secret. "He is my uncle, in fact."

    I raised an eyebrow at that. "Really? He never addresses you differently than the rest of his men."

    "Yes, my lady, and therein lies his greatness. The second son of Baron Blach, and the pride of our household. I have never known a man more committed to his duty than Commander Blert," Holison said, his acne-ridden face brightening with admiration. "Despite bearing the weight of that cursed blessing, he rose through the ranks with sheer will and honor."

    Holison could prove to be a useful card against Blert, you say...

    There was a pause as Holison¡¯s face darkened, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. "His mana is the strongest in our family¡¯s history, my lady. His mother, my grandmother, could scarcely bear the shame of it."

    "Shame?" I repeated, perplexed.

    "Indeed," Holison continued with a grim nod. "She despised him for it. Mana is a stain upon noble blood, my lady. A sin. I''m sure you''re more than familiar with the feeling, Lady Prisoner." There was no offensive intent in his tone, so I didn''t take any.

    "I see." I paused before muttering under my breath, "Well, why he''s a brute is no longer a mystery."

    A troubled connection to his mother could explain his shitty personality, I guess.

    "Ah, it is true the commander is... demanding of womenfolk, but there are reasons beyond that, I assure you..." He leaned in conspiratorially, as though eager to spill all the details.

    It was not in my cards for the day to get a background check on Blert of all people. As if I don''t have enough to worry about already, what a joke.

    "You see¡ª"

    "That reminds me, Sir Holison," I feigned surprise. Stop with useless information.

    "What is it, my lady?" Holison''s eyes glistened with curiosity as I leaned in closer, as though about to disclose a confidential secret.

    ¡°I have something curious to discuss with you."

    "Do tell," Holison urged, his light browns gleaming with anticipation.

    "The other day, I happened to see one of the coachmen sneakily stashing away what seemed to be valuable jewelry in with his clothes. Can you imagine? Such a risk!¡± I was spewing lies, but this naive-seeming little guy doesn''t know that.

    Holison''s eyes widened, his interest piqued. ¡°Jewelry? Really? Where did you see this?¡±

    ¡°In the coach, of course. I think it was behind the flap where they store their things,¡± I replied, feigning a casual demeanor. ¡°But it seemed odd to me. I thought they would keep their valuables somewhere safer, do you not agree?¡±

    Holison frowned, shaking his head. ¡°Oh, lady Prisoner, that¡¯s cannot be. Coachmen actually keep their clothes and things in a trunk at the back, underneath a flap. There¡¯s no way he could fit anything valuable in there, let alone jewelry.¡±

    A trunk at the back, underneath a flap. Got it.

    My expression shifted to one of faux innocence, and I leaned back into place.

    ¡°Oh... Is that so? I must have seen it wrong, then. It¡¯s all so confusing sometimes. But I could have sworn it was a shiny necklace peeking out¡­ do you reckon it was the way the light caught it, then?¡±

    ¡°Likely!¡± Holison said, scratching his head. ¡°Coachmen are really careful with their stuff. They¡¯d never put valuables in a place like that where they could get damaged or lost. I mean, the trunk is mostly for their spare clothes and blankets, and it is a shared space with the footman travelling with us.¡±

    ¡°So it was just a trick of the light?¡± I tilted my head. ¡°All is well, then. I¡¯d hate to think they¡¯re not being careful with their belongings.¡±

    ¡°Exactly!¡± Holison agreed, puffing up with confidence. And then, he hiccuped, his grin dropping as he stiffened, eyes redirected towards an approaching figure.

    "Commander!" He shot upright, saluting the approaching man on horseback.

    "Put her in the carriage," Blert ordered, not sparing me a glance. "And get on your horse. We depart in five minutes."

    "Yes, Commander!" Holison went back to being stiff. His forehead sparkling with sweat.

    "Between duty and personal interest, which do you think Blert would choose?" I asked Holison, watching the commander¡¯s retreating figure.

    "Duty," Holison answered without hesitation, signaling me to stand so he could escort me to the carriage.

    "Right," I muttered, looking down at my palms. "As he should."

    ~

    "So you''re saying he''s useless?" I repeated, mirroring Alice''s flat expression as she sat across from me in the carriage.

    "Yes, my lady."

    "So all that talk of my dearest father appointing a physician to ensure my well-being was nothing but a ruse?"

    "Unfortunately, yes. It must have been for appearances only. The physician claimed he had no cure for discomforts such as yours, my lady."

    A light but sharp pinch of disappointment stirred within me, unwelcome and mildly infuriating. As if I ever expected anything from the Marquis.

    "It matters little. The discomfort is fading at a rather fascinating speed. I don¡¯t seem to need those potions anymore." I clicked my tongue, crossing my arms tightly over my legs.

    I could feel Alice¡¯s long, lingering stare at the side of my face.

    "... I can still acquire the potions, my lady," she muttered cautiously.

    "No need." I waved a dismissive hand. "I only requested them because I expected the healing process to take longer. I¡¯m speaking perfectly fine now¡ªI don¡¯t need it."

    "Alright..." Alice''s posture was stiff, as if wanting to say something.

    I clicked my tongue, turning to her with an annoyed expression and a furrowed brow.

    Her eyes slightly widened at my silent offer for her to talk, but she only stared back at me instead of speaking.

    Her suspicious attitude is the thing I need the least right now.

    I shook my head, turning to look at the window.

    Forget it, it''s not worth it, Penelope... Forge¡ª

    "You know," I snapped my head to her with a glare, fixating her pink pupils. "People who neither know how to hide their thoughts or say them. They irk the shit out of me." I ended up unable to hold my tongue.

    "... Apologies, my lady." Alice said, seeming a tad taken aback. "I did not mean to irk you with my face."

    "Try harder not to, then." I muttered, turning to the window.

    Exhaling slowly, I brushed my fingers over the bandages at my neck, an unease creeping through me like a shadow I couldn''t shake.

    Tomorrow was D-Day. We would be reaching that cursed lake in about forty-eight hours.

    My plan was mostly complete. The only unchecked boxes on my list were:

    <blockquote>

    [] Truman¡¯s help (Reliable?)

    [] Fake blood

    [] Coachman''s clothing location

    [] Kitchen knife

    [] Money

    [] Shackle keys

    [] Map

    </blockquote>

    The plan was simple;

    Tonight, if Truman proves to be useful after my test, I''d explain the impending disaster to him and coordinate with him. If he believed me¡ªor, more likely, believed in the wealth I would promise him¡ªhe would protect me and help me slip away during the chaos of the monster attack.

    Using the items I¡¯d gather, I would stage the ''death'' of Penelope Ashdown.

    The fake blood would serve as the base. I would cut my long hair with the kitchen knife and leave it as proof¡ªthe only woman here with such hair would surely be presumed dead.

    As a final touch, I would rip these ragged, disgusting clothes from my body, don the coachman''s garments, and toss the old rags into the mess of blood.

    And voila.

    In the case where Truman does not join me¡ªreaffirming my instinct which prompts me to act alone as it is the most comfortable option, or some unexpected event occurs, I would use up my Bait List until I create an opportunity in which I can flee, and then I will make a run for it, heading for my new-life destination: Jozdem Village.

    I had complete trust in my plan. My faith in my ability to avoid the looming danger, however¡­ Well, it was decent, at best.

    "¡ªdy." A voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Lady Penelope." It was Alice.

    I blinked, redirecting my gaze from my whitened knuckles to Alice, her pink eyes fixed on me. Relaxing my hands, I offered a faint smile. "What is it?"

    "We have arrived." She nodded toward the open door of the carriage, the chill of the night air seeping in. "It¡¯s time to set up camp."

    The sound of cicadas filled the darkened sky, the cold wind biting at my skin as I stepped down.

    The carriage had stopped, night had fallen, and I¡¯d barely noticed.

 Orders Come From Above

    "I''m cold," I said blankly, shivering as I crouched next to an empty soup bowl on the ground. Alice stood beside me, trembling just as much. "Alice, I''m cold."

    I had been repeating those words for several minutes, to no avail.

    The first time I mentioned my discomfort, Alice went over to the campfire to ask Blert and his subordinates for help. They sat about twenty feet away from my dismal little "dining area," gathered around a bonfire so large that its light illuminated every inch of this barren patch of land we''d stopped on.

    Alice had returned with a grim expression, and since then, she hadn''t said a word.

    There was no knight guarding us tonight. They were all huddled by the fire. I guess they hadn''t expected Fokchick estate to be so damn cold tonight.

    Though their absense should have comforted me, somehow, all it did was enhance the disgusting, foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach worse.

    "Alice," I started again, rubbing my arms aggressively, trying to generate some semblance of warmth beneath this wretched cloth. I clenched a small, circular object in my right palm. "What did Blert say?"

    Alice waited a moment before answering, her pink eyes avoiding mine, her expression blank.

    Alice was usually unreadable and strange, but she was acting even weirder as time went on...

    "''We do not welcome criminals among our comfort,''" she repeated in a robotic tone.

    I wasn''t surprised.

    "... Did he offer you a place by the fire, leaving me here to freeze?" I asked. "Sounds like something he would do."

    "Indeed, he did."

    I turned to her, confused. "And you didn¡¯t take it?"

    What kind of ill individual wouldn''t t seize that opportunity?

    "A maid interjected, saying that leaving you unsupervised and unshackled would be irresponsible on their part, my lady. So someone had to stay with you."

    I snorted, going back to rubbing my arms. "As if I could go anywhere without him knowing." I glared toward the blazing bonfire, which made the camp resemble a lamp in the dim.

    Even the horses were allowed by that fire...

    Alice could have pressed harder with Blert, insisting I couldn''t go anywhere even if I wanted to. After all, she knew about the ritual from last night.

    Why she didn''t remains a mystery... One I suppose I''ll never solve, given tomorrow will be my emancipation day, and I''ll never have to see her foreboding face again.

    Footsteps in the distance alerted both of us to a new arrival.

    "Ladies," a familiar silhouette approached from the bonfire area. Broad-shouldered and tall, the gleam of the glass dagger at his waist confirmed his identity before I even saw his face. "It''s me," he said, perhaps to avoid startling us.

    "Sir Truman," I greeted, the corners of my lips lifting into a polite smile.

    The cold metal of the tiny gold ring I held pressed against my skin, reminding me of its presence within my palm as I watched Truman draw nearer.

    I had spent the entire day turning this moment over in my mind, debating the best way to read this man.

    In the end, I decided the quickest way to gauge him¡ªat least on the surface¡ªwas to use this ring.

    "Miss Alice," Truman greeted, holding an oil lamp in one hand. The mouthwatering smell of cooked meat followed him. "Lady prisoner," he gave us both a nod.

    Alice''s posture had returned to her usual stiff, silent self, while I remained crouched, trying to conserve heat.

    "Commander Blert has given the order that you two be taken to your sleeping tent as a gesture of mercy toward Miss Alice. He ordered me to relay this oil lamp to you as a symbol of his empathy and... human apathy." He blinked, realizing his error.

    Alice leaned slightly toward me. "He means empathy," she corrected.

    "How gracious of him," I mumbled, reaching for the lamp as Truman extended it toward us.

    "Thank you, Sir Truman," Alice said with a nod.

    Odd, she stopped shivering the moment Truman arrived.

    "Oh, thank the commander," Truman chuckled, his white teeth flashing as he grinned. "He only pitied you after you refused his offer to sit by the fire and leave the prisoner here." He shrugged, standing up after handing me the lamp.

    A jolt of disbelief surged through me as I looked at Alice.

    What the hell?

    I opened my mouth without thinking. "What kind of ill individual are¡ª"

    "Nonsense," Alice''s soft, lifeless tone cut through the air, firm and imposing. She didn¡¯t look me in the eye; instead, she stared Truman down, her gaze piercing his very soul. "Impudent knight. Do not speak of matters your simple mind cannot comprehend."

    Truman blinked, looking around as if unsure whether her words were really directed at him.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    With that, Alice marched off, leaving both of us standing there, confused.

    "I thought she was some scheming snake, but it turns out she''s just a weirdo," I muttered, toying with the oil lamp in my hands. I studied its shape, wondering how to turn it on. "Don''t mind her, Sir Truman," I waved a dismissive hand.

    "Weirdo?" Truman repeated, still watching Alice as she disappeared toward the tents.

    I stood up with a grunt, dusting off my clothes and offering Truman a polite, hopefully amicable, smile. He returned it with a faint, slightly confused grin.

    "Let¡¯s head to your tent, then," he offered.

    "Yes, let''s." I swung my right hand dramatically to usher Truman ahead.

    Clink.

    The ring I had been holding slipped from my hand and landed softly on the ground. Pretending not to notice, I continued walking.

    Now, show me, Truman. Just what kind of person are you?

    Will he keep the ring and act like nothing happened?

    "You dropped a ring," Truman said, making me stop. "My lady, doesn¡¯t this belong to you?" He stepped forward, holding Delilah¡¯s ring in his palm.

    I eyed the ring, then looked up at Truman, narrowing my eyes.

    "I... Thanks," I said, taking it from him.

    Now then, will he blackmail me? Why else would he give it back?

    My palms were in a fist, and the fabric around my neck felt tight, slowly causing me to suffocate.

    "No problem," he said casually. "You should be careful. With everything you''re carrying, it''d be easy to lose something."

    I blinked, watching his thin lips move as he scratched his jaw.

    "I... I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about."

    He knows I have more than just this ring on me. This could go to shit.

    "Oh, I mean the jewelry you''re hiding under your clothes," he said, his tone completely innocent. His golden eyes met mine with what almost seemed like obliviousness, while his words might give me a stroke.

    Not that this isn''t something I considered, but the possibility of it was so low this is angering me.

    Truman analyzed the mortified, barely concealed look on my face, which I couldn''t control in the spur of the moment, and his eyebrows shot up as he covered his mouth.

    "Oh, I had decided not to mention that," he said with an awkward chuckle. "I guess it''s too late now."

    "W-what are you trying to say? Are you threatening me?" I took an unconscious step back.

    "No, I wouldn¡¯t dare." He raised his hands defensively, as if offended by the mere suggestion. "I am quite inept at keeping secrets, or even at telling lies, to speak plainly. Still, I am no fool to attempt coercing you into relinquishing your treasures, Lady. With a simple scream from you to alert my party, I would lose more than I could ever gain. Such an admission on my part would only serve to confirm the commander¡¯s suspicions towards me, and at best, I might get a measly reward for my moral righteousness."

    I watched him speak. My breathing was discomforted as I felt the bandages on my neck claw at my throat, something that couldn''t be right given how I had loosedned them while bandaging it.

    Focus.

    Truman seemed like the type who filled silences on his own. His words should have reassured me, yet the unease in my stomach only grew with every passing moment.

    "Pray excuse me¡ª" Truman¡¯s golden eyes met mine once more. "Ah, and on the subject of apologies, I have yet to express my gratitude for your... discretion in the forest." He smiled, a faint but genuine smile.

    This guy''s completely focused on his own interests...

    "... so no one else knows?" At this point, I couldn¡¯t deny the truth.

    As I studied his simple features, the campfire blazing behind him, with Alice¡¯s footsteps fading in the distance and the crackling bonfire echoing through the night, the newest thought in my mind was...

    "Of what?" Truman blinked, clueless.

    This guy seems to be a greedy idiot...

    <hr>

    The southernmost land of Suttone, the Fokchick Estate, stretched out as a barren expanse, its hills lifeless and soil dead. A few desolate forests lingered, whispering of a green past.

    Blert Blach¡¯s 4th Division of the Penalty forces camped after a long day¡¯s travel.

    The fog seeping in from the very ground they camped on cut the moonlight''s rays into a million sparks, scattered upon the terrain.

    Commander Blert sat near the large fire, his rough locks glinting a deep orange hue in the face of the fire''s heat. It had been ignited by the handful of shackled, fire-blessed children who accompanied them on the journey. Their blue eyes gleamed with something hollow, small snake tattoos etched on their cheeks as they shuffled aimlessly through the camp. When their work was done, they begged for scraps, drifting through the crowd like forgotten shadows. When done, they were meant to return to their carriage, unseen and unspoken of.

    One of those kids had gotten lost in the clamor, the rusty metal binding his small foot clanking with his every move. The little boy ended up where the carriages sat.

    "C-Coachmen..." He mumbled, a confused glint in his blues as he recognized, far down the road the caravan came from, the coachmen silently dragging a horse each, walking back.

    Everyone had been granted permission to warm their limbs beside the flare''s grandeur tonight, even the fire-blessed children. All except the caravan''s loathed, self-absorbed villainess. By her side was one foolish commoner girl and a golden-eyed mercenary.

    "Yes, yes..." Holison mumbled to his colleagues, sitting on a fat wooden trunk the knights brough off the nearest forest, which was a little farther from where the prisoner''s designated ''dining area'' was located. "Indeed, this grand caravan''s staff order was in fact summoned within a mere period of three hours!"

    "Capital!" A male servant nodded. "That must mean they handpicked the most capable workers to join this excursion, wouldn''t ya say?"

    A maid jumped in, "They even assigned us a Clergywoman as capable as Melissa, in addition to a medic! I expected no less from our King, Korpa bless his heart!"

    "Long live the Bravehearted." Blert lifted his wooden cup, his hazel eyes glittering with a bluish core as sweet pride carved a light grin on his pursed complexion.

    The rest of the people chanted the phrase, giggling as they sat there, revelling in their ignorance, utterly oblivious to the absolute death that was creeping up to them from... Well, from absolutely everywhere.

    Unbeknownst to a soul other than the coachmen''s who were marching back towards the capital in grim quiet, was the fact that the journey route the caravan had taken was planned out by him.

    And that route met its planned end here, in the barren center of Fokchick''s ghostly hills.

    There would be no passing through a grand, miraculous lake. There would be no arriving at Suttone. There would be no surviving for anyone who rode this caravan right upon their arrival on Fokchick''s foreboding soil.

    Not even to the coachmen, who mistakenly thought they would survive this night as they unknowingly walked toward their dug graves.

    No one would survive tonight.

    As such were his orders.

 Calamity

    No one would survive tonight.

    As such were his orders.

    "I''m talking about the valuables, Truman." Said the most foolish of all present, more self-centered even than the so-called capable commander who had ordered a fire on the barren Suttone Hill¡ªessentially waving a death flag in honor of their inevitable fate. That stranger, bruised, pitiful thing was none other than Penelope Horne.

    "Not a soul was the wiser." Truman nodded, proud.

    "Good," the woman replied, trying her best to focus on the Sinomian Knight. Her very best effort was put into ignoring her growing sense of impending doom, the vaguely familiar whisper of horror creeping up on her.

    "So, what do you say, Lady Prisoner?" Truman''s senses, perhaps dulled by the crackling fire or his innocent greed, hadn''t caught onto anything unusual. "Shall we seal it with a handshake?" A faint smile played upon his lips.

    The campers'' laughter echoed across the hill''s quiet, as a backdrop to the lady and knight''s trivial conversation. More foolishness brewed within the tents: a cold-tempered maid quickened her steps toward the fire, paranoia gripping her as she sensed a man''s footsteps following incessantly. Faint snores mixed with the crunching of glass underfoot.

    The soft rustling of the short, grey grass, shadowed by mist and seasoned with crackling flames, interwove with the distant discussions and the soft scream arising from within the chest of the single person who unknowingly knew.

    Whether by miracle, denial, or sheer stupidity, no one on that hill sensed the approaching doom. No one standing on that hill of the Fokchick Estate heard the millions of tippy-tappy sounds forming a wave around them from afar, climbing the hill and heading almost religiously towards the bundle of fire intruding upon their nightly world. None saw as the hundreds of black, twisted silhouettes closed in on every horizon surrounding them. Not a soul could smell it; the horrendous stench of death embodied in the silhouettes'' pure, monstrous desire for blood.

    "-recruited with great haste, as were many in this company, doubtless due to His Highness''s newfound leniency," Truman''s voice was a mere rasp against the loud pounding in Penelope''s ears. Her breathing quickened, her senses dulled amidst the eerie quiet. "That Prince proved himself to be far more merciful than many had anticipated." Truman nodded, his expression rather blank.

    "Merciful," Penelope chuckled bitterly, shaking her head off the insipid feeling she must have been wrong in having. "Mercy is the last trait I''d peg that stuck-up, ruthless bastard for."

    Those were words the prince would not appreciate. Thankfully, he was not there to ear them.

    Instead, his Highness was in Pershema, Yilderen¡¯s capital, safely ensconced within his palace.

    Kendrick sat at his desk in a dimly lit chamber. Not a single sheet of paper before him. Only a flickering flame on a lemon and lavender scented candle, and the quiet of his own thoughts wrapping his being. He gazed upon the window on the wall facing his desk. His hands rested neatly on the sparkling wood, the ghost of a sickly grin curling his lips.

    "Treacherous words," Truman''s voice woke Penelope from her stupor, making her realize the weight of her statement. Her eyes widened. "''Tis fortunate only I was privy to this," Truman said matter-of-factly, nodding. "And I am no gossip."

    Kendrick, checked his pocket watch once more, his grin growing wider as his violet eyes glimmered in the dark.

    "Deal," Penelope muttered, her breath hitching as she clutched the bandages around her neck, struggling to breathe. "I''ll trust you with helping me out in the future," she lied, already crossing his name off her mental list.

    The silhouettes were now mere meters from the campsite, leaving a trail of bloodied coachmen¡¯s corpses in their wake.

    I should''ve known I wouldn''t be able to trust anyone, as trustworthy as they might seem. Penelope thought, ignorantly attributing her presentiment to Truman''s very presence.

    Truman smiled faintly, his golden eyes narrowing in satisfaction as he extended a palm to shake her hand.

    Penelope gritted her teeth, the strip of fabric around her neck stopping her from drawing a breath.

    Clink. Kendrick snapped his pocket watch shut, his teeth showing through his grin, the wide portrait of a red-headed beauty hung on the wall behind him.

    It was time.

    A sudden wave of chills raced down Truman''s back. His smile faded into a sharp frown, and his right hand twitched. At the same time, Penelope ripped the bandages from her neck, letting go of the fabric and letting it flutter in the air as she took in a hitched, needy breath.

    Her eyes rose from the ground where the bandages now lay, and unfortunately, only then did she know.

    Her heart stilled. Her soul shuddered.

    In an instant, the hill, their empty surroundings, all of it was swarmed by hundreds of wicked, blood-eyed silhouettes. Facing her and Truman was an entity Penelope knew all too well.

    Death.

    Shadows of a similar, terrifying scene flashed before her eyes¡ªblaring horns, blinding lights, and the cold whisper of death.

    Screams erupted all over the campsite. What had been an empty, grey hill moments ago was now a blood-soaked massacre, overrun by monsters.

    Penelope and Truman stood before a dozen of the short, twisted creatures, glaring with open, drooling jaws filled sharp, jagged teeth.

    Gruesome. That was the only word for these Vamlins.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Two were swinging their claws at the blonde woman who stared at them so lifelessly it was unsettling.

    Penelope''s inner world had fallen silent.

    Everything had gone quiet at the reminder of her past. Her instincts went numb. She had been defeated in the face of her fear.

    Truman gritted his teeth, casting a worried look upon the lifeless thing as he grabbed his dagger in a breath and dodged the creatures attacking him, reaching out to Penelope.

    "WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!" A distant voice screamed. Penelope flinched, her nightmare momentarily broken. "ALL KNIGHTS, TAKE UP AR-ARGH!"

    "NO! COMMANDER!"

    "Ah..." Penelope muttered, as a Vamlin bared its teeth at her, breathing heavily against her face.

    "Vampire Gremlins," Truman muffled the words, taking in a swift breath as he stomped out of the trajectory of the Vamlin''s attack, generating enough momentum to throw his dagger onto the cranium of the Vamlin facing Penelope.

    The creature slumped to the ground, and before he could try and retrieve his weapon, or even tell his newest partner to get her spirits together, a Vamlin among the ones he left behind him rebounded from its missed attack and latched onto Truman''s unarmored shoulder, biting his flesh.

    He grunted, turning to fend off more attackers.

    "Lady Penelope!" He called, but the woman was shivering all over, the cold and lonely whisper of death enchanting her. "PENELOPE ASHDOWN!" He screamed, ripping the bloodsucking Vamlin off his shoulder and hurling it at the others attacking her with such momentum it swept up three of its kind and thrashed onto the farther grass.

    That wasn''t her name.

    "TAKE MY DAGGER AND RUN!" Truman''s injury bled a fountain, but he spoke those words with composure.

    Yet it made Penelope realize she wasn¡¯t dead. Not yet.

    "O-Okay," she squatted and luckily evaded a Vamlin''s lazy swing at her. She tried to rip the dagger off of the dead Vamlin''s head, but it was firm against her grip.

    SKRELF. The creatures near her snarled, their senses enchanted by the sweet smell resonating off of the woman''s soul. It was less perceivable, but much more enchanting than the blazing fire in the distance because of which they came.

    Penelope focused on taking the glass dagger out of the creature''s head, but from the corner of her eye, she saw a grinning creature going in with both upper limbs to grab onto her neck.

    "Above you!" Truman warned.

    Adrenaline surged through her. She ripped the dagger free and flung herself backward, narrowly avoiding the creature¡¯s grasp.

    Penelope''s blue eyes shivered as she scanned the area, taking in the chaos. The herd of Vamlins, covered in rot, crawled, walked or ran across the hill, getting lost in the mist. Some approached the two of them, but most swarmed toward the fire.

    In front of her, a plane brimming with slimy shadows, giving off the ever so nauseating stench of metallic red, and telling of nothing but death. Around twelve or thirteen creatures swarmed her and Truman''s space. Two were dead. Most were racing to get a taste of Truman''s bloody shoulder and a couple were interested in Penelope''s flesh.

    Penelope stood back up, attention on the monsters gouging her degree of threat on them. That and they were speculating on the way to get ahold of her skin.

    Penelope backed off cautiously, a bloodied dagger shaking in her fist.

    She needed to get to the forest¡ªthe only place the creatures seemed uninterested in. She needed safety.

    Without a spare glance at Truman, who grabbed the skull of two of the monsters looking to attack her, adding them to the group he needed to fend off, Penelope bolted toward the woods, some monsters trailing behind her.

    She hadn''t heard Truman''s words as he yelled for her to find refuge and wait for him.

    Penelope''s mind, no longer empty and fear-ridden, coddled a single thought as she half-unconsciously sped towards the woods, a trail of creatures following in her wake.

    I''m still alive. Penelope reminded herself on loop.

    ~

    Quiet returned to the Fokshick Estate''s grey hill once more.

    No, grey was no longer an accurate description.

    The grass was painted red and black, littered with the corpses of both humans and monsters, though the former''s quantity was much more prevalent.

    Still in the dead of night, not a whisper arose from the hill''s misty air. Not a breath could dare intrude upon its eerie stillness.

    Most of the monsters had gone back to their holes, having lost limb and kin. But at least the annoying fire had been extinguished, and their bellies were full.

    The caravan had been reduced to smithereens. The people''s remaining blood trickled out of their injuries in careful streams, staining the grass red. No remnants of the grand fire were to be seen, not even the wood on which it was summoned. Carriages were knocked over, their insides ravaged and bloodied.

    The tent area had been destroyed, cloths on the ground, shredded into naught, covering corpses, materials, and concealing a sliver of life.

    Under the cloth lay a barely breathing maid, eyes tightly shut, breaths controlled and slowed as to sparingly use her oxygen. Alice''s idea of hiding under the cloth soon as the disaster hit had been nothing short of pathetic. She hadn''t thought of the children, of the workers, of warning the knights. She thought to save herself, and that she did.

    Now, having barely made it, she sat in the quiet she wished for all her life. Her mind was clear of noises, and no uninvited thought pestered her. So why, just why did the fulfillment of her wish have to be so heart wrenching?

    The stench of murder hadn''t infiltrated her safety just yet, but she would soon be exposed to it once the approaching, surviving knight found her body amongst the dead.

    It was toothless Fars, who was quick-witted enough to cover himself in the horses'' shit and play dead as soon as he heard the clamor. The attack had hindered his exciting plans for the night, but perhaps this calamity was in fact a blessing in disguise, which would allow him her heart at last...

    In the used-to-be bonfire area, the pile of corpses shuddered an umpteenth time under the silent tears of Blert, who dug into the horror in search of a single boy.

    How Blert managed to survive was a question for the ages. His neck was bitten, and so was his leg. One of his eyes had gone missing, and keeping his chest heaving and breathing was but his sheer desperation. The spell that concealed his being a mana-blessed man was broken, and so with his remaining blue eye, and bruised, blood-painted arms, Blert Blach dug through the bodies for his nephew...

    SKRELF. SKRELF. SKRELF.

    Right.

    The only grey area left was the narrow woods.

    And atop a measly trees sat an anxious woman. She avoided looking down, or thinking back on how in the world she even managed to climb this tree.

    The only thing Penelope needed to think about was how in the world she could get out of this forest alive, being that a swarm of excited, blood thirsty monsters were awaiting her fall with bulging eyes, having caught a sweet whiff on her that urged them to taste her blood.

    Yes, the sweet, sweet stench of Penelope''s Curse.

 One Blue Iris

    The sweet, sweet stench of Penelope''s Curse.

    <hr>

    I must be cursed. I must be fucking cursed. No way this amount of shit luck is normal!

    Because why in the hell was I getting ready to make a leap that might just lead to my death by either high fall or getting eaten by a load of fucking monsters??

    What am I? Fucking Tarzan?!

    I swallowed, one hand clasped on the tree trunk while checking the distance between the shaking branch I stood on and the tree trunk nearest to me once more.

    There were stray branches that could hinder my jump, holding small birds or measly leaves, but a few scratches would be their biggest threat to me. I needed to grab that scratchy, thin and sturdy trunk, climb it up somehow to reach for a second branch, stabilize and then repeat.

    That was my emergency plan; Grapple onto trees and make it out of this forest. Trace my way back to the campsite once I lost the monsters and excecute The Plan.

    I was a bit ahead of schedule, and the circumstances were a lot worse than they should have been. But this was nothing to me.

    Everything is under control as long as I''m conscious.

    I let go of the used-to-be long garment I wore, now partially ripped down the front''s middle and tied around my flimsy calves. Gotta-do-pants, because playing Tarzan in a wannabe dress would be suicide.

    I clenched my fists to stop the shivering as I took another breath. Deep, controlled. I was not scared¡ªno, that''s for people who have time to be.

    I threw a reluctant look towards the area where the large bonfire used to be. Nothing but the dim and eerie echo of night was left of the screeching and clammer that once filled this hill.

    The battle¡ªif it could be called as such¡ª between those creatures and the knights was over. And I had a nasty hunch about who the winner of it was.

    The sound of the creatures¡ªSKRELF¡ªhad drilled itself into my memory. They were jumping up and down, their limbs moving in disproportionate moves, sending vibrations across the tree every now and then, making it clear that seeking refuge up here was not a good call.

    I could barely stop myself from looking down at them. Or from measuring the fall between the branch I stood on and the ground. I waited for hours for them to leave, to forget that I was here, for someone to come for my rescue.

    But to no avail. The monsters were here to stay, awaiting my descent and surrender.

    They''ll wait forever in that case.

    The shivering in my fingers intensified, making me the more angry. I glared, eyed narrowed kn my target. I let out a long, shaky breath as I lowered my waist.

    To think I''m that Penelope that used to be deathly fearful of heights.

    How ironic.

    Before my precious shoes left their standing on the branch, my eyes spotted a silver shimmer in the dim below the trunk I was ready to leap onto.

    Both of my eyebrows rose as a semi-hopeful look spread on my face, cocking my head to the side to get a better look at the approaching silver chun-

    "Blert?" I mumbled, nose scrunching up.

    There, a few meters away from the tree I was on, on the ground, Blert approached in slow, uneven steps.

    He was rough around the edges, but that armor was recognizable anywhere, regardless of how bloodied and torn. The number Four plastered on his chest plate mockingly glinted at me.

    "Is he suicidal or what...?" I frowned, trying to make out his whole silhouette under the faint moonlight. "Why''s he walking towards the monsters...?"

    He stepped closer, head down and watching the ground¡ªnot because he wasn''t careful, but because he was carrying someone on his back.

    Holison. It had to be. He''s his cousin or whatever...

    Holison lay limply on Blert''s back, bleeding and unconscious. The Commander himself didn''t seem very healthy, one of his arms was limp, making his carrying Holison only possible thanks to the strength in his shoulder and his remaining arm.

    He can''t see the monsters. That''s the only plausible explanation.

    With that realization, I opened my mouth to yell at him to stop, but as I moved my lips, my jaw''s remaining light pain reminded me of its offender.

    He doesn''t deser¡ª

    I shook my head.

    "Go away!" I yelled down at the creatures, eyes shut to avoid seeing their nightmarish silhouettes. "You shitty MONSTERS!"

    The last word echoed through the hill.

    I froze as I reflected on my action.

    ... Why did I do that? That man has a tracking spell on me. I need him dead.

    I turned back to Blert, spotting his surprised look as he seems to have spotted the source of the warning. Me.

    "Shit..." Blert muttered, freezing at the sight of the monters at the tree''s trunk.

    SKRELF. By the next few seconds, those creatures would surely sense him.

    Blert''s gaze met mine, and despite the dim, I could imagine it; the tired, defeated look on his face. The pain from his injuries echoing through his entire body. The fear shaking his soul...

    And I couldn''t help but feel a sense of victory as I clenched my fists.

    Yeah. Nevermind that bitch.

    It wouldn''t be my fault if he died, either. If anything, I had done more than I should have.

    ¡°HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!¡± The sight of Blert''s chest in front of my face, and the sensation of his hurled fist on my lower right cheek came back to mind. I remember blacking out at the impact for several moments.

    The excrutiating pain from forcing my jaw back into place in that miserable carriage.

    "But who was it that asked you to think?"

    "Since when were you allowed to run your trap?"

    ¡°And who said I was going to kill you, wench...? I shall slit your throat just deep enough to ensure that you survive but can never again speak with that sweet voice of yours..." His poisonous whisper against my ear...

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The amount of times I begged for survival because of that man...

    The memories flashed through my mind, making me grit my teeth. A part of my being shriveled as I stood there, safely looking down on that measly, sorry excuse for a man. He stood there powerlessly, surrendering to his fate.

    Only one of his eyes was obvious to me from this distance. A blue iris.

    The spell-casting in the middle of the night. The swearing to keep it a secret. That Holison boy''s speech about his useless background.

    Suddenly, it all made sense.

    His eyes were never hazel or brown. It must have been some kind of spell.

    He''s been hiding his affinity for mana. How pathetic.

    As he watched in what seemed to be helpless fear, I bent carefully and grabbed one of the precious shoes he gave me.

    Unconsciously, I was pressing the thing so tightly in my palm it had folded onto itself.

    Blert opened his mouth and spoke words I couldn''t hear from this distance.

    Perhaps he was begging for his life. Or maybe he was asking for forgiveness...

    The strange, yet familial clarity which haunted my heart as I prepared to throw the shoe in his direction and point him out for the monsters and essentially cause his death was chilling... And I wished I could be angrier.

    "I will use treatment to help the sick according to my ability and judgment, but I will never use it to injure or wrong them." The recited words rolling out the lips of my younger self, standing with honor dripping off of every inch of her while she proudly shared her mothers'' gaze...

    Right. Perhaps then, if I could hide behind utter fury, behind my deserved rights as a victim of this shitty world, and behind the fact that I was so blinded by rage that, for just this once, I was estranged from the concept of reality, or duty...

    Maybe then I could have it in me to kill a man.

    I turned around, holding my breath. I ignored every fiber in my being that pushed me to throw the shoe at Blert and spit at him to top it off. I threw the shoe in the opposite way, watching as the cloud of monsters followed the object like the hungered beasts they were, leaving a few moments'' chance for Blert to run away with that nice boy.

    The sensation of the branch''s rough extrerior under my bare foot, the light breeze tickling at my hair and the hardened anger abandoned in the pit of my being...

    A liquid dripped down my chin, making me realize I was biting my lip too hard.

    I took a breath and turned back to look at Blert, part of me hoping he was gone while the other wished he would stay and be spotted by the creatures.

    He was there.

    Blert was looking me dead in the eyes. The moonlight spilled through the trees, illuminating his face, revealing a grim expression that cut through the shadows. The forest felt eerily still, as if holding its breath in anticipation.

    His expression held pure, undivided calm.

    A bleeding nose.

    Moving lips, letting out words I couldn''t hear.

    My eyes widened at the familiar, burning sensation climbing up from the pits of my stomach as I watched him complete his sentence.

    And the pungnant rage that filled me as the realization sunk in threatened to outspill. Tears filled my lenses as his just now casted spell''s effect came into play.

    "¡ªnd may she fall to her death," Blert''s lips finished. With that, he hurried away, blending into the darkness.

    A pained, fury-fueled grin spread across my face as the burning sensation engulfed my entire body.

    "I fucking deserve this." I said through gritted teeth, eyes still wide from the realization and pain I felt.

    Without a moment''s thought, I took a step into the emptiness, a step I did not control.

    And just as he''d cursed me to do, I unwillingly jumped off of the tree and into the pit coddling my upcoming death.

    <hr>

    "I will come find you, my lady!" He promised earlier.

    Faraji Murshaad, otherwise called Truman, had always been a rather carefree a man. One would even peg him for an airhead. Indeed, he was slow on the uptake and quite the sucker at lying.

    He couldn''t deny such claims at his person.

    However, if there was something that Faraji was not, it was a man of broken promises.

    When he snapped open his eyelids, finding himself immobilized in a pile of lifeless bodies, stacked over his own, the first thought he had wasn''t about how chillingly familiar this set-up was for his fickle memory, but a question concerning the Lavender Lady.

    Was she alive?

    The monsters were gone. Terrifying quiet veiled the hill, sharing the nightsky''s eerieness.

    The abundance of injuries on Truman was astronomical. His survival, let alone his being conscious, was nothing short of a miraculous feat.

    His golden eyes sparked with worry as he took in a sharp breath, mustering all of his strength to get himself out of the suffocating mass of corpses pressing his chest and legs and leaving but space for his face to breathe.

    With a few pushes and much grunting and aching, Truman, with lightheadedness and only halfway healed injuries, succeeded in getting himself out of the stack.

    His senses¡ªusually sharper than any normal human''s¡ªwere dull and barely functioning.

    It was idiocy, really, the fact that Truman thought he could be of any help to the Lavender Lady, whose scent was nowhere to be found to the heavy eyed Truman.

    Dragging his feet, he stumbled over several corpses on the ground but quickly pushed himself up again, drawn toward it like a moth to a flame.

    Towards the forest. Towards that tree.

    He had seen her climb it after he sent her away with that promise. It was at a long distance, yes, but he had seen it all.

    With all the power of a fallen noble lady who''s never touched the soil properly, that girl grabbed that tree with a firm grip using both hands, the tree faltered from its standing. With that same determination, she plastered her feet onto the edge of the tree, and with each climb, she left molded handprints on its trunk.

    All she must have been thinking was that she needed to get to that tree''s top.

    And now all Truman was thinking, was how he could get to her before it was too late.

    He needed to fulfill his promise. No matter how painful it might b¡ª

    Before Truman could finish that thought, he spotted her body. Relief sparked in his eyes, but it quickly faded as he saw her being flung from the high branch, falling through the air.

    The pained expression on her face became clearer as he rushed toward her, igniting his sense of empathy.

    He pursed his lips, seizing the moment when the monsters were distracted by something a few meters away, and lunged to catch Penelope, determined to save her from imminent pain.

    Truman''s vision went blurry, and the pain from his injuries that only just stopped bleeding surged through his body, awoken by the hard collapse of Penelope''s body against his shoulder.

    Truman set the woman down on her feet, widening his eyes to wake himself up the best he could.

    "Why di¡ªcom¡ªdon¡ªneed¡ªTHERE!" With the last word and the Lavender Lady''s pale expression as she pointed behind him, Truman''s lightheadedness faded, letting in his survival instincts as he sensed an attack coming at him from behind.

    No, it was multiple attacks.

    The monsters were back, and they were here for the two of them.

    Truman wanted to be of use. He truly did.

    He fantasized about saving this noble lady''s life, and getting rich as a result. Yes. That was all there was to it.

    That gold she wore.

    He needed it.

    But now, as he turned and tucked the girl behind his back, all Truman could consider was whether it was worth it to even join the knights after all...

    For a moment, his vision cleared, and he caught sight of the creatures that haunted the edges of the darkness. They stood grotesquely disproportionate, their limbs twisted and elongated, moving with a jerky, unsettling grace. Their eyes glowed a malevolent crimson, like embers in a dying fire, reflecting an insatiable hunger. Rot marred their skin, a patchwork of decaying flesh that dripped with a viscous, foul-smelling ooze. Jagged teeth protruded from their gaping maws, and their gnarled claws scraped the ground as they advanced, leaving trails of muck in their wake. Each breath they took exhaled a rancid stench that mingled with the night air, intensifying the terror that seeped into Truman¡¯s bones.

    Truman''s eyelids became too heavy for his stubborness to carry. Blood was gushing out of his injuries once more, dying the dried dark shade of red a brighter, more vivid, and foreboding color.

    The lack of blood in his limbs couldn''t be healed through his lucky attributes, nor could it stand using his determination.

    It was time for Faraji to surrender to sleep.

    He slumped to the ground, revealing a girl with an unfazed expression behind him. Detaching her stark blue eyes from Truman, she gazed up at her newest threat, her gaze filled with eerie desperation.

    Drawing a glass dagger from her clothes, Penelope licked the blood trickling from her lip and locked eyes with the blood-red orbs of the creatures facing her.

    Perhaps it was because of how often her encounters with death occured, but though Penelope hadn''t realized it yet... She was getting used to the feeling.

 Stranger

    The dagger in my hands felt heavy, and the thoughts in my head were getting blurry. Sweat droplets wet my forehead, and every breath I took felt like pulling a stone from the mud.

    Staring into the dozens of red, bloodied orbs they had for eyes felt like I was looking my fate in the face. A parallel to my eventual becoming.

    The stench of fermented waste that the Vamlins emitted was mildly sobering.

    For whatever reason, the creatures seemed oblivious to whether I was prey or predator. For several moments, they stood there, observing my motions.

    The first move came from the Vamlin closest to me. It jumped over the unconscious Truman on the ground, reaching for me. I moved away, my idiotic mind jerked awake.

    For a split moment, I had considered taking the disgusting monsters head-on. My core person was one to fight for her life. But she was better than to opt for suicide blatantly.

    So I ran.

    With whatever power was stored in my calves, I pushed my figure backward, planted my feet against the ground, and miraculously evaded a claw attack from the Vamlin.

    SKRELF! They hissed, now possessing all of the motives to haunt me dead.

    I sprinted towards a tree in the distance, the looming multiple heads of creatures shadowing my every step. The ground shuddered beneath their stampede, vibrating up my legs.

    Their hissings had morphed into twisted giggling, and I wanted to close my eyes. But I no longer had a say in what I did. Something else was driving my moves¡ªsomething raw and trustworthy.

    My hands were trembling; as did every breath I took.

    The leaves falling from the trees were clear within my view, each tree distanced from me from all angles. Each crushed branch under my steps. The trees'' intertwining branches above my head deprived me of the moonlight and stars¡¯ embrace.

    SKRELF! A rip sound through my clothes. Sudden, cold, and sharp fangs grazed my back and pushed me forward, unintentionally giving me momentum.

    A weak scream left my lips at the impact. Pain tears and abundant sweat blurred my vision.

    Warm liquid dripped down my back.

    My heart beat inside my head. So fucking loud.

    Vision became blurry. Sounds were getting farther and farther away¡­

    Even though the monsters were right behind - close enough that their breath was on my neck - their steps sounded distant.

    Shapes blurred around me. The shades of grey intertwine into a nightmarish darkness, reminding me of being underwater.

    A stone skipped.

    Distant hissing.

    A tree evaded.

    A heavy scratch on my arm.

    A huff on my shoulder.

    The burning in my calves. Fainter than I knew it was.

    My breaths felt like they weren''t my own. Loud. Desperate. And unfamiliar.

    The blood on my back was warm, prickly, and... dull.

    The sky cleared above my head, there were no longer trees to evade. When did I make it out of the forest?

    The grass under my bare foot was rough. Cold. I wasn''t sure where I was going. Or if I was even moving.

    Sky in the distance. I would have gone there, to the far deep, starry beauty. But I crashed into a wall. And the ground tilted¡­ Or was that me?

    A loud thud. I was on all fours on the grass.

    My breaths felt unfamiliar.

    Gritted teeth. I turned on my back to meet the sight of the monsters, backing away, even as I was sitting.

    They loomed over me. No silhouette resembled the other, the only repeated trait was the crimson in their bulging eyes.

    They were observing me, no longer in a frenzy. Their hisses had gone quiet.

    Jaw clenched. Rough grass inside my fist. And with a daring, shaky effort, I ripped it off, nails picking up the mud underneath it, and threw it up at the monsters. The mud crashed against their indiscernible, blurry faces, and the grass floated in the wind.

    Fear had evaporated from my system. The only remains were an unfamiliar burning sensation in my heaving chest and a spiteful look in my eyes.

    The Vamlins backed away, their ear-grinding sounds turned whimpers. But it was not because of my lousy attack.

    My vision began to clear, focusing their attention and its target. They were looking at something behind me.

    I turned around and looked up, blinking as I distinguished that the wall I crashed onto was a man. Clothed in dark clothes, barely recognizable against the night''s canvas.

    A chill coursed through my back, my instinct telling me that this man was a bigger danger than these monsters.

    His hair was black, softly moving against the night breeze. His features were too far to sight, but his eyes... The cold, apathetic cold in his eyes was clear even from afar. His gaze studied my wild state, casting a lingering look on the trembling in my hands, which tightened around the grass.

    He muttered a word I couldn¡¯t hear.

    The stranger''s gaze shifted back to the Vamlins, who seemed to be paralyzed in his presence. I staggered sideways, leaving the two threats face to face.

    Run. I have to run

    I looked out toward the hill''s side: my next destination.

    The man took a deep breath, and from the corner of my eye, I caught him crouching to meet my height. I stiffened, stabilizing my shaky body.

    "Hey," he called, and I turned to look at him, breath-catching as I met his careful, concerned gaze. "Are you alright?"

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    A moment of quiet dawned upon the hill, my focus quietly shifting to the soft breeze''s sound against my ears.

    His expression was that of distant curiosity and a hint of feigned concern, which seemed to serve more as a polite mask than anything sincere.

    But my stupid body did its stupid thing.

    Tears rushed to my eyes. My breath was released steadily. And my heart tightened both at the thought of how pathetic I was and at the comfort the question gave me.

    Are you alright?

    The words melted over me like water on dry sand... How pathetic of me

    A small whimper resonated on the ground by my foot. There, sniffing the air beside my leg was a winged little creature, with a fluffy golden coat and large, sparkly, completely black eyes. A fox... with wings. The creature seemed to belong to the stranger, who glanced upon it briefly.

    The low moonlight caught on his skin, pulling out a faint olive warmth beneath the shadows. His features were sharp, unapologetically so¡ªthe kind of face that seemed carved out of both boredom and a ruthless sort of curiosity. My eyes traced the line of his nose, straight and clean, and the shape of his jaw, shadowed just enough to make him look¡­ striking. I was about to pull my gaze away when his eyes found mine, dark and unreadable.

    A hesitant curiosity kept me looking at him, that and my stubbornness to deny any fear on my expression as there was.

    I opened my mouth to speak, but his expression shifted. His gaze sharpened and his expression tightened, his brows coming together subtly as a flicker of something more complex crossed his face. The cold in his gaze sharpened into a familiar anger, his nose scrunching into a look I recognized well: hatred.

    "Cursed, are we? How envious." His words seemed a thought that slipped his grasp. His voice was almost a whisper. Sweet, but laced with a tangible edge.

    He clicked his tongue, letting show his sharp canines. Reaching up to fix the collar of his cloak, the stranger stood up lazily and threw the hood over his head.

    The spark of humanity in his eyes died off as he took one last glance at me.

    As he began to retreat, the monsters turned to me with renewed hunger. My stomach clenched as their gaze fell on me, a hollow ache building with each slow step they took.

    "To die. I''m cursed to die, aren''t I?" It was the first conclusion I made. And I had a strong inkling that I hit the nail right on the head

    "Glad I could be informative.¡± He muttered, turning away completely. The winged fox followed suit.

    My legs were shaking. The adrenaline had worn off, and my sanity felt as though it was slipping through my grasp with each breath I took. But I sat up, keeping my expression composed.

    Though I lost half of it in my journey, I still had some gold on me. I could have used that, had I not noticed the quality of his clothes, the long deep grey cloak, the neat condition of his hair, the collar of his chemise, and the elegance with which this stranger carried himself.

    If not money, what could appeal to him?

    "Why did you even come here?" I asked. There was no response, he simply carried ahead. Then, he stopped, looked up at the sky, then at the little fox, let his shoulders slump, and threw a glance back.

    "I was hoping to meet the talent behind a certain discovery of mine..." he turned around, making the monsters freeze again, only whimpers sounding out of their mouths.

    I followed his hand¡¯s motion as it sunk into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a familiar statuette. My cute little stone golem-shaped wooden figurine.

    "Pip..." I stood up.

    "Pip?" The stranger repeated, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. He looked down at my statuette and let out a bit of a chuckle.

    The cute name didn''t seem to fit the golem any longer. It was drenched in dried droplets of blood, and its arms were torn off.

    The kit''s sniffing around me only just made sense. It wasn''t the curse the animal was smelling; it was tracking the maker of Pip.

    "I pride myself in many things," I replied. "Pip is hardly one of them."

    "Really now?" A glint of curiosity flickered through his eyes, then faded into the focused hostility his eyes warded off. "Is your will to live included? It must be." There was a backdrop of dry humor to every word he spoke.

    "Why do you ask?" I didn''t have it in me to question if that was a twisted threat.

    "Since your curse is so strong it reeks. Yet that look is on your face." His nose scrunched up, his glare intensifying.

    What look?

    "No," I lifted my chin. "My refusal to die is but a testament to the knowledge I possess¡ªand must protect.¡±

    "Knowledge so valuable it sustains your will to live?" He scoffed, taking a deliberate step closer. The dismissive curl of his lip barely masked his intrigue.

    "Knowledge beyond what you could ever hope to grasp, I am certain."

    The stranger''s brow lifted, a flash of surprise betraying him. The inexplicable spite in his gaze was the same, yet I saw another spark flicker beneath¡ªthe unmistakable tug of curiosity.

    A heavy quiet fell between us, amplifying the sound of heartbeats in my head.

    He leaned closer, his voice a low rasp. "Then I suppose this is a last-ditch plea to preserve that knowledge, is it not?" His hollow gaze bored into mine.

    I held it, unflinching. "It is merely a confession, Sir."

    If he would not offer his help voluntarily, then I needed to make him an offer he couldn¡¯t refuse.

    A faint, impatient crease marked his brow, but he was far too practiced to show more. I would need to press harder.

    I needed to press harder.

    "I know things fro-"

    "Skull of Mabrin." His shoulders slumped. "Are you familiar with such a thing?" He asked, tone expectant.

    Raking my memory, I sifted through details from Wholeheartedly Yours, straining to piece together what he meant.

    Skull of Maldrid. Skull of Montier. I knew where those could be found. But... Mabrin? What the fuck is a Mabrin?!

    "... Three-headed dragon from the Korpian Records,¡± I said. ¡°Maldrid, Montier, and... Mabrin. Is that what you mean?" A daring assumption was the best I could muster.

    The stranger blinked at me, surprised.

    My eyebrows lifted as relief came to wash over me. ¡°Wrong.¡± His eyebrows fell down and the word came over me like a boulder.

    I braced for impact, fists tightening at the thought of him taking offense to my audacity and leav¡ª

    "Tears of the Dead." He said, making me realize I had shut my eyes tightly like a fucking child. "Your precious knowledge must encircle such an item." The unconvinced look in his eyes told me that that was a threat just now.

    It felt like this was a procedure he went through often.

    The glint of interest I had gained initially was fading with every breath I took.

    "I know what that is. And I know how to get ahold of them."

    The stranger gave me a dull look. "Lies. How predictable." He huffed, trying to turn away.

    "I am not lying." I grabbed the sleeve of his cloak, grunting at the reminder of the claw injury on my back. "I promise."

    ¡°Then, you must be able to tell me what they are.¡±

    ¡°I cannot. If I do, I lose any leverage in our agreement¡ªyou must understand as much.¡±

    ¡°An agreement?¡± He scoffed.

    ¡°A bargain.¡± I nodded, determined. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the means to acquire it¡­ if you will but strike a bargain with me.¡±

    His eyes flickered with offense, then cooled to a weary, measured patience.

    "... Very well." He muttered, waving a dismissive hand at the monsters that were facing him.

    Before I could comprehend, the creatures were reduced to crimson mush on the ground. They¡¯d not made a sound, nor drawn a breath, before his dark substance mana engulfed them into a ball and tightened in a blink, leaving a tiny ball of meat that fell apart with the disappearance of his mana.

    The sudden silence was chilling. I sank to my knees, strength abandoning me, staring wide-eyed at the remnants of what had only moments before threatened my life.

    My breaths hitched, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

    The greatest terror I¡¯d known had vanished in an instant¡ªby his hand.

    My thoughts spun as bile climbed up my throat.

    I turned, wide-eyed, to the stranger, who now sat, legs crossed, a small kit balanced upon his knee.

    ¡°Why stare so? Was it not their death you¡¯d hoped for?¡± His tone bore that smooth, chilling calm. ¡°I hold little for the notion of a threat. So do me the courtesy of speaking truthfully henceforth, miss."

    I swallowed the acid and bit my tongue¡ªan effort to ground myself.

    ¡°Now tell me, is it truth you speak?¡± he asked again, his eyes an unreadable shade of calm.

    ¡°Y-Yes¡­ I promise.¡±

    A light nod and a grunt was all of his reaction. The stranger thought for a moment, analyzing my state, and taking occasional looks at his kit.

    ¡°Long, fair hair¡­ blue eyes so vibrant. Vernon¡¯s criminal daughter, I take it?" The stranger gently patted the back of his kit''s fur as he spoke. "Well, consider yourself fortunate to bear the name Ashdown.¡± A light grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, threatening to reveal his dimples. ¡°As fortune would have it, I am fascinated by the thought of having an Ashdown under my command. This little meeting shall prove¡­ fruitful, I think.¡±

    Every word that left this man¡¯s lips felt like a lie.

 Faustian Bargain

    ¡°So,¡± I began, my voice measured, ¡°you¡¯re willing to make a contract with me?¡±

    The stranger¡¯s mouth curved in a barely-there grin that only deepened my unease. ¡°Not from any fondness, I assure you. Only a lively struggle has enough entertainment value to distract me from that¡­ stench that reigns upon you.¡±

    I lifted an eyebrow, matching his gaze with feigned calm.

    ¡°So long as we¡¯re clear on the terms.¡± My lips quirked. ¡°Or¡­ does my curse have you a little cautious?¡± I bit my tongue as soon as I uttered the words.

    ¡°Cautious?¡± His dark eyes glinted with mocking amusement.

    No. You can¡¯t take it back now, Penelope you fucking idiot.

    ¡°I simply have standards, Little Thorn. Even in my dealings with the cursed.¡±

    I swallowed, chin lifted, making a point to meet his gaze, even if I had to strain against the height between us.

    The night breeze began to pick up pace, sharpening the rustling of the hill¡¯s long grass and brushing against the injury on my back, and rustling through my loose hair, almost long enough to reach my waist, wavy and light.

    ¡°Well then,¡± I said, mustering a steady smile, ¡°I¡¯ll take this as a rare fortune¡­ For the both of us.¡±

    ¡°Luck has little to do with it,¡± he countered, letting each word linger, his exasperation obvious through his tone.

    ¡°Let us be perfectly clear: to save you would be a strategic nuisance. I would be interrupting fate to ensure your survival, Little Thorn. It is you who stands in far greater need of this contract. With such a powerful curse upon you, you shall surely meet your end within the week... if not sooner.¡± His gaze swept over me, as though he relished the weight of his words.

    I couldn¡¯t argue back; he was completely right.

    ¡°I am not so dull of mind; I understand my debt to you if this contract spares my life. Provided, of course, that you never speak of our meeting tonight, nor dispel any news of my supposed death, which I anticipate will spread soon enough. If you adhere to these terms, I will repay you in full.¡± I said, willing my voice to stay calm. ¡°I shall procure the Tears of the Dead for you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you will,¡± he repeated, slightly nodding in satisfaction. ¡°And in return, I shall ensure your continued existence until that time.¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Very well,¡± I extended him my hand¡ªbruised and shaky.

    He looked at it with mild distaste but took it, his grip unyielding.

    ¡°Know this,¡± he said quietly, his tone a low, steely threat. ¡°If you lied about your ability to deliver the Tears, your life is mine the moment this contract spell is sealed.¡±

    I hesitated, and he caught onto it through my gaze, making him slightly raise an eyebrow and observe cautiously.

    I wasn¡¯t lying. I didn¡¯t know if the book lied about Tears of the Dead as it lied about Penelope Ashdown¡¯s death scene, but right now, I was not lying.

    I held his gaze, swallowing down my fear. ¡°I haven¡¯t lied. Do your worst, Sir.¡±

    A glint of approval crossed his face, quickly replaced by indifference again. ¡°Oh, I intend to.¡±

    My fingers were trembling against his warm skin, and although my chest felt stiff at this forced contact, I could muster this much patience for the sake of my literal life.

    There was a chance this man was not well-meaning at all and this so-called deal we were about to make was but a scam, and I would get betrayed and my stupid trus¡ª

    A light sizzle noise came from the area where our skin touched, followed by a light tingle along my palm and up my arm, making me flinch. That, as it seemed, amused the stranger, since a light scoff left his lips.

    His hand lingered for a moment.

    ¡°Done,¡± he whipped his hand away, brushing his palm against his cloak as though cleansing himself of the contact.

    I braced myself for the deadly pain that I learned should come after a spell.

    But nothing came.

    I looked up at him, confused. Meeting his careful, sharp black eyes, I noted that the warmth of his skin, the neatness of his haircut, and the sharpness of his features became increasingly pronounced, growing more striking with each shift of light as it threatened to spill over the horizon.

    The sun was rising.

    ¡°You¡¯re tethered to me now. If you¡¯re on the edge of death, I¡¯ll find you.¡±

    My shoulders rolled down as I listened to him talk.

    ¡°But do keep this simple,¡± he added, his sharp, gleaming eyes narrowing. ¡°I have no patience for theatrics.¡±

    A strange warmth spread through me, dulling the pain in my limbs. I exhaled, tension blending with a sliver of relief.

    ¡°Is that all?¡±

    ¡°For now, yes.¡±

    How come this time it¡¯s so different¡­?

    ¡°Oh, and one more thing.¡± The stranger leaned in, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. ¡°If you lie, try to break this spell, or fail to bring me the Tears by the deadline¡­¡± His gaze hardened, a glacial threat behind it. ¡°You¡¯ll wish that curse had killed you.¡±

    I swallowed hard. ¡°I understand... Wait, what deadline?¡±

    ¡°Yes, the deadline. For now, there is none.¡± He tilted his head slightly as if savoring the suspense. ¡°But my heart will decide on one soon enough.¡±

    ¡°What? What kind of unreliable contract is this?¡±

    He tilted his head with a slight smirk, his amusement sharp. ¡°This, Little Thorn, a Ferdowsian Contract.¡±

    ¡°I knew this was a scam,¡± I muttered, frustration mixing with the unease.

    ¡°Hm?¡± His eyes gleamed with curiosity.

    ¡°Do let me know when your heart decides on the deadline...¡± The words slipped out, sharp-edged, but I couldn¡¯t hide the unease creeping in.

    ¡°No more questions?¡± He asked.

    ¡°Nothing comes to mind.¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re either fearless, or incredibly stupid.¡±

    I met his gaze, a bitter chuckle escaping me. ¡°Aren¡¯t we both?¡±

    He smiled, and for once, it reached his eyes, pronouncing the lines of his dimples and the squinting of his eyes. ¡°Perhaps. But I think time will tell.¡±

    His voice was deceptively light as he turned, the shadows gathering around him in the faint morning light.

    As he turned to go, his little fox followed in his steps, and I exhaled a tense breath, half-relieved, half-dreadful. The shadows around him stretched with the first light of morning, leaving me alone with a sense of unwelcome relief.

    Only once I was on my way back to the used-to-be camping site did I remember two things I had discarded in the mess;

    I never asked for the stranger¡¯s name.

    And¡­

    Whatever became of Sir Truman?

    <hr style="font-weight: 400">

    Standing beside the unconscious Truman, exactly where I¡¯d left him earlier¡ªunharmed and certainly not attacked¡ªthe noble, foolish part of me swore up and down that I was under the legal duty to check up on him and tend to his wounds.

    I think he¡¯s alive. But I¡¯m too scared to check his pulse.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back. Hang in there, Sir Truman.¡± The selfish part of me won, this time around.

    I shook my head and tightened my hold on his glass dagger while sprinting past his unconscious body, and hurrying towards the destroyed campsite.

    My arms were still shaking from all that had happened, and my heart was pounding, telling me to open my eyes wide and stay on guard.

    I just need to hurry and get what I need, then come back and tend to his wounds so we can leave together.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    My steps faltered as I reached the remnants of the camp. Charred wood still smoked faintly, scattered debris a mute testament to all that had happened here.

    Broken carriages lay overturned, wheels splintered, their contents scattered across the muddy ground¡ªtattered tents, shattered crates, torn leather.

    The smell of decay hit me before I even saw them: the bodies of the horses, twisted and bloated, their once-glossy coats now mottled with rot. Strewn among the carnage were the lifeless forms of knights and servants, their faces frozen in terror.

    The bloodstains had long since dried, but the grotesque remnants of the unnatural clung to the scene like a curse.

    There was no living soul in sight, not even the birds dared to fly down and gnaw at the remnants of the people, of the monsters, no trace of motion in a disturbing picture of the chaos.

    For some time, I stood frozen, the image searing into my mind despite my effort to move on.

    The sun had detached itself from the horizon and was climbing up the sky. A scouting party will likely arrive here soon. There was no way all of the screaming and screeching from yesterday went unheard.

    I shook my head, curling my palm into a fist as I looked through the area, resisting the familiar, ever-so-appalling stench of blood permeating the air.

    I headed towards one of the less damaged but overturned carriages. Its door was on its surface, and the compartment I targeted was vertical.

    I searched through jumbled items, ignoring my stupid curiosity to seek out the source of the pungent metallic stench I knew was nearer than that of the corpses lying close by.

    ¡­ It came from inside the carriage I was searching.

    I grabbed whatever clothes I found, as well as the basic leather box I recognized to contain some medical treatment material. Bandages, salves, smelling salts, and a small bottle of alcohol. It wasn¡¯t much¡ªjust a crude, stinging antiseptic¡ªbut it would have to do.

    I freed myself from the ragged dress and the corset beneath it, every movement pulling at the raw ache in my back. I took off all of the gold on me and threw it into a neckerchief, then set it aside.

    I couldn¡¯t see what the wound looked like, but I knew I had to treat it if just minimally for the time being. Once I made it out of here, I would get someone to look at it.

    The salve tin caught my eye. Quickly, I removed the lid and sniffed the pale green, waxy ointment, catching a few ingredients based on that. Thyme, and something sharper¡ªperhaps lavender¡ªrose from it, mingling with the earthy smell of lanolin.

    This was a fortunate find. At least I wouldn¡¯t be worried about any tearing or dryness for the wound.

    I smeared alcohol on my hands, grabbed a clean cloth, and drenched it next before dabbing where I felt the injury to be with it.

    The sting from the injury should have been intense, but with every moment I wasted on this ghostly campsite pulling on my sanity, I could feel my nerves less and less.

    Once the wound was dressed and secured, carefully, I pulled on some brown wool trousers, which were a little too big for me, but the sturdy fabric felt reassuring as I cinched the waistband tighter. I shrugged into the high-collared shirt, its crisp edges brushing against my neck and wrists. It was big enough to leave my bandaged back untouched. I slipped some boots on; sturdy, low-heeled, and made from well-worn leather.

    The kerchief hiding my treasures went into my trousers¡¯ deep pockets, and I fastened the dark, weighty overcoat on me.

    I stood up, ready to move along when my eyes accidentally landed on the source of the stench I had tried to ignore until now. My palm flew to my mouth, clenching around my face.

    ¡°Aah¡­¡± I groaned in pain.

    The door of the carriage was broken in, which gave me access to the sight inside of it.

    Disorderly, incomplete, crimson body parts smothered the carriage¡¯s walls, and even leaked outside on the ground, broken chains lay handing out of the carriage. But the victims inside this carriage weren¡¯t the usual lifeless knights or unrecognizable maids.

    ¡­ Small body parts.

    Before I could completely comprehend what I¡¯d seen, suddenly, my vision went dark, and I lost sensation of my feet. The next thing I felt was the strong bang of my head against the ground.

    For several moments, I lay on the wet grass, groaning as my mental desire to flee this scene combatted the void sitting in the pit of my soul.

    The more I blinked, the more violet the sky turned, the shadier the trees in the distance became, and the darker the color of the glass I laid on got.

    I plastered both palms on the ground and firmly propelled myself back up. Then, I grabbed the bag of clothes and remaining medical supplies I had prepared for Truman.

    I had to move.

    I was walking. Wobbly, tears running down my face, but I was walking.

    It¡¯s okay. Everything is alright.

    I¡¯m almost done.

    I¡¯m almost there.

    I reached a convenient puddle of red, and an unrecognizable woman¡¯s corpse lay lifelessly on it.

    With shivering hands and blurry vision, I tore the clothes off of whatever remained of her and threw them away. I dressed her hollow chest in my corset and tore up my rag, though it was already in pieces, and drenched parts in the puddle, making it seem as though the rag got torn along with¡­ her¡­

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡± I was huffing, head slipping down now and then when my vision momentarily abandoned me.

    No¡­ It¡¯s fine.

    I grabbed the glass dagger from the leather bag and used it to cut off my hair.

    The length it now became wasn¡¯t consistent throughout. I was left with nearly neck-length hair, smothered in dried blood and dirt.

    I threw the hair onto her face and around her body. There was enough to paint a dramatic scene, charged with all of the emotions that were slowly driving my sanity down the drain.

    That was the last piece to my puzzle, and thanks to the fact that the maid¡¯s head was¡­ incomplete¡­

    It should be recognizable enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m done,¡± I huffed, mustering a weak grin. ¡°Thank, huff, you¡­¡± I smiled at my designated doppelg?nger.

    I pulled the newsboy cap low over my eyes and relied on the ground to help me stand back up as I searched for the forest.

    ¡°¡ªgo! Stop!¡± Distant noise. Perhaps my internal self¡­

    I trudged towards the forest, the glass dagger in my hand. It was time to go¡­

    ¡°¡ªelp¡ª! Someone!¡±

    ¡°You¡ª hear you, my lo¡ª!¡±

    A man¡¯s voice?

    I stopped, frowning as I threw a glance back.

    Since when did my internal voice sound like a man¡¯s¡ª

    I caught it. Blurry eyes and all.

    There, where tents were once set, stood two figures¡­ and a beat-up carriage.

    My vision cleared up as the tears dried from my eyes.

    ¡°Get off me! You fucking lunatic!¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m just trying to get a taste, let me¡­¡±

    Alice.

    And that toothless knight.

    She was pinned against the carriage. The knight, covered in a brown substance, was holding her by the neck.

    My breaths grew distant, as I slowly pieced together what was happening.

    He was reaching for his pants.

    And she was screaming bloody murder.

    I heard the noise of a swallow, and then nothing else.

    And the blood. It was still everywhere.

    There were bodies around them, lifeless. But that man didn¡¯t seem to care.

    I wasn¡¯t doing anything, but somehow, I was getting closer and closer to the two.

    Alice was wide-eyed, beating the guy¡¯s chest with as much power as she could.

    My vision went black every few seconds.

    My ears began ringing.

    The head bang from earlier¡­ No, something internal. Something visceral was taking effect¡­

    Memories were returning to me, accompanied by such cold, suffocating rage.

    Alice¡¯s pink eyes flashed green. And Fars¡¯ stature morphed into one much more recognizable. His dark hair curled into blonde strands. He snarled down at her, his glasses catching some harsh, imaginary gleam. Was it him? Or was this just¡­my mind turning on itself?

    He was shouting at her face, the back of his body facing me.

    Young Penelope, her green eyes bloodshot, and that man¡¯s firm grip on her curly brown hair. She pushed back against his grip, eyes searching her surroundings for a weapon.

    She wanted to kill him.

    She wanted to get him off of her.

    I couldn¡¯t let him do that to me.

    Images of my dark apartment lounge, and the quiet shrill of an eerie summer night.

    Similar to the one that filled the air now again.

    The purple sky¡¯s color through the lenses of my barely conscious mind was a backdrop to something that I needed to relieve, long since my death.

    Every bruise on my body echoed the words in my head: harder, harder.

    But my vision was dark.

    Flashes of a heavy car against my body. A curled fist against my jaw. The burning tears and her cold corpse in my arms. A cold shard against my neck. All of the despicable blood smeared on my gloves. And hungry, murderous intent haunting my soul.

    ¡°You¡¯re cursed.¡± That stranger said.

    How stupid of him to point out a fact so clear to me since the day I was birthed.

    Everything went dark.

    ¡­ Then I saw myself behind Benjamin. Or is it Fars?

    I saw hope intertwined with fear inside her green eyes. No. Pink eyes.

    All black again.

    The dagger¡¯s handle felt cold in my hand. It kept moving without my consent.

    The ringing in my ears came to a halt. The next thing I knew; I was on my knees.

    My vision was clearer this time.

    On her knees. Eyes open wide. Alice was saved.

    And Benjamin laid on the ground, facing down.

    ¡°¡­ it''s red.¡± I muttered, looking at the weapon in my hand.

    I looked up, vaguely discerning Alice¡¯s emotional gaze. Fear, gratitude, and¡­ Fascination.

    What a strange combination to hold in one¡¯s eyes.

    Her expression was grim. She ripped the dagger out of my hands and began frantically wiping the red off of them.

    ¡°It-it¡¯s alright,¡± She spoke words neither of us believed.

    I glanced at the sky as it slowly regained its blue color, becoming more lightheaded with each stiff breath I took... And all I wanted was to let out the sharpest, most painful scream I could.

    I know what I did¡­ And I know I did it again, and again, and again, and again.

    I also knew why my vision was blurry, and thoughts were hazy.

    My sanity is giving up on me, at long last.

    ¡°Penelope,¡± Alice¡¯s hands held my shoulders and shook me. ¡°My lady, are you okay!?¡±

    My lips parted so I could talk, so I could whisper, so I could breathe the words. My chest felt hollow, like every breath was swallowed by a black hole in my ribs.

    "I should¡¯ve done more," I murmured, though I wasn¡¯t sure if I meant for her, or for me.

    My eyes rolled back, and with a snap¡ªlike a string breaking inside my mind¡ªmy head lolled, and a strange, warm numbness seeped in as I felt myself fold down, sinking deeper and deeper, slipping into somewhere dark and quiet. The tension melted, leaving nothing. Just¡­ silence.

 Little Words

    Quiet filled my mind, wrapping me in its unyielding embrace. Quiet I wished would last forever.

    Lovely, to sit between comfort and void.

    Parts of my mind felt broken, permanently lost. Memories and sensations I would normally be recalling on a loop until I wished this dim would swallow me into nonexistence, all of it I couldn''t recall if I tried.

    The silence stretched wide and long. Or at least, as such I felt.

    Because this quiet wasn''t mine alone.

    In this dim, somehow, I knew that someone else''s presence lingered, breathing over my shoulder and reminding me with utmost cruelty that even in this void, I wasn''t alone.

    A ray of golden light flickered in the loosely comfortable void¡ªa weightless place where nothing was. In a blink, everything was set alight.

    Warmth that wasn¡¯t my own filled my chest, as I gazed over a long, seemingly endless horizon. Green and golden. Breezy and warm.

    And it invited me in.

    A large tree in the distance called my name. A grand and majestic oak, its sprawling crown brimming with restless leaves, each whisper carried by the breeze.

    I left the dim behind me and approached its shadow, my small body seeking refuge from the light. My hands felt sticky, weighed down with something I didn¡¯t want to name.

    The trunk of the old tree was full of scribblings. Words I couldn¡¯t read and shapes that meant nothing.

    All but one carving drew my eye. My fingers hovered over it.

    The breeze brushed against my skin, carrying the birds'' far chirping, the grass''s soft rustling, and distant laughter.

    I glanced over my shoulder. The dim was gone, replaced by a marble white house gleaming in the sunlight.

    Silhouettes moved in front of it, heading in my direction: young kids and their mother.

    Right, I¡¯d come here before them. I remembered now.

    Their outlines shifted as if caught between two realities. One moment, they were strangers¡ªthe next, my siblings. I blinked, and the truth slipped away again.

    ¡°Penelope, darling!¡± The woman called out, waving her hand in my direction.

    ¡°Mother!¡± The word slipped from my lips unbidden, the voice my own but the feeling unfamiliar.

    Maybe it was the distance that made Ma''s silhouette so unfamiliar?

    I stood where I was, the sun warming my face as I watched them come closer. I smiled, my hands curled behind my back.

    The stickiness clung to my palms, each drop hitting the ground with a sharp finality.

    The droplets fell one by one¡ª thunk, thunk, thunk. The sound grew heavier, slowly transforming into the crunch of footsteps on dirt.

    I blinked, the sunlight blurring into muted greys and greens.

    Warmth faded, leaving behind an ache in my chest and the stiff weight of my limbs. My body rocked with each step, jostled as if carried by someone.

    The world returned piece by piece, hazy and foreign until I realized where I was¡ªor rather, on whom I was slumped.

    It took effort to keep my eyes open. My body felt leaden, and my mind clung to the haze... unwilling to surface.

    My head basked against something solid, my limbs leaden and unresponsive. Each step jarred my body, the motion both rhythmic and nauseating.

    I grunted, the pain of the injury on my back faint, but present enough to send chills through my body. It felt cold, as if clumsily bandaged in wet tissue.

    Roused by it, if only a tad, I caught sight of what my face lolled against; the silver single-shoulder armor.

    For a moment, I was caught between the relief that he was alive and the confusion about where I was or what I was doing on his back. He is already well...

    A familiar metallic stench loomed strong on my carrier¡¯s body, yet given his sturdy steps, Truman seemed healthy enough.

    The thought of being on his back, barely able to open my eyes made my heart clench.

    All such thoughts left me grasping for the comfort of anger, but I was too drained to hold on to it.

    The sound of chirping crickets and the dirt crushing under heavy feet, the absence of the fog, and the sound of rustling water nearby... we must have left Fokchik''s hill.

    That hill¡­

    Images flickered in my mind¡ªcrackling fire, echoing laughter, whispers on the wind¡­

    ... why did it ache to think of it?

    A third figure walked alongside us, her steps quiet, her gaze watchful.

    Her eyes, a deep shade of pink, locked onto mine for a fleeting moment before my body gave in to the weight of sleep again.

    ~

    A crunchy texture pressed against my cheek.

    I adjusted my body with much effort. The rough chemise and the tight grip of my long coat gave me little warmth as I lay on what felt like plucked grass covered in cloth.

    Slowly, I opened my eyes. Blurred shapes sharpened into the silhouettes of distant trees, their shadows mingling beneath a starry sky. They stood like silent sentinels, encircling the frost-bitten grass and skeletal branches. The air was still, devoid of the cricket song.

    I groggily sat up, relieved by the absence of the hair length that would usually get caught everywhere. Yet somehow missing the heat.

    The fire¡¯s heat struck me from the side¡ªits crackling glow pulling my gaze. Twigs and ripped grass fed the flames, surrounded by a barrier of jagged stones.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    I blinked, and the memories seeped in.

    A hoard of monsters, swamping towards the giant fire. The sound of taken lives. The towering trees¡­ The fall.

    A stick stirred the flames, held by the knight who saved my life. Truman sat on a cloth-covered boulder, his high cheekbones and disheveled hair illuminated by the fire, gaze watchful of the fire. The golden in his eyes shimmered against the blaze¡¯s dance, lips dry and face drawn with sleepless nights.

    After that deal with the stranger and his little fox¡­ Despite everything, I returned¡ªto the blood, to the carnage.

    My stomach churned as more and more memories flooded my mind.

    Alice. Fars. And¡­

    I glanced down at my hands. Dark, dried blood stained the pale skin, smudged with futile attempts to wipe it.

    A soft cough resonated next to the fire again. I turned to find Alice seated there,

    All of the scrutiny of her gaze had melted into an empty look lost within the fire¡¯s flames. A light cloth was draped over her shoulders, and her breaths formed little white clouds in the air, her short silken hair partially reflecting the moonlight. She seemed untouched by the harsh night, serene as ever.

    A striking migraine shattered my thoughts, making me refocus my attention on the present.

    I was free.

    My plan had come to fruition.

    No sacrifices, no moral quandaries.

    I was free¡­ and everyone else was dead.

    An inexplicable weight pressed against my chest, unrelenting.

    I buried my face in my hands, feeling the fire¡¯s warmth on my left side. Truman and Alice glanced at me, but neither spoke.

    A soft thud beside me made me look up. Truman had tossed me a blanket I recognized. Our eyes met briefly, a silent message. Then he turned back to the fire.

    He wore the clothes I had packed for him¡ªa brown wool mantle over a black tunic, and woolen gloves. This knitted blanket was one of the things I¡¯d packed.

    I draped it over my knees, staring again at my stained hands.

    The sensation of the blood gnawed at me. And as if on cue, the pounding in my head spread to my eyes, making them burn and water.

    I shut them tightly. It¡¯s from the cold.

    The thought was laughable. Pathetic.

    I wanted to scream at myself. To claw back time. All those years I spent building a noble sort of future, the kind I always admired, washed away in a matter of days.

    And this is what¡¯s left of me?

    I had always been a despicable kind of person, but¡­ it was never this bad.

    Deep down, was I always the person she wanted me to be?

    I knew the pain he would have inflicted. I knew it too well. That burning, helpless feeling.

    He deserved every single hit. So¡­

    I clenched my fists, turning to look at the two survivors beside me.

    ¡°Is he dead?¡±

    The words left my lips in white, tense clouds, and the world couldn¡¯t have gotten quieter as I waited for a response.

    <hr>

    Through Alice¡¯s gaze, the world had stopped as Penelope Ashdown, with all of the unexpected gall of a woman gone mad, swung that sharp tool up in the air behind Fars¡¯ back.

    Alice had been caught in awe, for moments uncountable.

    She wondered if Penelope had meant to kill him. The rage in her eyes had been undeniable, but so too had the hesitation¡ªthe briefest flicker of something human before the blade fell.

    All the fury with which she acted could not have been born solely of a desire to save her¡ªindeed, why had she troubled herself to do so in the first place? Did she now regret it? Or did she regret failing to see the matter through to the end?

    Sitting across from the woman she thought she¡¯d understood, Alice hesitates. Penelope had always been an open book¡ªa most predictable tale. But now, there were pages Alice couldn¡¯t read.

    ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± She admitted, watching as the stiff posture of the blonde woman across softened. ¡°That thing was still breathing when we left him. And the scouting party wasn¡¯t far behind. We can only assume¡­ But he has likely survived.¡±

    Across the fire, Truman¡¯s gaze met hers¡ªsteady, observant. He said nothing.

    Penelope¡¯s bloodshot blue eyes glimmered in conflicted relief. She tightened the blanket around her shoulders and cozied up to the fire, the slight frown on her face intact.

    The flames¡¯ occasional crackling echoed through the clearing, not nearly strong enough to break anyone from their stupor.

    Alice took in another frosty breath, yet her insides felt warm.

    Sitting with two simpletons and the isolating, ominous night breeze, Alice¡¯s mind was strangely eased.

    I don¡¯t hate this as much as I should¡­

    There had never been something more distracting to Alice than people. Than their constant, unending thoughts. No dream of hers, whether it was coin, comfort, or luxury, could ever top the impossible silence she yearned for since the moment she was born.

    ¡­ Yet right now, facing a warm fire, no sounds were intruding upon her quiet.

    Truman¡¯s thoughts hovered at the edge of her awareness¡ªsimple, detached musings she could easily ignore. The simplicity of this man¡¯s mind was his most attention-grabbing trait.

    Still contemplating Truman''s traits, Alice''s gaze inevitably fell upon Penelope, whose disarray stood in stark contrast to the tranquility beside the fire.

    Firelight reflected upon the jagged ends of her hair, now hacked into an uneven neck-length tangle, framing her face like a halo, its imperfection striking. The once-luxurious locks, a treasured source of pride, had been reduced to something utilitarian.

    It suited her.

    Her frame was frail and scarred: a thin line across her neck, a redness along her slightly swollen jaw, a faint scratch on her forehead, and lips cracked and dry from injury.

    The elegance was gone, leaving only the raw, unpolished remnants of someone Alice wasn¡¯t sure she recognized.

    Alice¡¯s fingers twitched, briefly tempted to reach out and neaten the ragged edges, before she stilled the impulse. It wasn¡¯t her place. Not anymore.

    Alice held her neck, staring into the fire as the memory of the day her mistress was gone came to mind.

    That day, in the courtroom, standing before the prince, Alice saw the ever-so-dead gaze of her lady flash to life.

    And since then, silence.

    Alice hadn¡¯t known what to make of it¡ªwhether it unnerved or soothed her, she still couldn¡¯t quite decide.

    Owls hooted in the distance, and Truman carefully stirred the flames once more¡­

    The fear, the guilt, and the inhumanity of the day hadn''t escaped Alice. Those emotions lingered in the quiet corners of her mind, lurking just beneath the surface.

    But for now, she welcomed the stillness.

    Alice had always hated listening to people¡¯s minds. She hated their thoughts pressing into hers, no warning or consent.

    Tonight, for the first time, Alice could sit in silence¡ªno thoughts pressing against her own. And it unnerved her how comforting that felt.

    ¡°Shrewd move,¡± the Sinomian knight remarked at Penelope, breaking her out of her stupor. ¡°The staged death, I mean.¡±

    Penelope glanced up at him, a flicker of light passing through her gaze. She nodded politely, almost absentminded.

    Alice had taken note of Truman¡¯s demeanor. His posture was far from perfect: one leg stretched out before him, the other bent to maintain his balance as he sat. The warmth of his voice and the steady rhythm of his breathing conveyed a quiet ease.

    His mind and body spoke the same language. A strange man.

    This sort of thing Alice could only dream of before tonight. And yet here she was, able to experience the sort of peacefulness that people with eyes unlike hers could.

    And it all started with her; the only quiet mind Alice knew.

    ¡°¡­ Have you chosen a new name?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Right. That seems fitting after all this, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Truman remarked, watching for Penelope''s reply.

    ¡°No,¡± Penelope muttered, her voice strained. ¡°Not yet.¡±

    Penelope, or whoever she had become, grimaced against a pain that refused to relent. With a slow, deliberate motion, she picked up the poster boy hat from the ground and set it on her head, her eyes heavy and drooping, betraying exhaustion.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to bed.¡± With that, she laid back down and turned her back away, tightening a blanket around her.

    Truman gave her a lazy smile, though his gaze remained thoughtful. ¡°Good night, then.¡±

    Alice put out her hands to warm them against the fire. ¡°That might be the least appropriate thing to say tonight, Sir Truman.¡± She said, her expression blank.

    Truman stirred the fire again, "If you''re alive to hear it, then I see no better time to call it a good night." He lightly grinned, eyes on the fire. "That, and if you''re wealthier than you were yesterday." He gave a solemn nod.

 Two Can Play At That Game

    I pretended to sleep, but my thoughts wouldn¡¯t let me go¡ªnot for a moment. Incessant, anxious, grounding thoughts.

    After my headache calmed down a tad, I was able enough to turn on my back, though my injury slightly pricked me, strangely numb. I stared at the clear sky, observing the distant stars. Perhaps I could find comfort in watching something so vast and unchanging. Something familiar.

    I let my mind obsessively play the horrific occurrences. I recalled it again and again, until it didn¡¯t make my heart clench at the memory of the dagger in my hand, of the countless corpses and haunting stillness. Until my eyes stopped tearing up when I recalled the oath I took.

    ¡°I will maintain the utmost respect for human life.¡±

    Only the suffering was left of these words, for it wasn¡¯t the oath that gnawed at me, it was the years I had spent shaping myself to uphold it¡ªyears that now felt hollow and wasted.

    How strange it was to only now care for something I had hated so thoroughly¡­

    Well, all of that was meaningless now.

    No longer Penelope Ashdown, nor Penelope Horne. I had shed both skins, and what was now left I could only describe as¡­ tired.

    Somehow, this vague state felt truest to myself.

    These two strangers, sitting around the fire, both sound asleep, perplexed me to a degree.

    Truman, assigned to the night watch, slumped by the fire, his chin tipped forward and a faint snore escaping his lips. Alice, ever disciplined, lay perfectly poised on her makeshift bed, her stillness so complete it felt unnatural.

    There won¡¯t be any free labor coming from her part anymore. And Truman¡­

    I wondered why they helped me. And many things more. But I didn¡¯t have the energy to ask. Perhaps later.

    I recalled Alice¡¯s words about picking a new name. I had dismissed the prospect, thrilling and void. I wasn¡¯t sure who I could now be.

    The first step, Surviving, has been fulfilled. Everything has gone according to my initial plan, despite all of the variables that appeared. Now the rest remains.

    But as thorough as I thought I was, I had skimmed over the part where I renewed my identity.

    I wanted to survive more than anything else.

    And I did just that.

    ¡°I¡¯m free now,¡± I murmured to myself, looking up at my bloodstained hands. ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡±

    Tears slowly filled my eyes, blurring between the red, the orange, and the night.

    ¡­ I wish I could¡¯ve been happier now.

    ~

    By dawn, the sky was a pale gradient of deep blue near the top, softening into lighter shades of pink and lavender at the horizon. The air was sharp and crisp, the light brittle as the sun began to rise, but not yet strong enough to melt the cold. The frozen grass sparkled faintly, each blade edged with tiny ice crystals that caught the first light.

    The world felt still, the ground stiff with the bite of cold, and the faint mist hanging over the earth only added to the quiet. It was a moment frozen in time, waiting for the warmth of day to finally break through.

    Well, it would have been that, if not for the repetitive ripping sounds I made as I took generous bites from a stale loaf of bread I had packed in my leather bag.

    I sat on my brittle sleeping mat, the warm embers left from yesterday¡¯s fire keeping me from shivering, the fogginess of my mind momentarily settled thanks to hunger so strong it blinded me.

    I waited for one of my unfortunate companions to wake up, tidying up all the details of my plan which had slightly shifted due to the early monster attack.

    Alice had whimpered through most of the night, caught in what sounded like a nightmare. I let her have at it. People should deal with their own crap.

    And Truman¡­ Well, he¡¯s been out the longest.

    The aggressive munching I was in the middle of was actually not completely due to my hunger. Part of why I was being such a loud eater was a poor attempt to prompt these two to wake up.

    Thinking about Truman carrying me on his back the entire way here was guilt-tripping me into mustering some sort of polite consideration for him.

    It¡¯s fine. Another hour won¡¯t ruin the way of my plan.

    I kept my eyes on the landscape. Thin patches of snow speckled the ground, and in the distance, beyond the barren grey hills, a fine curtain of white was beginning to fall.

    It wouldn¡¯t be long before the storm reached us.

    My initial plan was more of a rush job, sketched out on the carriage ride from the Capital: a careful how to break out of prison. And last night, after I¡¯d finally managed two coherent thoughts in a row, I upgraded that into a step-by-step plan to achieve a peaceful life.

    My new plan contained three phases. And the first was maybe the most dangerous. I needed to get to Jeozdam Village. Quick as I can. Meaning, I had to drag these two unfortunate, temporary companions and dive into that upcoming storm, face first.

    I passed a hand over my face, rubbing my eyes, which felt sore and slightly puffy from all of the silent tears leaving them all night.

    Reaching out, I plucked two frost-kissed blades of grass, their icy touch waking my stiff, almost-numb fingers.

    Why can¡¯t I ever catch a break¡­

    I put the cold leaves on both my eyes. The cold burned against my skin, but at least it woke me up.

    Under normal circumstances, I would opt for a safer plan, and do whatever I could to ensure my survival first. But the stakes are high, and my purpose, my real purpose, has been clear to me the moment I looked into that mirror and saw a new chance in life before me.

    The stakes are high. I needed to get to Jeozdam. Or, more precisely, it was to get to him before Estelle Pureheart and her fianc¨¦ did.

    Supposedly, Estelle isn¡¯t scheduled to arrive for another month¡ªnot until her melodramatic reunion with William is over, where he forgives her for cheating on him. But I wasn¡¯t about to bet on luck. That kind of fortune was reserved for protagonists like her. Over-preparation was my safety net, and I intended to build the sturdiest one I could.

    Phase one would start as soon as these two woke up.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°¡­ What on earth are you doing?¡±

    Alice¡¯s voice broke through my thoughts, making me drop the two leaves I held on my face. Her pink eyes, still bleary from sleep, blinked at me in confusion.

    Finally.

    I didn¡¯t bother answering, ignoring her in favor of finishing my last bite of bread.

    Alice shook her head and turned to Truman. ¡°Sir Truman,¡± she called, her voice sharper.

    He stirred, grimacing in his sleep. ¡°Sir Truman, please wake up.¡±

    While I chewed the last of my bread, Truman jolted awake, straightening and swiftly wiping away nonexistent drool on his face.

    ¡°Zelba, I fell asleep,¡± he passed a hand over his face, his golden eyes shimmering faintly.

    I pursed my lips, deciding I should get up first. However, before I could fully spring up, unexpected dizziness darkened my vision, and sharp pain followed, climbing up my back to my neck.

    I gripped my head and sat back down, regaining my balance.

    When I opened my eyes, Alice was staring at me, her thin eyebrows slightly arched. Truman, meanwhile, gave me a look mildly tethered between grogginess and concern.

    ¡°I¡­¡± I scratched my chin, trying to untie the knot in my throat.

    Step one: Don''t die from infection.

    ¡°Alice, I might need your help with something,¡± I said, words tasting bitter.

    ¡°I think we are all in need of help as of right now,¡± Truman said, looking around at the quiet, eerie clearing. ¡°We are in the middle of nowhere,¡± he scratched the light beard on his chin.

    ¡°I have a more... urgent issue. I was injured that night. Here,¡± I pointed to my back. "And I''d like you to help me treat it," I said, taking off my coat.

    ¡°Injured?¡± Alice repeated, giving me a mildly interested look.

    I groaned, realizing why it was suddenly burning up. ¡°I think I¡­¡± I think I ripped it while trying to stand. Fuck. ¡°It hurts like a bitch¡­¡± I trailed off, unbuttoning the top of my blouse.

    ¡°Sir Truman, would you like glasses to watch?¡± Alice expressed, walking towards me. He gave me an encouraging nod and stood up.

    ¡°I will¡­ forest, then.¡± He pointed to the woods and followed his direction.

    The buttons refused to open up, making me grunt and grab the bottom of my shirt to take it off.

    ¡°Calm down, lady Penelo... My lady.¡± Alice crouched by my side.

    Once the shirt was off, I began undoing the bandages which covered almost up to my neck, giving my back to Alice.

    ¡°Fetch some wood while you are at it, Sir Truman,¡± Alice said, in a voice too low to reach a human being with normal hearing from this range.

    But Truman caught it, and even yelled back ¡°Will do!¡±

    I turned to look at Alice, and she was already searching within my leather bag. The peculiar piece of parchment rustled against her hand, and her gaze caught it, but she moved and grabbed the ointment bottle instead.

    I guess step two will have to wait.

    Holding the front of my chemise against my front in case someone wandered into the clearing. I shut my eyes tight and tried my hardest not to grunt at every turn.

    ¡°The injury is not so broad. It is not infected or anything, but it is deep, and partially bleeding. It might even scar, perish the thought,¡± Alice mumbled, analyzing. ¡°Your mana is likely exhausted with the jaw injury healing... It will take months to restore it naturally, my lady.¡± There was a hint of malaise in her tone.

    "Restore the injury or the mana?"

    "The mana. Once your injury heals naturally, which might take a few weeks, there is nothing your mana can do after that." She said.

    "... If it''s well treated, I''m sure it won''t scar." I hoped.

    ¡°I shan¡¯t take accountability for any pain you feel. I preface as much.¡±

    I could feel the air shift behind me, making me realize she was reaching in to start the treatment.

    ¡°¡ªWait!¡± I turned to her, worry laced in my tone. ¡°H-Have you done this before? Will you do it right? You wouldn¡¯t¡­¡± What if she hurts me on purpose? ¡°Channel your pity. I never wronged you.¡± I nearly commanded, my heart beating so loud she might hear it.

    Being in this position in front of someone who must harbor all but compassion towards me, I couldn¡¯t win against my paranoia.

    ¡°I for one, have never been a supporter of the Korpian Records. I was heartbroken to hear you would accompany me to prison when you were completely innocent. It¡¯s certainly not my fault that you are here, okay?" My voice was more ingenuine than I wished. "If you were in the same position, I would have helped you. And done it best I could.¡± I said, holding her gaze with determination.

    Not sure if I meant those words completely, but she didn¡¯t know that.

    ¡°Turn around, lady¡­¡± She pushed my shoulder forward, making me give her my back again.

    She began tapping a wet cloth against the wound.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer me.¡±

    My mind raced with the thought that she could easily make a mistake¡ªaccidentally or otherwise. "Alice." I insisted.

    ¡°I have enough experience in this field to make me a lady-in-waiting, Miss.¡±

    "So you''ve done this before?"

    "... Yes."

    Her hand was lighter than I expected. I gave in to her aid. I asked for it. I''m being an idiot. She probably knows what she''s doing. Okay. It''s going to be fine, surely.

    A few minutes later, she was done.

    Alice shoved the material into the leather bag again, and with a look that betrayed slight disdain, she spoke, ¡°As my master for all of these years¡­ You should have been aware of my capability in this field. This is certainly not the first time I treated¡­ you.¡±

    My eyes widened as I stared into her eyes, finally realizing what her cold gaze was trying to communicate to me.

    ¡°Y-You..." She stood up, her pink gaze synonymous with the vivid pink painted on the sky above us.

    The look you have when you can¡¯t say what¡¯s on your mind.

    Well, we can be two at this game.

    "Alice," I called, and she listened with the slightest of anticipation on her expression. "What ability does the color of your eyes give you?"

    Alice¡¯s expression froze for the briefest of moments before a flicker of anxiety crept into her composed demeanor. Her lips parted as if to respond, but the words never came. Instead, her eyes darted to the side, as though searching the horizon for an escape from the weight of my question.

    "I see no point in your question after so many years I have been at your service. Does the color displease you all of a sudden, miss?"

    She stopped calling me Penelope, or anything else she did before. The mere thought of what that meant was... strange. I shouldn''t care if she did, I had nothing to lose. But I''m sure did, which was why she was being so backhanded.

    I hated backhanded conversations.

    I won¡¯t see her once we part ways soon anyway. No need to live through unnecessary conflict.

    "Simple curiosity," I muttered. "I''m sure you experience it too."

    I wore my chemise again, the air''s chilliness reaching my bones. With care, I pushed my hands into the sleeves of the heavy coat.

    "You are welcome for the free medical care, miss." She gave me a petty glance and turned towards the woods, from which a large, familiar silhouette emerged.

    I clicked my tongue, leaving her cheekiness unattended. I tucked the stray hairs on the sides of my face behind my ears and took in consistent breaths, trying to brush off the pain as I stood up to gather my belongings.

    ¡°I found berries!¡± Truman, who''d emerged out of the woods, yelled out. His breaths formed white clouds around him as he approached. ¡°And wood!¡± He raised both hands, one holding a bundle of wood and the other holding the front of his shirt up from his abdomen, his shirt holding a pond of berries.

    Both Alice and I watched Truman approaching. In agreed quiet.

    ¡°We¡¯re all dead now¡­¡± Alice let the thought out.

    I looked back towards her, then towards Truman again.

    "I prefer ''we''re all free now.'' It''s more open-minded."

 Saving Money Is Wisdom

    The clearing had served as a brief sanctuary, a fleeting pause before we resumed our trek into the growing chill.

    We trudged away from it now, Truman and Alice walked ahead, their muted exchanges carried by the wind, while I followed silently. Truman¡¯s broad shoulders, laden with most of our supplies¡ªhis idea¡ªgave the impression of capability. His frame cast a dependable, if unsteady, silhouette against the pale horizon. Beside him, Alice moved with rigid precision, a figure carved from frost.

    ¡°I believe this way should be correct,¡± Truman said, his voice steady but unconvincing.

    The way his head turned every so often, his gaze scanning the horizon with faint uncertainty, betrayed just how lost he truly was.

    Out of my two companions, Alice was the sight to behold. She couldn¡¯t mask her irritation at Truman¡¯s obliviousness¡ªor my passivity. Her poker face, usually so formidable, was cracked in worry. She glided across the uneven terrain, the wind toyed with the hem of her coat and her unbound hair, but she held herself upright, her arms tightly crossed against her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes unsure where to look.

    The piercing chill seemed to shrink the world, as if hoping to erase our presence.

    The chill was growing fiercer, nipping at exposed skin and seeping through layers. Snow hadn¡¯t begun to fall yet, but the dense, grey sky warned it wouldn¡¯t wait much longer.

    Under different circumstances, I could not stand still at the thought of snowfall. It was my most beloved state of the world. To be lost between the symmetrical heaven and earth, and to be pecked with every fallen, extraordinary snowflake.

    But there was nothing but hollowness in my chest. Like I was unable to muster the excitement.

    I tilted my head upward, studying the sky.

    This aimless wandering was part of my plan. But it was spanning too long, making me wonder if I should omit my desire to build a docile image for myself in this journey in favor of expediency.

    A pair of pink eyes abruptly filled my vision, startling me out of my thoughts.

    ¡°Miss Alice?¡± Truman called from a few steps ahead, glancing over his shoulder with a bemused look.

    ¡°You,¡± Alice said, her tone sharp.

    I blinked, leaning back slightly. ¡°W-What is it?¡± I asked, feigning uncertainty.

    She narrowed her eyes, her words measured. ¡°Are you selfish, or are you unaware?¡±

    My lips parted in mild surprise at her bluntness. Straight to the point, as always. I was nearly impressed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not selfish,¡± I said, tone faintly defensive, like I stated a fact. ¡°Why would you say such a thing?¡±

    ¡°Now, now¡­¡± Truman interjected, turning to survey the horizon. ¡°I say save your quarrel for a later date¡­¡±

    ¡°I saw it,¡± she insisted.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± I frowned. ¡°Are you simply picking a fight?¡±

    ¡°I am certain that would lead to trouble. She is a noble, Miss Alice.¡±

    ¡°I no longer am.¡±

    ¡°She no longer is.¡±

    Alice and I retorted in unison.

    ¡°¡­ oh, right,¡± Truman realized. ¡°But fighting in this weather would be folly. Why don¡¯t we press on?¡±

    The accusative glint in Alice¡¯s eyes turned into exasperation. ¡°You have something that could help us.¡±

    True.

    ¡°She has a map.¡± She pointed to my leather bag.

    Also true.

    ¡°I do?¡± My eyebrows shot up.

    ¡°You have paper in there, that¡¯s true.¡± Realization dawned on Truman¡¯s face. ¡°Is it a map?¡±

    I sighed, rolling my eyes for good measure. ¡°Oh, you must mean that crumpled piece of parchment I borrowed from the coachman¡­¡± I opened the bag, shoving my hand in, and pulling out the map. I chuckled, almost mockingly. ¡°It¡¯s not a ma¡­¡± As I opened the paper, I flipped it over. ¡°Oh, it is!¡±

    On the backside of the parchment piece, I had written the to-do list I prepared for my escape. It was now scratched out, barely readable.

    ¡°Wow, I have a map,¡± I stated, nodding my head in confidence. ¡°This is useful, is it not?¡± I handed it over to her, whose frown was lost between doubt and pity as she received it.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe¡ª¡± She cut herself off with a sigh. Meeting my gaze again, she hesitated a moment before extending her hand. ¡°I won¡¯t believe it. Just so you know.¡± She assured me, then moved away from between me and Truman.

    ¡°Great job, Lady Fugitive.¡± Truman gave me a reassuring nod, which I inclined my head to with a smile.

    We trailed after Alice, peering over her shoulder.

    ¡°Can you read it? Will we survive?¡± I nudged, receiving no response. ¡°You¡¯re holding it backward,¡± I said, fully aware she wasn¡¯t.

    Looking at the parchment, I doubted anyone could tell it had been tampered with. A slight grin tugged at my lips, as I watched the two so earnestly analyzing the product of my surprisingly impeccable forging skills.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Looking at the parchment, I doubted anyone could tell it had been tampered with. A slight grin tugged at my lips, as I watched the two so earnestly analyzing the product of my surprisingly impeccable forging skills.

    The map, at first glance, was authentic. Smudges and creases gave it a worn appearance, and the faint marks I¡¯d added hinted at previous use. A carefully placed tear had neatly removed Sail, the nearest village, located north of Fokchik, from view.

    ¡°The nearest haven appears to be¡­¡± Truman began, tracing a finger along one of my carefully falsified trails.

    Faint, hastily sketched marks in coal traced a western path, just enough to suggest the map had been used by a traveler.

    ¡°Jeozdam Village,¡± Alice finished, pointing at the swirling storm clouds in the distance.

    The two swallowed in unison.

    ¡°Korpisat, help us¡­ how unlucky.¡± Truman mumbled, taking in a deep breath.

    ¡°We must go quickly before it reaches us,¡± Alice said, her tone flat but a flicker of worry growing within her eyes.

    I watched the two puzzle over the forged map, the anxiety tickling my senses unable to break my confidence.

    ¡®Step two: Get to Jeozdam before Estelle Pureheart¡¯ was well underway.

    ~

    A few hours of panicked quick steps later, heading in Jeozdam¡¯s direction, it was mid-day, and we needed a rest. Or, to be more specific, I need a rest.

    ¡°Aah, my legs,¡± I whined. ¡°My back¡­ it might be broken¡­¡±

    ¡°Can one break their back from walking?¡± Truman turned to Alice, genuinely curious.

    ¡°No. Don¡¯t mind her, Sir Truman.¡± Alice replied, not looking back. ¡°She is behaving like an overgrown child.¡±

    I huffed, dragging my feet over the dirt. I was already sort of cramped up from the action of the other day, but this? My back was practically on fire¡ªno, my entire body felt like it was ablaze.

    This is not a hike, this is hell.

    ¡°People tend to children, do they not?¡± I snapped. ¡°Might I remind you, I am injured. My wound requires fresh dressing, and also, I¡¯m not a damn athlete.¡±

    I hate to be whiny, but this has to be a form of torture.

    I didn¡¯t account for just how frail Penelope Ashdown¡¯s body was; the faint cramps I¡¯d ignored after the incident had only worsened.

    ¡°The exertion will help ward off the cold,¡± Alice remarked. ¡°Do you not despise the cold?¡±

    I hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod, though, in truth, I didn¡¯t mind it. Perhaps Ashdown did.

    ¡°Then persevere.¡±

    ¡°Fuck,¡± I mumbled, pressing my lips together. I glared at Truman¡¯s annoyingly calm expression¡ªbarely two drops of sweat on his face. Alice looked a bit tired and red, but she didn¡¯t seem nearly as miserable as me.

    You can¡¯t use your money recklessly, Penelope.

    I stopped in my tracks. ¡°Sir Truman, I will pay you if we pause to rest.¡±

    But what¡¯s the use of money if not to save me pain?

    Truman perked up and turned to me. A glint of light stirred his bored eyes awake. ¡°You will?¡±

    ¡°If you agree, yes,¡± I answered, slightly surprised he took me seriously.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± He smiled, turned to look at Alice, then turned back to me with less bright a smile. ¡°It will allow us to keep pace with Miss Alice¡¯s schedule, and you will get your rest.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± I immediately agreed.

    He took the load on his back off and split it between his hands. Alice grabbed onto a box, freeing his right hand, a distasteful look in her eye.

    I¡¯ll repay them. With survival. It¡¯s fine.

    ¡°You two are simply¡­¡± Alice mumbled, shaking her head, holding the box through the threads it was wrapped in.

    We solemnly shook hands, and then Truman kneeled and gestured for me to hop on, which I gladly did.

    "It will be a hassle if we must carry your noble self the entire way," she remarked, glancing up at me.

    ¡°Remember how I saved us from hopeless wandering? I¡¯ve earned this break.¡± I shrugged, feeling a migraine strengthening in my head.

    ¡°She is quite light. I am well,¡± Truman nodded at her. ¡°My services are ever at your disposal, Lady Fugitive.¡± I could feel the businesslike air through his tone.

    He exhaled and the journey continued.

    ¡°We will need to determine each person¡¯s role in this venture¡­ divide the tasks,¡± Alice suggested thoughtfully.

    ¡°Good thinking,¡± I muttered, distracted by the leather water pouch I was trying to pull out of my bag.

    ¡°I shall see to rationing the food and preparing camp,¡± She counted on her fingers. I listened, taking a sip. ¡°Any foraged goods shall pass through me; to ensure they are not poisoned. As for how long we shall travel and when we rest, that will be decided once we reach that forest.¡±

    She pointed to a cloud of black in the distance, it was so small from here we could barely perceive it.

    I silently offered Truman his flask, which he took with a nod and drank.

    ¡°We shall rely on your protection should any beasts appear, Sir Truman. You are the most physically apt here.¡±

    ¡°And a knight,¡± I added.

    So lucky.

    Truman and Alice exchanged a look, and he turned away to look elsewhere.

    I frowned at the gesture, but let it go. This is what happens when you travel with strangers.

    ¡°I am also adept at foraging for herbs,¡± Truman added, passing the flask to Alice, who took it without much acknowledgment.

    I nodded, tucking a few stray strands of hair that had escaped from my cap.

    Alice glanced at me, her expression flat, as if preparing to speak. I quickly let my hair go and steadied myself.

    ¡°I¡¯m useful,¡± I said with an innocent air. ¡°I got us the map.¡± I smiled, though it was met with silence.

    Alice continued her steady pace, her eyes still fixed ahead, while Truman kept stride with her.

    ¡°I do recall you mentioned an ability with wood carving. A skill that dawned on you recently.¡±

    I wouldn¡¯t consider it much of a skill, but¡­

    ¡°Sure. I can carve us bowls for supper, or perhaps a chair¡­ a knife?¡± She shook her head, not sparing me a glance. ¡°Moral support?¡±

    Truman let out a light, breathy chuckle, offering a grin in Alice¡¯s direction, which she met with a distinctly unimpressed look.

    Maybe I leaned into the incompetent air too hard¡­

    ¡°More hands can¡¯t be a hindrance,¡± Truman remarked, waving a dismissive hand. ¡°She will certainly repay us when she is able.¡±

    ¡°Something tells me she enjoys the prospect of being a burden,¡± Alice mumbled.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see what you imply,¡± I shrugged, cracking my neck, and warding off the chill that was settling back in.

    It sure is good to be rich for once.

    Around twenty minutes later, I thanked Truman for his kindness and got off his back, completing the remainder road on foot.

    I followed in silence, my own shadow slipping between theirs, smaller and almost indistinct, as though I were fading into the growing grey.

    As she brought up the carving, it crossed my mind earlier that I did have one more name in my past life. One I had hated for the longest time.

    ¡°Look, it¡¯s Pinocchio!¡± The giggles of those demon classmates echoed in my mind, followed by the peculiar memory of my father¡¯s only advice session¡­ which somehow led to me embracing the nickname.

    I guess it was one of those stupid things that grew on me over time. And beatings.

    The shadows of the trees on the frozen ground turned my attention to the view. Another sad, haunted-looking forest with blackwood and little to no leaves. This one¡¯s ground was frozen over, completely so.

    From the corner of my eye, I saw a figure appear among the trunks. Shifting closer to us with loud steps.

    Is that a person¡ª

 Nameless

    Is that a person¡ª

    ¡°O, TRAVELERS!¡± The distant figure¡¯s words reached us in the form of an echo, and I flinched. ¡°To your right! Good day!!¡±

    I turned to the voice, glimpsing a tall, blonde woman striding toward us from deep within the forest. Her hair was braided back, her shoulders broad, and the grin on her face beaming.

    Truman held a hand over the longsword attached to his belt, hidden underneath his coat, while Alice simply watched the stranger approach.

    ¡°Travelers!¡± She called again, her voice raspy. ¡°Don¡¯t go that way, you might die!¡± She waved at us.

    I frowned, discreetly putting myself behind Alice. ¡°Is she threatening us?¡±

    ¡°No, she sounds too eager for that,¡± Alice whispered back, blatantly putting herself behind Truman, thus leaving me facing the newcomer.

    The woman finally reached us. Porcelain skin, tainted with traces from endless travel and scarce showers, her eyes a stern shade of brown, small yet piercing. Her hair was a platinum blonde color, brown at the roots and arranged into two neat braids and tied into a short ponytail at the back. It was barely a few inches longer than mine.

    Her hands were on her hips, and not on her scabbard¡¯s sword, which seemed to reassure Truman to some degree, making him loosen his grip on his sword¡¯s handle, though his eyes didn¡¯t leave hers.

    The newcomer¡¯s broad grin didn¡¯t waver as she took in the group, her presence warm.

    ¡°We¡¯ll die?¡± Truman repeated, his tone sharp.

    I looked up at Truman, though he stood slightly in front of me, with Alice beside him, I could imagine the look he gave her. I imagine it a less intense version of the dreadful one he had given me the first time we met.

    ¡°¡¯Tis a dangerous world. Why venture into a storm when there lies a village but a day¡¯s journey hence?¡± She asked, maintaining eye contact with Truman, her chest and shoulder silver armor glinting in the light. Such quality of armor indicates some level of wealth, even for a knight.

    A lady warrior, in Wholeheartedly Yours? I''m impressed.

    ¡°This village... Is it really that close?¡± Alice emerged from behind Truman, her eyebrow furrowed, a concentrated look on her face.

    ¡°Indeed! Sail Village. A charming little haven, I assure you. I have traversed this path on several occasions and know it well. You are most fortunate to have encountered me,¡± she took a step closer, highlighting the small height difference between her and Truman. He barely towered over this lady.

    Strangely, the armor she wore was more sparkly than her face or hands.

    Alice, ever the observer, folded her arms and tilted her head slightly. ¡°You¡¯ve been walking all alone?¡± she asked, her tone polite but cautious.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the traveler chuckled, scratching the back of her head, her laugh light, almost musical. ¡°I was in quite the need for company, really, so when I heard voices, I came right over. As fortune would have it, I also possess knowledge that may serve you well.¡± Her eyes shone with a childlike excitement.

    Her gaze wandered between Alice and Truman, whose guards were nearly completely dropped just off of the sudden softness of their expressions. Her gaze never landed on me.

    ¡°In this bitter weather, solitude is a burden most cruel. I¡¯d love it if we could keep each other company,¡± she grinned, her teeth glinting in the dim light.

    My heart softened at the stranger¡¯s earnestness.

    An unexpected delay, perhaps, but this woman seemed cool and useful.

    I caught myself giving her a sympathetic look, thus shaking my head.

    ¡°How lucky,¡± my lips curled into a smile. ¡°To meet someone so experienced in such a time of need,¡± I said.

    Her brown eyes landed on me, giving me a thorough look. Clothes, hair, and expression. Her gaze lingered on my eyes for a moment too long.

    ¡°Do you have a map?¡± I asked, my voice light but lacking the warmth I aimed for.

    ¡°Alas, I do not,¡± she said, her smile undiminished. ¡°But I know these lands well and could draw you one if it pleases you,¡± She said, warmth back on her expression.

    I opened my mouth to speak, but her gaze jumped back to Truman and Alice. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve a sense for these things! I rely on the sky to guide me, the position of the sun¡ª¡±

    My eyes narrowed.

    ¡°In this weather? How remarkable,¡± My tone was optimistic, more or less. ¡°Your sense of direction must be extraordinary.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. But have you traveled these lands before?¡± Her gaze swept over me, then jumped back to Truman. "I have taken this road countless times! Though, truth be told, it grows lonely, and wolves make for poor conversation. ¡¯Tis almost a miracle, your appearance!¡± She placed a hand lightly on Alice¡¯s shoulder, then Truman¡¯s, with an air of camaraderie.

    Truman offered a nervous chuckle.

    Okay, time to turn her dow-

    ¡°Your guidance is appreciated¡ªtruly.¡± Alice offered a light smile. ¡°It would be agreeable to join you.¡±

    Truman and I turned to her in unison, my neck giving an audible pop.

    Alice? Smiling? No. Not that. She wants to join her?!

    Alice cleared her throat, her expression sobering. ¡°Yet, if I may, I propose a brief counsel. We must deliberate on our next steps.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°Oh, of course! I understand. Important decisions, yes?¡± She gestured toward a cluster of trees. ¡°I shall await you over there.¡±

    As she retreated, Truman stood beside me. ¡°She is sort of pitiful...¡±

    I watched her retreating figure and hummed in agreement. ¡°In a strange way.¡±

    I¡¯m so glad Truman is on my side. This way, convincing Alice to ditch her should be easy.

    She might be oddly endearing, but she is, as Truman said, weird.

    ¡°And harmless, perhaps,¡± Truman added after a pause. ¡°What do you think, Miss Alice?¡±

    ¡°I say we join her,¡± Alice replied with a slight nod.

    I frowned, then stiffened. Truman appeared, to my dismay, on board.

    ¡°But that¡¯s exactly what should make us suspicious, no?¡± I asked, trying to keep my horror at their easy-goingness under wraps.

    Truman rubbed his neck, his expression torn. ¡°I don¡¯t see a reason to trust her completely, but... she¡¯s strong, and she doesn¡¯t seem to be lying about the village¡­¡±

    ¡°She isn¡¯t,¡± Alice confirmed¡­ with baffling confidence.

    I furrowed a brow at her. ¡°Excuse me, but how would you know that?¡±

    She threw me a casual sidelong glance. ¡°Instinct.¡±

    I blinked.

    ¡°My instincts agree with Miss Alice¡¯s instincts,¡± Truman contemplated, watching the woman''s silhouette retreat through the trees.

    I smiled.

    Okay. You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me.

    ¡°Alright, since we¡¯re all bringing up instincts as a viable source of trust. Mine tell me she is lying and dangerous,¡± my lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°I mean, what does she get out of leading complete strangers to safety?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps she¡¯s religious,¡± Truman mused, looking over at me. ¡°Or kind.¡±

    ¡°You think she¡¯s lying about Sail?¡± Alice asked, her breaths turning into white clouds before her like the rest of us.

    ¡°Maybe not about the village,¡± I adjusted my gloves, trying to still the shivering of my body. ¡°But something about her doesn¡¯t sit right with me.¡±

    Alice took a long breath, her hands resting on her hips. ¡°We¡¯re overthinking this. If a village lies nearby, we must seek it. Shelter, provisions¡ªanything will do. The cold grows more biting by the moment, and the storm will only get worse.¡±

    ¡°Plus, if she meant us harm, wouldn¡¯t she have drawn her weapon already?¡± Truman said, his hand resting over his sword handle.

    An idea ignited at his words.

    ¡°Right!¡± I snapped my fingers. ¡°What if she does mean us harm? She might be lying in wait to ambush us, or¡ªor maybe they put a bounty on our head, and she wants to claim it!¡± I clasped a hand over my mouth.

    Sometimes I impress myself.

    ¡°Your paranoia remains consistent,¡± Alice mumbled, but her gaze faltered. She looked over at he woman with a light frown.

    ¡°Then let us watch her closely," Truman''s voice came out deeper than usual, as his gaze pierced the stranger. ¡°Thus, the moment she displays suspicious behavior, I can slice her neck.¡±

    "That¡ª!" My lips fell shut. ¡°That would solve the problem of her reporting us,¡± I murmured, half to myself.

    A moment''s silence shared both surprise at Truman''s sharp words and an attempt to find a new excuse.

    Alice turned to me.

    ¡°It is settled then. We will stick with her for now. Finding out whether she is a foe or a woe is a matter of time.¡± She nodded, her glance something between determined and scrutinizing.

    I opened my mouth to protest, but bit back the words. My pretense of meek acquiescence¡ªor whatever the fuck I¡¯d gone for¡ªwas slipping pretty badly. I shoved my hands into my pockets and muttered, ¡°Fine.¡±

    Alice glanced between us both before striding forward, Truman falling into step beside her. Reluctantly, I followed, my boots dragging through the ground.

    When stiff Alice relayed the decision to the stranger in the distance, the woman¡¯s face lit with joy. She nearly bounced on her heels, but instead let out a delighted laugh, beckoning us to join her camp.

    It''s on our short way there that she began telling us her life story. All starting with her name: Freya Hughes.

    Great. Another nameless character who has no relevance in the plot of this world.

    <hr>

    "Dear Korpa!" A sharp gasp echoed from the end of the hall, immediately catching Leila''s attention.

    Leila, a soft-spoken noble girl with fiery red hair, had just finished gossiping with her older sister in their chambers. She was on her way to bed when the servant''s cry halted her in her tracks.

    "What''s the matter, Stratioti?" She demanded, noticing the young man standing rigid in front of her brother¡¯s room as if he''d seen a ghost.

    The servant didn¡¯t respond.

    "Stratioti, I¡¯m speaking to you," Her voice grew sharper as she hastened toward him, her annoyance rising. "Have you gone deaf!?"

    "M-My lady... the young master¡¯s chambers... look..." The servant, pale and trembling, pointed to the door he had been fixated on with terror-stricken eyes.

    Leila turned, her breath catching in her throat as her gaze settled on the scene before her.

    Her brother, Leofric Yonge¡ªwar hero and knight of national renown¡ªhad been missing for several days. This in itself wasn¡¯t cause for alarm, as it was not unlike Leofric to vanish without explanation.

    But what she saw now was far from ordinary.

    "What...?" Leila whispered, her mind struggling to process the chaos laid out before her. "What in the world happened here!?"

    The bed was torn to shreds, bedding ripped apart in violent swaths. Weapons lay scattered across the floor, with several speared into the wooden boards, their gleaming blades reflecting the dim light. Leofric''s clothes, intermingled with clumps of his fiery red hair, were strewn across the room. Blood stained the ground, though nobody could be found to trace its origin.

    Her brother¡¯s once orderly, comforting bed chamber had become a graveyard of rage¡ªa violent testament to his turmoil.

    A message recapitulating the words written on the parchment piece was left on the bed.

    <blockquote>

    [ I''m leaving. Do not look for me.

    ¡ª Leofric ]

    </blockquote>

    While the Yonge household reeled from the shock, somewhere far beyond their estate, a figure thundered across the darkened meadow on a white stallion.

    The moonlight bathed the rider in a spectral glow, his cloak billowing as he galloped beneath the night sky. Leofric Yonge, his once textured red hair now cropped brutally short, rode with unyielding purpose. His blood-red eyes burned with fury, his expression a mask of silent rage.

    He was a storm unto himself, a force of reckoning that no one could hope to contain.

    And his next destination, Jeozdam Village, was about to learn of his name.

    <hr>

 Snow

    Freya¡¯s camp was nestled in a small clearing within the ghostly forest¡ªa curious blend of practicality and misplaced extravagance. The sturdy tent, though slightly askew, bore modest embroidery. Neatly arranged silver cookware gleamed beside the bonfire pit, while the firewood, stacked haphazardly, had a few pieces about to roll free. A cooking pot swayed precariously on a crooked tripod, one of its legs threatening to buckle at any moment.

    Alice¡¯s gaze lingered on the camp¡¯s relative comforts¡ªembroidered cushions, shining utensils, and an assortment of spices arranged neatly in jars. She seemed enchanted to a degree, her eyes betraying a flicker of nostalgia before she caught my gaze.

    Her expression hardened, and the nostalgia in her pink eyes turned bitter as she looked away, tucking some loose hair behind her ear.

    Freya turned to us with a wide smile. ¡°You¡¯ve arrived at the camp of Freya Hughes, future knight extraordinaire!¡±

    Right, this was her thing. To-be-knight, Freya Hughes, noble daughter of Count Hughes. She never appeared in the novel¡ªdespite her father being a recurring side character¡ªbecause she abandoned her name (though she still uses it, so I don¡¯t know) in search of ¡®Greatness and Glory¡¯.

    I reckon her family never brought up her name because she left them with nothing but scandal and disappointment.

    Truman, standing beside me, seemed less charmed. His nose scrunched briefly, and he mumbled something under his breath about a stench as we entered the clearing. His gaze swept the treeline, taking in the open arrangement and its lack of defensive measures.

    Freya caught the puzzled look in Truman¡¯s eyes, and she tensed up, her arms falling to her sides. ¡°Ah, y-y-you¡¯ll have to pardon the disarray of the-the firewood stack¡ªit¡¯s a trifle untidy, but it is quite dry! I s-spent ages h-hunting for the right logs. And the tripod¡­¡± She stuttered, stepping closer towards us and glancing at the lopsided contraption. ¡°Not m-my finest work¡­ I-I shall get it right next time...¡±

    She didn¡¯t seem as much of a threat as I initially thought.

    Freya clapped her hands together, resolve returning to her expression. ¡°Ah yes, I-I had nearly forgotten! I have yet to introduce you to the one keeping me safe out here.¡± She brightened up, eager to change the subject.

    ¡°There¡¯s someone else--?¡± Before Alice could complete her sentence, her eyebrows pulled into a frown, as if she clocked something, and she froze.

    Freya crossed the clearing to a spot behind a tree, her armor clattering as she moved. She reached into the shadows.

    ¡°Meet my guardian angel.¡±

    Freya pulled out a grisly trophy: the severed head of a Vamlin. Its grotesque features were unmistakable: red eyes rolled back in its sockets, black grease, and congealed blood streaking its face.

    Truman, ever composed, let out a low, ¡°Oh. That¡¯s why.¡± He discreetly covered his nose with his hand, though his face betrayed no other reaction.

    The camp fell deathly silent.

    My breaths hitched, as chills ran down my spine. My gaze fixated on the head, unblinking as I simultaneously attempted to push down the memories threatening to rise back and the wave of tears that rushed to my eyes.

    I couldn¡¯t escape it. I was about to cry again. This body, so weak, so unprepared to deal with anything, not even its own emotions...

    Once the stench of the monster¡¯s remnant hit my nostrils, the screeching cries of those creatures echoed in my mind, sending nausea roiling through my stomach.

    My eyes shot up to Freya, tears dissolving as I channeled my anger instead. She had been rambling words I couldn¡¯t register.

    ¡°Why would you¡­¡± I glared.

    My words made Alice flinch. She turned to me as if awoken from a daze.

    ¡°Why would you be keeping that?¡± I asked, discreetly putting my trembling hands in my pockets.

    ¡°As I said, this token of a fierce struggle proves far more useful than you might imagine. You cannot possibly comprehend the difficulty of slaying such a creature!¡± She glared back at me. ¡°It wards them off¡ªthe Vamlins!¡±

    Alice moved to sit by the bonfire without another glance towards Freya, her expression tense and unreadable.

    She clicked her tongue at me, turning to Truman. ¡°Are better understood by seasoned warriors, would you not agree, Sir Truman? I came across it during a visit to the royal library, how could you possibly doubt it?¡± She huffed back to me.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    I glanced over at Truman. He appeared entirely unfazed by the grotesque sight of the Vamlin, or by any memories it might have stirred.

    ¡°The information is welcome,¡± Truman said coolly, ¡°but it would be preferable if you put your angel away, Miss Freya.¡± He gave a neutral glance at the creature before turning his attention elsewhere, his demeanor more focused on the surrounding security than any further discussion.

    ¡°Right,¡± she nodded with a smug smile. ¡°Of course. My information is valuable.¡± She confirmed with herself.

    She walked over to throw the head back behind a tree.

    ¡°It¡¯s Dame Freya, by the way,¡± she said from behind the tree, though Truman didn¡¯t seem to hear. He was on his way to Alice, who busied herself with starting the fire. ¡°Ah, right! I never did inquire about your names, my new companions!¡± Freya skipped lightly over to join them. ¡°Yours must be Truman, as I¡¯ve heard the blue girl call you. And you, miss?¡±

    ¡°Ali, no surname,¡± Alice responded.

    Their conversation faded, the words blending into a dull hum in the background. I stood there, still, trapped under the long shadow the Vamlin¡¯s head had cast on the clearing. For a time, my eyes remained on the remains hidden behind the trunk; I could not pull them back.

    White dots appeared within my vision, carried by the soft, steady flow of the wind, landing by tree trunks, on the ground, and then in my palms. Fragile and graceful.

    My gaze naturally drifted upwards, drawn by the snowflakes¡¯ gentle call. The chill of the winter season crawled down my spine, pulling me deeper into a daze.

    It had been a while since I last felt so lonely.

    From the corner of my eye, I caught faint movement. Alice had succeeded in lighting the fire, and the flames danced to ward off the cold. The three sat around it, exchanging idle words and food, perhaps having forgotten I was there.

    Attracted to the warmth, I walked toward the strangers, resisting the temptation to observe the tree longer, in case the Vamlin came back alive, in case I forgot all that occurred, just in case¡­

    ¡°What¡¯s yours?¡± Truman asked, as soon as I sat next to him on the cushion.

    ¡°Hm?¡±

    ¡°Tell our new companion your name,¡± he told me with a curious look.

    I turned to Freya, who was not looking my way, distracted by the loaf of bread she was to bite into.

    ¡°Pen,¡± I simply said. ¡°That¡¯s my pen name.¡±

    I gave Truman a wink, and he nodded, turning to Alice, who had overheard.

    She gave a slight nod, then muttered under her breath. ¡°So funny.¡±

    ~

    It didn¡¯t take much observational skill to confirm that Freya Hughes was not fond of me.

    ¡°Here,¡± She said, extending me a silver bowl with maybe five spoonfuls of soup.

    She stood before me as I sat upon a cushion, her crimson tunic loose about her form and her hair disheveled, far more so than when we first met.

    ¡°This is all that remains.¡± Her brown eyes were squinted, her grin charming as usual. ¡°As you well know, our provisions are scant. Times are harsh, and the unyielding snowfall has left the plants dormant.¡±

    I nodded in agreement. It had been snowing in moderate intervals since we met her. The shadow of the storm that was headed straight at us, and which we had been racing for the past few days was catching up to us.

    And these people still barely have a plan.

    ¡°¡­ That¡¯s fine, I¡¯m no stranger to hunger¡± I muttered, the bowl''s warmth melting the frost off my fingers. I looked up at Freya to give her a thankful nod but noticed her smile faltering at my agreeableness. Her brow twitched ever so slightly, and a decision seemed to be made behind her lively browns as she took in a sturdy breath.

    She turned away, surveying the surroundings with an air of fake preoccupation.

    I sipped the broth¡ªa bitter concoction of herbaceous tang and dirty water¡ªFreya¡¯s gaze lingered on our companions. Truman was scouting the perimeter, striding steadily down the hillside. He¡¯d finished his meal as soon as it was ready and left. As for our organizer and camp setter, Alice, she was fast asleep, too tired from today¡¯s hike to even eat.

    Freya turned to me again, her once-bright smile had dimmed considerably. She sat down on the cushion next to mine.

    ¡°You must understand,¡± she began, her tone measured. ¡°Truman and I consume larger portions due to the demands of our labors, and Ali is so reliable that no matter how much we give her it would not be enough.¡±

    I nodded, agreeing with her reasoning. ¡®You don¡¯t do much; you should eat less.¡¯

    She waited a moment, maybe for some response she didn¡¯t get.

    ¡°And you¡­ you must now be accustomed to doing with little, huh.¡±

    I turned to her with this half-confused, half-accusative look. ¡°Are you perhaps remarking on my physique?¡±

    ¡°No no no, not that¡­¡± She chuckled.

    Just get to the point¡­

    I waited for her to explain, but she just turned to look at the fire and began to hum, the tune faltering slightly against the rasp of her voice. I couldn¡¯t help the confused look.

    Throughout this journey, Freya had gone out of her way not to acknowledge my presence. Whether it was because I disapproved of her presence, or because she sensed my waiting for her to show weakness, I couldn¡¯t tell.

    I admit I had thought her intimidating. After all, barely a single person in this world seemed disinterested in the notion of fucking me over. So, I had decided to observe her. Be passive. Fade into the background.

    But the more I watched, the less I was worried.

    It was the small thing she did, like trying to test me by speaking about me as though I wasn¡¯t there, or so obviously snooping about my background from Alice or Truman.

    ¡®I suspect her father was a merchant.¡¯ Or, ¡®Did she flee an arranged marriage, and you two took pity on her?¡¯ Or, ¡®Her hands¡ªhave you noticed how soft they are? I doubt she has ever wielded a blade.¡¯

    ¡°If anything, you should do it for our sake. Do you understand?¡± She said, patting my thigh with an air of casual authority.

    ¡°¡­ do what?¡± I asked, pushing her hand away. I gritted my teeth to keep my expression neutral against the disgusting sensation that touch had given me.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you¡¯re talking ab-¡±

    ¡°Food. You eat too much for a freeloader.¡± She shot back, putting her hand on her thigh.

    My eyebrows shot up, and I slightly frowned.

    ¡°It is not a jest. I have been patient with you, even though my companions seem oddly attached to your presence. Yet, here you are, clutching the map within your belongings as though it were your birthright, and even offering Sir Truman counsel on patrolling the perimeter. I mean, what do you know about perimeters? Have you ever held a blade before?¡±

    Oh, she¡¯s mad about that lie.

    ¡°Not really,¡± I said

    Her smile vanished, replaced by a steely look. ¡°Exactly. You know why I could tell? Cause I know a noble when I see one.¡±

 I Am She

    Earlier that day, Truman lied to Freya to keep her from patrolling as a duo again.

    His pseudo-employer crafted and approved the lie, so it had to work.

    "Miss Pen suggested that one of us should guard the camp whilst the other patrols," he told Freya, who stood before him, arms on her hips, still sweaty from the journey. "I concur. Safer that way." He nodded solemnly.

    Not really a lie, which pleased him.

    Freya seemed initially offended. Then, her small brown eyes frowned with realization.

    "Unless you¡¯d rather patrol whilst I... attempt to cook," he added, hesitating. "No, actually, I cannot cook. But you coul¡ª"

    "Why speak as though Pen were an advisor, Sir Truman?"

    Truman blinked, then ignored the question.

    "As I said. You cook. I patrol. Tomorrow, we devise a new plan. Agreed?"

    Freya clicked her tongue, turning toward the camp with a look of distaste. Truman scratched his neck. Maybe she hated the task.

    "Very well," she nodded, her face bright again when she turned back. Too bright for Truman''s liking. Or too practiced. He couldn''t tell, so he¡¯d walked away.

    But now he was walking back. Fast.

    "I know a noble when I see one," Freya had whispered into Lady Prisoner''s ear. The whisper was plenty audible in Truman''s ear.

    He was five paces from cutting her down. She had taken off her armor, simplifying the task.

    A distant whistle drifted through the air. His heavy heart dulled the sound. Step by soundless step, his golden eyes darkened. His grip tightened on the borrowed sword.

    Lady Penelope¡¯s expression over Freya¡¯s shoulder was clear. Unimpressed. A sliver of pity, even. One that grew once she saw Truman''s stance. She knew. This was Freya''s end. Penelope¡¯s gaze flicked between them.

    Then, an unspoken command in her eyes. Wait.

    Truman''s grip tightened instinctively¡ªbut he stopped, his stance unchanged¡ªthe why to his obedience was a question he discarded pinning for later.

    "You recognize me?" Penelope asked, tone measured. "Me? I''m a noble?"

    "Well," Freya crossed one leg over the other, a movement Truman tracked. "I suppose you no longer are, eh? Not after the scandal..."

    Penelope¡¯s face didn¡¯t change, but Truman noticed her fists clench over her legs.

    "You must have believed yourself unrecognizable beneath that glimmering mask of yours... but no amount of filth upon your visage could conceal the truth from me."

    Truman''s eyes narrowed.

    "After all, what you confided to me that day has been replayed in my mind so many times that one could say I am haunted by it," Freya''s eyes remained unblinking, watching Penelope''s gaze. "You shameless shamaness."

    "Shama... ness...?" Penelope¡¯s tone concealed confusion. "We''ve met before?"

    Truman slightly loosened his grip on his sword. Blinked. Am I missing something? Is ''Shamaness'' code for something in Yilderen?

    "A witch, yes. And, naturally, you''d forget," Freya hissed, leaning in closer. "After all, I was but another client you deceived with your cursed pretenses and vile dealings. A shaman who reads the fortunes of noblewomen. I can scarcely believe I was taken in by such deceit." Freya paused a moment. Caught her breath. "But those blue eyes... I recognized you at first glance. To think you dared to fool these good-hearted people into following you¡­ What witchcraft did you employ, I cannot bear to wonder...¡± Her eyes gleamed with a copper tint, illuminated by the flickering light of the bonfire. ¡°But at last, I have arrived. And I shall free them from you and your fake sinful spirits magic, or whatever it is you call it."

    Penelope narrowed her eyes.

    "Wait, then, am I a fake enchantress or a real one?"

    "A fake one!" Faye caught herself before she woke up Miss Alice. "Fake! Your cursed words could not possibly have been genuine, for I am living proof of your lies¡ª" Freya blinked, then frowned. "S... So you admit you are her?"

    Penelope barely hesitated.

    "That''s right. I am she," There was almost a shine on her forehead as she smugly admitted a lie.

    Truman furrowed a brow.

    ¡­ No threat to prisoner lady. So no need to act?

    "Y-You are her..." Freya leaned back, clearly perplexed.

    "You couldn''t have accused me without being entirely certain of my identity... could you?"

    "W-Well, of course not, but..." Freya was accusing Prisoner Lady because of her eye color alone. "Right. I knew it was you. Monstrous woman."

    Truman stepped back. Not a secret assassin. Not a bounty hunter. No need to cause a scene and wake up Miss Alice.

    He released the sword handle and turned away.

    Dame Freya has terrible hearing, he made a mental note. Freya¡¯s voice followed him as he walked away, her words mixing with the crunch of snow under his boots.

    "I remember it as though it was but yesterday. The cruel words you uttered, your feeble attempt to shatter my dream," she paused a moment before continuing. "And when I heard the news of your misfortune... I confess, I even felt a twinge of sympathy for you," Freya turned to meet Penelope''s gaze once more. "Until, that is, I recalled what a vile wench you are."If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Truman¡¯s mind stretched to the wind. The cold. The silence beyond the voices, down South. A chill ran down his spine.

    Not from the weather.

    The storm they had tried outrunning had almost caught up to them.

    Maybe a day or two was all they had left.

    <hr style="font-weight: 400">

    Truman¡¯s eyes were heavy as he woke from an accidental nap. He rolled his shoulders, the wind curling at his back as signs of dawn crept over the horizon.

    I was awake, watching the dying embers of the fire with strangely intense concentration. I didn¡¯t want to think anymore.

    ¡°May I ask you a question?¡± Sir Truman¡¯s voice was low as he spoke. It had a gentle edge to it, his voice. Even when he was angry or serious.

    ¡°If it¡¯s not about the future,¡± I answered.

    ¡°No, it pertains more to the past,¡± I turned to look at him, and he had this glint in his eyes. ¡°How did you end up here?¡± Truman asked. Not out of curiosity but out of understanding.

    Understanding something you don¡¯t even know yet. Strange.

    ¡°I died,¡± I said.

    The words were familiar. Like something I¡¯ve thought of so dedicatedly I can recite it all by heart. Yet it was just two words.

    I chuckled, then turned to him with a cheeky look. ¡°We all did. And so there¡¯s really nothing to tell, Sir Truman.¡± I grinned.

    ¡°My real name is Faraji,¡± he said, shifting his leg¡¯s position and straightening it in front of him. ¡°I didn¡¯t get the chance to claim it as my new name with the newcomer the other day.¡±

    Suddenly, my cheeky words felt like an offense to him. And a pinch of regret made me shift as well, suddenly uncomfortable on my cushion.

    ¡°Is it your birth name?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°Truman is easier for the people here to pronounce, so I use it more often.¡±

    ¡°¡­ I can see why you prefer Faraji,¡± I pulled my knees to my chest. ¡°It strangely suits you more.¡±

    I inspected his expression for the meaning of that revelation, but all I found was contentment. He stared at the embers with this stoic look, but its edges were gentle, and his gaze was at ease.

    Like he simply felt like sharing that information.

    ¡°¡­ It means consolation,¡± he said through a small smile.

    I chuckled, wrapping my arms around my waist.

    The wind howled through the pale greenery, muting Freya¡¯s faint snoring and the audible breathing from Alice who slept right behind me. Our surroundings were limited in the distance by a mix of trees and snowy clouds. Everything carried with it the sharp bite of the cold.

    ¡°I can take care of night shifts,¡± I offered, watching the last bits of wood get incinerated inside the fire. ¡°Feels like I should contribute somehow. And you get to sleep.¡± I turned to him.

    The faint glow of the embers reflected upon Truman¡¯s face, and he seemed to consider the offer.

    ¡°That would indeed be preferable,¡± he confessed, his brow furrowing slightly. ¡°I despise nightshifts.¡±

    I nodded. Yeah, me too.

    Before I could say more, shuffling sounds rose from behind me.

    ¡°¡¯ Morning, Miss Ali,¡± Truman said. He scratched the light stubble that had grown on his face, giving me a look that asked, ¡®Is it morning?¡¯

    I threw a look at our pitch-black surroundings and shook my head at him.

    Don¡¯t worry about it.

    I threw a look over my shoulder at her. ¡°Good day, Ali.¡±

    Alice sat up, hair wild, eyes still heavy with sleep but already sharp with thought.

    ¡°We sway South today.¡± She said, mostly to herself, head still down.

    South, as in we would completely diverge from Jeozdam¡¯s route.

    She turned to Truman and me.

    ¡°Objections? Better suggestions?¡± There was a slither of my favorite emotion in her tone, making me stifle a smile. I could even glimpse it in her soft pink eyes as she waited for our answers.

    Doubt.

    Truman shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± he said.

    Her somehow inoffensive glare turned to me. I also shook my head.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where we¡¯re going, and I think Freya doesn¡¯t either, but you trust her and I so trust you, Miss Ali.¡± I smiled.

    Alice¡¯s gaze hardened at my words, and she pushed down the rebellious hairs messing up her seamless cut.

    ¡°Damn it. Let¡¯s go then," Alice declared, throwing the blanket off her and heading towards Freya to wake her up.

    ~

    The sun was somewhere high, hidden behind a suffocating layer of snow-heavy clouds. We¡¯d made it to a steep hill, its surface slick with a thin layer of snow, surrounded by tall trees whose dense crowns formed a canopy of shade. I saw it just ahead¡ªa forest teeming with treasures only a place like this could hide.

    Freya and I walked side by side, her clinking armor a nuisance next to the satisfying crunch of our boots into the thick layers of snow. Truman and Alice forged ahead, each of them locked in their own determined little world.

    ¡°That forest seems a foraging paradise,¡± I said casually, the cold biting at my lips, making it harder to talk.

    My eyes traced the distant trees. I barely concealed the eagerness flickering behind my eyes as I looked up at Freya. Her breaths curled around her face as white clouds and her skin seemed a shade paler.

    There were things there, in that forest¡ªthings you couldn¡¯t find anywhere else. The trees stood tall, their crowns interwoven so tightly they held the snow above, leaving the ground untouched by anything but shadows.

    This forest was the parting line of the roads between Jeozdam and Sail. Knowledge I hadn¡¯t acquired from the map, no. It was from a much sturdier source.

    I slightly grinned, seeing no traces of anyone other than our group in the area so far.

    Suddenly, I felt a sharp, hard elbow nudge me forward, hitting the side of my arm. Thrown off balance, I stumbled forward, nearly tripping from the snow¡¯s pull on my foot. Catching myself before the fall, I sturdied myself. The hat that¡¯d been keeping my hair pristine tumbled off my head and into the snow, leaving me with a messy, wind-blown look I didn¡¯t bother to fix. I shot her a glare, cold as the wind biting my skin

    ¡°If you so much as try to interfere,¡± she hissed, casting a disdainful glance down at me, her full body armor making her appear nearly twice her true size. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them what you are. A fallen noblewoman. A disgrace. The very woman even her own husband wouldn''t deign to look at.¡±

    She said it like a threat that would cut deep. But it only made me want to roll my eyes.

    Feels like I¡¯m back in middle school¡­

    With that, she took the lead again, waving happily at Truman, who turned just long enough to check on us. It took a beat for him to get what occurred.

    Picking up my hat, I couldn¡¯t help but click my tongue, chuckling as I heard the clanking of her armor.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t realize you can hear everything,¡± I snickered, despite my best efforts to keep my amusement to myself. I heard myself chuckle as I lifted my head to see, despite the distance, a grin on Truman''s face as well as he shook his head and turned around to continue ahead.

    He seemed more amused at my amusement than at my statement.

    I sniffled, nose red from the cold, face half wrapped in a cloth¡ªjust enough to hide the sneer that widened on it.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, you at the back, we have a forest to forage!¡± Freya¡¯s raspy voice rang, almost muffled by the weather.

    Right¡­ I¡¯ll let you do everything since you¡¯re so capable and so knowledgeable¡­

    I focused on the trees ahead, my gaze unwavering as the most deliciously evil thought slid into my mind, so simple, so perfect that I could almost taste it.

    Time to poison them all.

 Mindmire

    < "MERINDA! MERINDA, PLEASE!"

    Estelle¡¯s voice¡ªpure, golden, unyielding¡ªrang through the desolate white. The world, breathless and waiting, hushed itself in her sorrow. She cradled the limp body of her favorite maid.

    Regret clawed at her. Running away to Jeozdam had seemed the only way to escape William¡¯s pleading eyes, his unbearable remorse. The apology she could never accept.

    He was the reason she had acted so shamefully with the Count''s son. She couldn''t forgive him. She couldn''t forgive herself.

    She knelt like a fallen star, cradling the lifeless body of a girl who had been blessed¡ªblessed¡ªto serve at her side.

    Now, stranded in unfamiliar land, she had nothing but her horse¡ªa gift from William¡ªand her maid¡ªa gift from her father. Frantic, she searched for a solution.

    The Stemley mushroom, blue and poisonous, lay in Merinda¡¯s palm, its deadly promise clear. Estelle clenched her jaw.

    Elric Shaw. The tower mage.

    No man refused her.

    She lifted her gaze to the canopy above, where tangled branches wove a throne of fate¡ªhers to command.

    To Jeozdam. She must find him.

    Chapter 40

    Wholeheartedly Yours >

    I could still feel the scratchy paper under my fingertips, the tiny whispers of memorized lines echoing in my mind. I had read Wholeheartedly Yours in too many places to count¡ªschool corridors, dimly lit alleyways, the broken chair at the kitchen table, Harper''s parents'' house¡­

    And now, I stood in the very land Estelle had once fled across. And for maybe the first time since I came to this world, I could somewhat relate to what she felt in this place.

    The barren earth, the thick brown trunks and their branches that weave an emerald lattice so dense that not a single sliver of sky peeked through. The cave where she would soon save Merinda herself¡ªI already knew what lay ahead.

    The ground beneath my boots was damp, tinged with a wet shade of gray. This large patch of land felt like a safe haven from the looming snowstorm.

    This was the place.

    Alice stood ahead, her dress tattered with dirt, the journey still clinging to her. Her expression was taut, brows slightly raised¡ªwaiting for something to go wrong.

    ¡°We should forage. As much as we can. Even if it takes all day,¡± she said, dropping an empty sack. ¡°We don¡¯t know exactly when the storm will hit, so it¡¯s best to prepare.¡±

    I shrugged. ¡°Or it''s best to find a ditch to lie in."

    We won''t make it in time anyway.

    Alice¡¯s gaze showed interest in my idea, but then flicked to Freya, who nodded at Alice. ¡°We shall reach Sail before the worst of it, but there¡¯s no harm in stocking up.¡±

    I tucked my lips in, giving Freya a deliberate nod.

    "Well, at least you¡¯re not being a complete idio¡ª"

    ¡°This is not the time for veiled slander, my lady,¡± Alice cut in, her tone sharp, almost rehearsed.

    I could hear Truman scratch his head behind me, his attention drifting as usual.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t being underhanded,¡± I said flatly.

    ¡°No, she was being pretty direct,¡± Truman chimed in, clearly zoned out.

    "Yeah," I nodded. "Pretty direct."

    Freya¡¯s glare burned into the side of my head, but she kept quiet, making me smile.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, shall we?¡± I chirped, turning to look for Truman. But he wasn¡¯t there. ¡°Where is our only capable¡ª¡±

    ¡°There.¡± Alice gestured to the side.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    I glanced over to find Truman crouched among the sparse bushes, pulling something from the earth. When he returned, he opened his palm to reveal a wrinkled, pale-green mushroom.

    ¡°That¡¯s a Mindmire,¡± Freya noted, eyeing it with caution.

    Truman nodded, his usual easy demeanor unshaken. ¡°We should be careful with what we pick. This place reeks of poison. I can hardly tell which smell belongs to what.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Even you?¡±

    Truman nodded, sniffling. ¡°Too many smells, all very strong. Can''t focus." He said.

    I plucked the mushroom from his palm, inspecting it. It wasn¡¯t hard to guess what kind of effect it would have. The way the skin shimmered faintly

    Not what I need.

    I handed it back. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving,¡± I said, adjusting my bag.

    Everyone split off. Alice searched the trees for saps, Truman, sword in hand, studied them, likely figuring out how to chop them into firewood. I headed toward a bush of hardy berries¡ªwhich I really only knew about thanks to the book.

    Behind me, Freya¡¯s heavy footsteps pressed closer.

    I crouched over the bush when her raspy voice sliced through the quiet.

    ¡°What did I tell ya?¡±

    I turned slowly, feigning surprise, pointing to myself as if unsure she was talking to me.

    ¡°Don''t pretend. It makes me sick,¡± she leaned in just enough to make her presence oppressive.

    I frowned, still crouching, half confused. "What did I even do?"

    She glanced at the bush, then back at me. "Acting all on your own... how do I know you won¡¯t slip in something poisonous, huh?¡±

    My eyebrows lifted.

    ¡°Why ever would I do that?¡± I said, voice light. ¡°Yes, I was a fortune teller. A noble, too. And maybe¡ªmaybe¡ªI said things that hurt your feelings, Dame Freya. But this hostility? It¡¯s misplaced.¡±  I leaned in a fraction. ¡°Those weren¡¯t my words, you know... They were the spirits¡¯...¡± I offered a look of genuine pity.

    Her jaw clenched. I could see it in her eyes¡ªmy words stirred something she couldn''t acknowledge. How juvenile.

    ¡°You know nothing of sin, do you?¡± she asked, mirroring the pitying look I gave her. Freya took in a calm breath and continued. ¡°I shan''t repeat myself. Touch those bushes, and I will make you regret it.¡± Her fingers rested on the hilt of her sword. ¡°And remember, I only keep your stinking secret because¡­¡± A flicker of hesitation, gone in an instant. ¡°We were both nobles. Once.¡±

    I inclined my head. She wasn''t bluffing. Or she was, I don''t know.

    She stormed off, and I watched her retreat, flexing my hand. Once I was sure she wouldn¡¯t turn around, I reached deeper behind the leaves.

    My fingers brushed something soft. I pulled it out¡ªblue and glowing, the mushroom I needed.

    I tucked it into my coat pocket and dusted myself off.

    Nothing to see here.

    ~

    We were still foraging, and I was bored, waiting for Freya¡¯s vigilance to wane. So, I wandered over to Alice.

    She was kneeling, picking berries.

    ¡°Freya won¡¯t let me help,¡± I said. ¡°What do you think about that?¡±

    Alice paused a moment, then replied without looking up. ¡°You¡¯re an adult, my lady. A lazy one, at that. I expected you to be asleep under a tree by now.¡±

    I folded my arms, watching her drop berries into her worn leather bag.

    ¡°She thinks I¡¯ll poison someone. It''s an unfair assumption." I said, my voice cool. "Who is she to decide that I''m inexperienced?"

    ¡°A full-fledged adventurer. Soon to be knighted.¡± Alice glanced up at me, tone bored. ¡°She''s more useful than you, my lady.¡±

    I smiled, though it didn¡¯t reach my eyes. "Your faith in her is touching... almost too touching. Makes me wonder where your loyalties lie."

    Alice stood, dusting her hands off. ¡°I only doubt those who doubt themselves.¡± She met my gaze, unblinking. ¡°And you.¡±

    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Me?¡±

    Her gaze sharpened, edged with something between anger and some obsessive desire to remain calm. "It makes me want to laugh that you can call her a stranger." She said, with no trace of a smile on her face.

    My eyebrow twitched, but I swallowed the surprise.

    Alice is onto some serious stuff. Makes me both happy and nervous.

    I stepped back, my smile reaching my eyes as I murmured. ¡°I stand unconvinced."

    Alice exhaled sharply against my reaction, but her body seemed to decompress. ¡°Apologies. I forgot we needed your approval to function, my lady,¡± she rolled her eyes and crouched back down, revealing something behind her.

    Freya''s basket. Unguarded.

    And Freya herself, climbing a tree, focused on tearing off a chunk of sap.

    My fingers curled around the mushroom in my pocket. "Well, I''ll leave you to think about me and our conversation," I said, strolling toward Freya and her basket.

    I swallowed, quiet, steady.

    The wind howled softly as I glimpsed inside her basket¡ªberries, herbs, red-spotted mushrooms, and the blue mushroom breed Estelle''s maid once confused with the Stemley in my pocket.

    I glanced up at Freya, who was focused on tearing away a chunk of sap, her grip tense as she balanced against the branches, when I realized there was another type of mushroom in her basket.

    Mindmire?

    What in the world could she be planning?

    ~

 Poisoned

    Seated in the company of three near-strangers in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night, awaiting the storm¡¯s inevitable arrival, Truman arrived at a singular conclusion: he was actually not fond of the situation. Not at all.

    He nodded, as if to agree with himself.

    The cold gnawed at his face, the snowflakes forming light layers on his head every few minutes. Fun shaking it off.

    At the very least, the Emberite stone provided them warmth. Raisin-sized stone he found while digging for food. Powerful warming ability. Good rock.

    Beside him, equally ensconced in blankets and basking in the Emberite¡¯s warmth, was the prisoner lady. Her hat was tipped forward, shielding her eyes as she drifted in and out of sleep. Every now and then, she would lurch onward, then snap awake and catch herself.

    Truman might have offered his shoulder for support, but she seemed to hold the notion of physical contact in the same regard Truman held the notion of being poor.

    Utter distaste.

    He smiled faintly as Alice withdrew her hands, having just finished stuffing smelly tissues up his nose.

    ¡°The herb within should counteract the effects soon,¡± she murmured before retreating to her own seat, her cheeks flushed red from the cold, her fingers raw at the tips.

    Truman¡¯s nose, along with his sense of taste, had long ceased to function¡ªnot only due to the relentless chill but also from prolonged exposure to the poisonous air of the forest. Though they had traveled several miles down the Sail road, his senses had yet to recover.

    Miss Alice coughed¡ªloud. Prisoner lady stirred, scowled, then adjusted her hair under her cap.

    ¡°Is it time to eat?¡± she muttered.

    Before Alice could form a reply, Dame Freya arrived, balancing a tray of bowls. The first to pick up their food was the prisoner lady. Her blue eyes staring at the half-full portion like she was somewhere else. A flicker of irritation crossed her face. Gone in a second.

    Alice followed, then Truman, and lastly, Freya.

    They ate in silence, an uneasy quiet settling over them, until Freya, with no regard for the tension, embarked upon a recollection of the day she had chosen to become a knight. She claimed it was for the sake of simple pleasures like this.

    Truman squinted, uncertain which aspect of their current predicament she found pleasurable.

    He turned slightly, catching the prisoner lady watching him¡ªor rather, staring at the crumpled tissues stuffed into his nose.

    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± she pointed to his nose with her chin, putting down her empty bowl. ¡°Must suck.¡±

    ¡°Do they look strange? They feel strange,¡± Truman mused, his expression as reassuring as one could manage while chewing a piece of stale bread.

    ¡°It looks funny,¡± she said, like it was an observation.

    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Truman¡¯s shoulders slumped slightly.

    She observed the tissues for a moment longer before murmuring, almost to herself, ¡°This world must be evil.¡±

    ¡°Hm?¡±

    ¡°It has to be¡­¡±

    Truman considered this but said nothing. He had also neglected to listen to Freya¡¯s ongoing tale, only snapping back to attention as she suddenly clapped her hands together, an eager glint in her brown eyes.

    ¡°Let us play a game!¡±

    Truman scratched the back of his head, setting down his now-empty bowl.

    ¡°¡­ No,¡± Alice said flatly, momentarily breaking out of what seemed to be very ominous thoughts.

    Prisoner lady pointed at Alice. ¡°What she said.¡±

    Truman sensed a strange sensation churning in his stomach¡ªsomething distinct from hunger, though no less unpleasant.

    "No, no, no!" Freya declared, undeterred. "This wretched mood will be the end of us! You must indulge me." She grasped Alice¡¯s hand in exaggerated entreaty.

    A quiet settled following her claim, and the group came to acknowledge that the quiet they sat in wasn¡¯t peaceful at all. It was suffocating.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    To Truman¡¯s surprise, it was Penelope who broke first. ¡°Fine.¡±

    Alice exhaled in defeat. ¡°Have you something in mind?¡±

    ¡°Truth or drink!¡± Freya straightened. Her armor clanked, a reminder that neither knight had removed their gear, prepared to depart at any moment¡¯s notice.

    ¡°¡­ But we have no drinks,¡± Alice mumbled.

    Penelope and Truman sighed at that same realization.

    Freya waved a dismissive hand. ¡°¡¯Tis alright. I have a Lucenite!¡± She pulled a brown stone out of her pocket, raising it like it was a trophy. ¡°We shall pass it around, answer a question, and if the stone glows white, it confirms the truth of one¡¯s words! Fascinating, is it not?¡±

    Truman was the only one to nod.

    ¡°Excellent! Sir Truman, you shall begin!¡± She tossed the stone. Caught with ease.

    The prisoner lady shifted, crossing her legs like Miss Alice.

    ¡°Question!¡± Freya yelled out, her eyes sparkling with childlike excitement. ¡°What do you despise most. Elaborate answers only.¡±

    Truman looked around, waiting for someone to answer while they all stared at him. Alice nudged his arm.

    ¡°Oh, me,¡± he realized.

    He thought for a second, his golden eyes glinting with nostalgia. ¡°Broken promises.¡±

    The stone in his hand flared brilliantly. Hard on eyes.

    Freya clasped her hands together, grinning. ¡°Amazing answer¡­¡± She said in an expectant tone.

    When Truman didn¡¯t continue, she leaned in. ¡°More elaborate?¡±

    Truman blinked. ¡°¡­ What is an elaborate?¡± he asked, slightly struggling with the word¡¯s pronunciation.

    ¡°More details, Sir Truman,¡± Alice explained swiftly.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Truman frowned in thought. ¡°Well, why make a promise if one intends to break it? That¡¯s disgusting.¡±

    Penelope raised a hand, her tone flat. ¡°I don¡¯t get why we should elaborate.¡±

    ¡°Just follow the rules,¡± Freya hissed. ¡°It is only fair. I will be sharing much information, therefore you must as well.¡±

    Truman thought about it further. ¡°It is sort of a family thing,¡± Truman rolled his shoulders, making Penelope drop the thought of quarreling with Freya on the matter. She gave a small nod.

    Freya took the stone next. ¡°Being told I cannot do something.¡± The stone glowed. ¡°It began in childhood. I learned much, yet none of it was meant to serve me. Knowledge is a curious thing when it serves no purpose of one¡¯s own¡±

    Truman did not see the correlation between the answer and the elaboration.

    ¡°But who did it serve?¡± Alice frowned, leaning closer, as if to eye Freya better. ¡°Your parents?¡±

    Freya shook her head. A strange look crossed her face. ¡°No. The family.¡±

    Prisoner lady hummed. ¡°Cool. Ali¡¯s turn.¡±

    Alice sighed, taking the stone. ¡°Uncertainty. Of people, of facts. I detest it. I must know.¡±

    Penelope snorted, flashing a rare, sharp-toothed grin. She shook her head at Alice, who began to cough. She handed Penelope the stone, rubbing her own throat.

    The prisoner lady eyed it with mild annoyance. "Being alone," she said, and the stone glowed. ¡°It¡¯s a childhood thing. Doesn¡¯t matter if I like the person or not. As long as there¡¯s noise, I hate it less.¡±

    Truman scratched the back of his neck.

    The prisoner lady slowly stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll excuse myself for a moment,¡± her breath misted in the cold air. ¡°I¡¯ll return shortly,¡± she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat and dragged her boots across the snow towards the frozen bushes in the far distance.

    Freya continued with the questions, and Truman turned to Alice, noticing how her gaze lingered on Penelope¡¯s retreating figure for a moment before she turned back to Freya.

    Minutes passed.

    Truman was silently fighting a stomachache when Penelope¡¯s footsteps sounded in the distance. She was returning, approaching from behind Dame Freya.

    Alice rubbed her temples. ¡°Alright, Freya, I think we¡¯ve had en¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait, one, one more!¡± She held a hand up at Alice, whose expression spoke of some kind of pain. ¡°What is your greatest fear?¡±

    The prisoner lady¡¯s expression shifted. She looked very unimpressed.

    Alice sighed, lifting a cup to her lips.

    ¡°Bro, did you not play when you were a kid?¡± Penelope¡¯s voice cut through the chill.

    Alice coughed up her drink.

    Truman wondered what a bro was.

    Freya smiled. But it wasn¡¯t a happy smile. She slammed her palm into the snow. ¡°You know what, I also have a question for you, Pen.¡± Freya turned to look up at Penelope behind her. ¡°Hold this stone!¡±

    Penelope lazily evaded the stone Freya threw, letting it fall on the snow behind her. Freya shot up.

    Alice and Truman followed, ready to diffuse the tension.

    ¡°What are the biggest lies you¡¯ve to¡ª!¡± Before she could complete the sentence, her breath hitched.

    Her knees hit the ground with a thud. She looked up at them, confused.

    Before anyone could react, a thin rivulet of blood trickled down Penelope¡¯s nose.

    Penelope frowned, touching the liquid and realizing it was blood. ¡°What¡­¡±

    Truman blinked. Something was wrong.

    Penelope¡¯s hand shot to her chest, fingers twisting into her cloak. She coughed, a terrible sound escaping her lips. And then, her head lifted, her eyes grazing past me, and then Alice. Her expression sharpened as her gaze fell upon Freya.

    ¡°You¡­¡± A realization hit her, and she pointed a bloodied finger at Freya. ¡°You po¡ª!¡± Penelope¡¯s lips parted, but no further accusation came¡ªonly blood, blooming against the white canvas on the ground beside Freya.

    She teared up, horror painted on every inch of her expression, a look of betrayal in her blues. Her eyes fell shut, and she collapsed onto the snow.

    Alice gasped, reaching out. ¡°My la¡ª!¡± but her own hands were already slick with red. She convulsed, choking on what little breath she had left before her body, too, surrendered to unconsciousness.

    Truman and Freya locked eyes.

    His stomach twisted violently, his entire body screaming alarm. A sickening heat clawed up his throat, and then¡ª

    He heaved.

    Everything in his stomach spilled onto the frozen ground. His head spun. The tissues in his nose scattered into the wind, and with their absence, a taste awoke on his tongue.

    Bitter. Acrid. Wrong.

    Poison.

    In a blink, his sword was drawn. Freya knelt before him, ashen, trembling.

    Truman¡¯s breath came sharp, uneven. He raised his blade, poised to end it before hesitation could take root¡ª

    But she coughed. And the residue was red.

    ¡°I¡ª!¡± Tears streaked her cheeks, mingling with the blood slipping from her nose.

    She wavered, her head lolling.

    Truman¡¯s chest tightened. His grip faltered. Before he could correct it¡ª

    The world tilted.

    Everything went pitch black.

 Trevor Vielle

    <u>A village on the outskirts of the Fokchik estate:</u>

    A blond lad sat at a table inside a tavern, his curls hidden beneath a hood.

    A lonely candle flickered beside a half-filled beaker, casting a weary glow over his pale skin. The dark circles beneath his eyes told of many sleepless nights. Every breath he took seemed to bear the weight of his soul. He lifted the beaker to his chapped lips, his green eyes unfocused, lost in a past that never was.

    He thought of her. Of his dream.

    Of pulling her into his arms in fervent longing. Burying his face in her hair, letting her scent fill his senses. And she slowly turned to face him.

    Her hollow eyes pierced his soul, devoid of the warmth and life he remembered. Only tears stained her face.

    ¡°You killed me,¡± She said, turning to dust in his embrace.

    Trevor clenched his fist around the cup¡¯s handle, scratching his forehead as he mumbled to himself, ¡°I need to save her¡­¡±

    Two silhouettes entered the tavern, looking as shabby and worn-out as he did. They were his loyal aids, who followed in his trail ever since he left home in the pursuit of the prisoner¡¯s caravan.

    Their expressions were grim. Grimmer than he remembered.

    ¡°Fuck, you tell him!¡± One of the servants yelled, waking the one drunk man present in the hall with them. ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore!¡± The servant stormed out.

    The remaining aid clenched both fists as he approached Trevor.

    ¡°Young master¡­ I¡­¡± The cloaked servant fidgeted with his fingers.

    Trevor looked up at him, eyes darkening with all the possibilities. ¡°Spit it out already. Are we too late? Did those Sutton bastards take her already?¡±

    It would be troublesome to get her out of Suttone, since it was under the Korpian Worshippers¡¯ control. Trevor would hate getting involved with the Edvins of all families¡­

    ¡°We were walking through the village¡­ and w-we heard something¡­¡±

    Trevor¡¯s grip on the beaker tightened. His servant¡¯s words spilled out in a frantic rush, and with every syllable, dread clawed up his spine. The drink slipped from his fingers, hitting the table with a thud.

    Thud.

    Thud.

    Thud.

    The horse¡¯s gallops echoed within Trevor¡¯s skull. His hands trembled, the reins cutting into his fingers as he lashed them forward.

    ¡°Faster!¡± The brown horse pounded up the hill¡¯s winding path, the wind lashing at Trevor¡¯s face. His green eyes were set on the road, unblinking.

    The sun had just set, leaving smudges of violet and red on the sky behind him. The chill was unforgiving, but the heat emanating out of Trevor¡¯s body as he rode to the location made it a trivial matter.

    Fokchik¡¯s infamous grey hill stared deathly at him from a distance. The servant, whom Trevor knocked unconscious in a fit of shaken rage, must have been a liar.

    A lie. Yes. It had to be.

    ¡°Hurry up, you useless thing!¡± He cracked the whip against the horse¡¯s flank, putting all the force of his arm behind it.

    The hooves hammered against the earth, but all Trevor could see was a dim, damp cell¡ªthe memory creeped up on him like a phantom.

    The silhouette of his fianc¨¦e sitting on a rundown bench, behind bars. It was minutes before the trial began.

    He could not forget it. The way the cold, flickering torchlight barely touched her, like even the flame had abandoned her. The large, hauntingly colorful butterfly drawing itched on the wall she leaned against.

    He had forgotten why he came to see her. His bruises were still fresh, his dignity completely crushed and his rage barely restrained.

    And he reminded himself.

    It¡¯s all because of her.

    Since the first day he accepted her pleas to get engaged, shame was all he ever reaped.

    So why¡­ Why had something within his chest twisted at the sight of her idle state?

    She eyed him. Didn¡¯t jump to meet him. Didn¡¯t smile. Didn¡¯t talk.

    Trevor stood there, feeling estranged.

    When the seconds became minutes, Trevor had decided to leave.

    It was when he reached for the exit¡¯s handle that his fianc¨¦e finally spoke.

    ¡°I was terrible to many¡­ but all I ever did to you was love you.¡± Her blue eyes¡ªonce alight at the mere sight of him¡ªwere devoid of soul.

    ¡°So of all people¡­¡± A quiet breath. ¡°How could you be the end of me?¡±

    Trevor¡¯s horse halted, and his mind flashed back to the now. Instead of sharp, cold air, what he took in was a stench that sent a paralyzing disgust throughout his body.

    Everything he¡¯d eaten traveled up his throat and out his mouth, as he stumbled down off of his horse.

    Trevor lifted himself back up, loosening the tie he wore under his cloak.

    Wooden barriers stood everywhere, keeping potential onlookers at bay. Knights moved in and out, their boots tracking blood and mud across the burnt ground. The air was thick with the stink of iron and something fouler¡ªrotting flesh, the acrid scent of burned wood.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Shaken clergymen, dressed fully in blue, muttered prayers nearby, fingers trembling over their rosaries.

    Broken, burnt carriages. Large piles of monster corpses. And even larger piles of human remains.

    Trevor stumbled in, coming face to face with a knight.

    ¡°Sir, you cannot enter this area.¡± A bearded knight, clad in armor, spoke in an authoritarian voice.

    ¡°I will fucking murder you,¡± Trevor leaned in, coming eye to eye with the knight. ¡°Where is she?¡± He asked, green eyes unblinking.

    The bearded knight didn¡¯t respond.

    ¡°I AM HER FIANCE. I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION!¡± Trevor¡¯s shout tore through his vocal chords, echoing across the hill.

    Someone in the back, a superior of the knight, gestured to the bearded man to let Trevor in.

    The bearded knight turned to an area near the woods on the hill, and pointed to a patch surrounded in red thread. A body¡ªor what was left of one¡ªcovered with a rough woolen sheet. ¡°I assume that¡¯s her.¡±

    Trevor chuckled.

    ¡°No,¡± he turned back to the knight. ¡°Where is she? She must be¡­ be sitting around somewhere. Waiting.¡± He said, but the world was spinning around him. ¡°She must be waiting for me. For her brother. Where is Penelope?¡±

    Trevor looked around, his eyes shivering as he searched for the golden hair, the loud presence that she was.

    The bearded knight rested a hand on Trevor¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Prisoner Penelope Ashdown¡­ or what¡¯s left of her.¡± He pointed to the same patch. The corpse. ¡°You have ten minutes.¡±

    Trevor stared at the place the knight pointed to.

    The image of her hollow eyes came to mind.

    ¡°Are you telling me¡­¡± Trevor¡¯s eyebrows came together, his voice broken. ¡°She died?¡±

    The knight patted his shoulder, ¡°May Korpa forgive her crimes.¡± The knight walked away.

    Trevor approached the patch, tears already streaming down his face. The words she said in his dream rang in a loop inside his head.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Trevor tried, passing a hand over the right half of his face.

    You killed me.

    You killed me.

    You killed me.

    ¡°I¡­!¡± He gritted his teeth, his cries turning to sobs.

    His father¡¯s words came to interrupt. ¡°A real man knows when his woman is a burden. And a burden must be thrown out, Son. Even more so if the reward is someone of Estelle Pureheart¡¯s standing¡­¡±

    And then his mother¡¯s cry, ¡°My boy! What happened to your face?! Who did this to you!? That¡­ That ungrateful wench! I will make sure she regrets it!!¡±

    ¡°I will sue her,¡± Estelle had told him. ¡°I need your help. Let us get Justice.¡±

    ¡°Stand with Estelle, Son.¡±

    ¡°Yes, marvelous idea! Let us drag her through court!¡±

    ¡°She must be punished!¡±

    ¡°Son, you make me proud.¡±

    ¡°My boy, you are finally free!¡±

    The voices in his head were silenced. A deafening quiet, unreal and comforting surrounded him as he fell to his knees, shakily grasping the unrecognizable corpse.

    His heart bled. He could not bear the pain of the realization.

    The only person whose voice he wanted to hear had fallen eternally mute.

    Trevor¡¯s hand shook as it took a hold of the golden hairs left of her. He put them close to his face, wetting them in his tears, taking in the faint scent of lavender.

    There was no need to inspect whether this was her or not.

    Trevor knew in his soul.

    This was her.

    Penelope Ashdown was dead.

    Trevor cried fervently, hugging her corpse, looking up at the heavens in complete helplessness.

    It was too late to love her now.

    The bearded knight watched him from a distance, the pity in his eyes growing with each shriek of Trevor¡¯s.

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t he the one to sue her in the first place¡­?¡± The bearded knight muttered.

    ¡°Hm?¡± His partner asked. Another knight, who was distracted by a different corpse positioned near a rundown carriage.

    ¡°Ah, nothing.¡±

    ¡°I suppose we shall never uncover the truth of this one, will we¡­¡± The knight¡¯s partner crossed his arms over his chest plate, gazing down at the corpse with a thoughtful frown.

    ¡°You mean the stab wounds?¡± The bearded knight asked.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ Vamlins are no dagger wielders¡­ And to strike a man in the back eleven times... ''tis uncharacteristic.¡±

    ¡°Someone must have seized the moment amidst the chaos.¡± He surmised. ¡°A personal vendetta, I say.¡±

    ¡°Hm¡­ Pity we cannot trace the culprit.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps we could seek the aid of a mage?¡± The bearded knight suggested.

    His partner snorted. ¡°Nay. No one gives that much of a shit about this case¡­ compared to that one,¡± he pointed to Ashdown¡¯s corpse.

    ¡°Fars¡­¡± The knight mumbled. ¡°Was that his name?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± The partner kneeled, covering the face of the toothless victim. ¡°Sounds like a piece of shit.¡±

    The inquiry initiated by the Royal Bureau of Forensics regarding the assault on the caravan entrusted with the custody of the criminal Penelope Ashdown, under the auspices of the Fokchik estate, was concluded with the decree to administer a Holy Cleansing to the criminal¡¯s remains, thereby permitting her family the rites of burial and funeral.

    As for Trevor Vielle, he returned home with sour news to share, his perception of those closest to him forever altered.

    ~

    Somewhere farther and much colder than the chilly hills of the Fokchik estate, south the land, little off the road to Jeozdam village and a day¡¯s travel away from Sail¡­

    Two figures trudged across the snow, fighting the winds of a descending snowstorm.

    A bulky black soldier, looking sick to his stomach but powering through, with a female knight on his back. And a measly little woman, with disheveled blonde hair, a halfway frozen face and franticly searching eyes, carrying her lifetime servant upon her shoulders.

    Many thoughts bubbled in her head.

    Alice was heavy.

    The snowstorm was about to hit.

    The cold was murderous.

    Cheeks and nose red, her eyes continued looking through the white, between the trees, despite the wind.

    Suddenly, Penelope¡¯s lips quirked up. A glint of mischief stirred in her blues as they landed upon it.

    There it was¡ªthat damn cave.

    ¡°Truman!¡± She yelled at the knight. ¡°Let¡¯s take refuge in there!¡±

    That¡¯s right, Penelope was in no place to complain.

    After all, all of this was her own doing.

 Snow, Mist, Moon

    Freya awoke to the weight of stone and silence. The air was thick and stale, carrying the scent of damp earth and old decay. The walls of the cave loomed high and uneven, their jagged edges vanishing into darkness above. The ground beneath her was slick, not quite frozen but wet enough to leech the heat from her body.

    Everyone was sprawled across the cavern floor, still as the dead. Penelope hadn¡¯t even managed to take Alice off her back before collapsing, the girl draped over her, similarly unconscious.

    Freya scowled. ¡°Serves her right.¡±

    She pushed herself upright, sluggish and stiff, her limbs aching from the shock of the winter. She vaguely remembered the howling winds hitting them from all directions, being carried¡ªTruman¡¯s solid grip, his steady breath. Now he was slumped nearby, unmoving.

    There was no light from the entrance. No distant glow of snowfall or storm. Just the pressing weight of stone, the slow drip of water echoing in the cavern¡¯s belly.

    A dull ache lingered in her stomach. Her poison resistance had dulled over time¡ªnot that she could complain. She was the one who had neglected it ever since she left home.

    She reached for her sword, gripping the hilt. A deep, distant rumble sent a shiver down her spine. Instinct pulled her forward, toward the mouth of the cave. Though she couldn¡¯t see it from here, she could feel the change in air, the shift in pressure.

    She moved swiftly, feet steady on the uneven rock, until at last she emerged into the blizzard.

    The world was in tatters, and Freya faltered.

    The sky swirled above, churning, dark with impending fury. ¡°Shit. The storm¡­¡±

    Bending slightly, she braced herself against the wind, keeping her center of gravity low. A lone, half-buried tree stood nearby, and an idea burst into her head.

    Doubt came to hunt the thought, but Korpa must have wanted to extinguish the hesitation, as it sent her a gift.

    Emberite.

    A small spot, melted from the buried rock¡¯s heat, glinting faintly beneath the ground. Relief swelled in her chest.

    ¡°I see the signs,¡± she muttered, tilting her head toward the sky. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    With a sharp exhale, Freya set to work.

    Her muscles screamed as her sword bit into frozen bark, ice splintering with each strike. The wind howled, but she swung harder, hacking away until¡ª¡°ARRRGH!¡±¡ªthe trunk gave way with a final, violent heave.

    Triumphant, she sheathed her sword and bent down, gripping the fallen tree. Fire surged through her limbs as she pushed, boots grinding into the ice. Step by step, she dragged it toward the cave¡¯s entrance, breath coming in ragged gasps.

    With a final roar, she shoved the trunk into place, sealing them off from the storm.

    The cave would have been swallowed in darkness¡ªif not for the green glow of a stone embedded in the walls.

    Striking Korpa¡¯s gift, the Emberite, Freya let its warmth spill outward like liquid fire. Heat chased away the gnawing cold, unfurling through the cavern like a sigh.

    Freya joined her fallen companions, and the witch, then sank down. She leaned back, exhaustion settling over her like a thick cloak.

    The cave¡¯s wall reflected the silhouette of a wise warrior, finally permitted to rest.

    She let out an exaggerated sigh.

    ¡°¡¯Tis hard being a leader¡­¡±

    With that, her eyes fluttered close.

    <hr style="font-weight: 400">

    Pulling myself out of the sweet, sweet embrace of a warm nap took a while.

    But I did it.

    The world slowly took color, painting a comforting portrait compared to the one I had been waking up to the past few weeks.

    A ceiling.

    Dark and distant.

    How nice.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± I muttered, sitting up. ¡°Time to get down to business.¡±

    The cave was vast, as was mentioned in Wholeheartedly Yours.

    The only aspect of this cave that didn¡¯t align with the book¡¯s description was the pleasant warmth, so comfortable I barely wanted to move.

    I turned toward the source and found Freya slumped against the wall, head tilted forward, soft snores leaving her lips. On the ground in front of her, an Emberite.

    I smiled, reaching for the stone, but a sudden cough stopped me.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    A numbing sensation traveled all across my body as I coughed. When it passed, my hand was slick with blood, and I could barely breathe.

    Looking at the crimson liquid on my palm, I sighed.

    The things I do for¡­ well, no, it will all be worth it.

    A sleeping Truman lay on the moist ground, unconsciously cuddling up to the raisin-sized stone. His expression was at ease, which was a relief to see after witnessing his half-dead complexion when he carried Freya earlier. He must have fully recovered from the poison now.

    I put both arms up, stretching as I basked in the pleasant sensation that was Everything Is Going According to The Plan.

    Truly, how nice.

    I walked towards the mouth of the cave, leaving everyone in its depths. It was a decent way between the entrance and the end, ¡ªnot bad for a hideout from a snowstorm.

    My ears twitched. The sound of the howling wind was so faint. Whatever became of the storm?

    I approached the entrance, and still no light.

    Then, I saw it.

    The reason I couldn¡¯t feel the wind or the cold, not even meters away from the Emberite. Why my chest was so tight, why the air felt so¡­ so¡­

    ¡°Wha¡­¡± The words trickled out of my lips, ¡°What¡­ is that?¡±

    The horror.

    A tree trunk the size of a truck was blocking the entrance.

    The little gaps left by a difference in shape were sealed by heaps of snow. So much snow that I could tell¡­ we couldn¡¯t move it.

    We¡¯re stuck here.

    Footsteps echoed behind me.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. I saved us,¡± Freya¡¯s voice sounded behind me. ¡°Now the cold and the winds will be none of our concerns. Furthermore, I, favored by Korpa themselves, have acquired an Emberite. How blessed can one be¡­?¡±

    ¡°You¡­¡± I turned to meet her, but I did not have the words. My jaw was agape. ¡°You absolute¡­¡±

    Freya, groggy from sleep, her nose slightly swollen from what must have been a rewarding nap.

    ¡°Now tell me, witch. Why did you do it?¡± She glared.

    I blinked, still disgusted from the sight behind me.

    ¡°What are you talk¡ª¡±

    ¡°How could you poison me and my companions?¡± Freya mirrored the disgust in my eyes, her nose scrunching up. ¡°How could someone be so evil?¡±

    My jaw was still open from the shock. I shut it, running a hand over my face.

    There goes Plan a.

    I let my hand drop, and met her glare with a sharp look.

    My mind flashed back to the night before. The game of Truth or Drink.

    ¡°Being alone,¡± I had said, waiting for the stone to glow.

    It was personal¡ªnone of Freya¡¯s business¡ªbut who cared. I just needed to make them uncomfortable enough to overlook my next move.

    Everyone had nodded after my answer, venturing into some dark corner of their mind, or something.

    I stood, masking the panic creeping up my throat. ¡°I¡¯ll excuse myself for a moment. I¡¯ll return shortly,¡± dragging my boots through the snow, I slipped past the frozen bushes, out of Truman¡¯s earshot, beyond their gazes.

    I hunched over, bracing myself against the rough bark of a large frozen bush. My breath came out shallow, erratic.

    Stupid. So stupid.

    The taste of the antidote clung to my tongue¡ªbitter, earthy, crushed between my teeth like dried leaves. I forced myself to chew, to swallow, but my body rejected it with a shudder.

    I whined, crunching down and holding my head in my palms. I shut my eyes tightly as I chased away the thoughts.

    Poison. I poisoned them. All of them.

    I drank the poisonous soup.

    It¡¯s in my stomach.

    Fuck.

    My stomach twisted. Not from the toxin, but from the ugly, disgusting sensation coursing throughout my body.

    I could barely breathe, rocking back and forth.

    This isn¡¯t about them being innocent. Or me being innocent.

    But they didn¡¯t do anything to deserve it.

    ¡°I¡¯m such a-a fucking¡­¡± I gritted my teeth, running both hands over my face.

    It was after spiraling for some time that I found a calming thought.

    The storm is almost here.

    I feel sick to my stomach.

    Breathe.

    In. Out.

    Slowly, I opened my eyes.

    The night stretched around me. The mist, the snow, the moon. So vast I felt like a spec.

    ¡°I should go back¡­¡± I¡¯d mumbled, standing back up, slightly dizzy.

    It would make more of a ripple if I passed out over there, anyway¡­

    ¡°I could not believe it,¡± Freya took an ominous step towards me. For a moment, her voice sounded like the one in my head. ¡°You woke up all giddy as well. Was it fun? Did you have a blast poisoning us all?!¡±

    I watched Freya, with her accusative, passionate air as she pointed at me.

    I had to pick my next words carefully. After all, Truman could be listen¡ª

    A roar thundered from further inside the cave. ¡°Did you block the fucking entrance?!¡±

    From the shadows, his silhouette emerged¡ªbroad, imposing. Golden eyes burned against the dim. The sound of his steps struck the cavern floor, each one reverberating through the stone. Or perhaps it was the sheer force of his rage distorting the air.

    The usual vacancy in his expression was gone. Replaced by a glare truly ominous.

    Truman. Angry. Woah.

 Reluctant Agreement

    Veins bulged down Truman¡¯s arms as he closed in, eyes plastered on Freya, his whole body was taut with restraint.

    Freya lit up at the sight of him, ¡°Yes!¡± Then, she read the look on his face, ¡°It¡­ took some effort¡­ but¡­ I managed.¡±

    Truman¡¯s voice was low, his jaw clenched. ¡°You must be a demon.¡±

    Freya¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°What? How can you call me that when this wench is standing next to¡ª¡±

    For a moment, something behind Truman¡¯s eyes went missing. Before I could react, his sword was swinging. Freya spoke faster than I could.

    ¡°A-A COMMONER KNIGHT CANNOT! I¡¯m the daughte¡ª!¡±

    She gasped, going utterly still.

    Chills ran through my back.

    A tense breath left Truman¡¯s lips, the look in his eyes devoid of compassion, of humanity.

    The blade was a hair¡¯s breadth from her neck.

    Truman¡¯s grip tightened around the hilt. ¡°Is that all you have to say for yourself?¡±

    There was something chilling about the manner Truman spoke. The question left his lips despite himself. Like he had envisioned Freya¡¯ execution, but stopped before he could realize it. But why?

    Whatever it was, it was stronger than his mortality.

    Freya stumbled back, nearly sinking from the shock.

    Truman¡¯s intentions were engraved into the air we breathed.

    I should be disturbed. I should. But I¡¯m more impressed at the duality of this man¡­

    ¡°I¡¯m-¡± Freya paused. Her lips parted, as if scrambling for an argument.

    Then, her gaze snapped to me, who stood a step behind Sir Truman, looking as shaken as she did.

    ¡°SHE DID IT!!¡± Freya shouted, pointing at me with every fiber of her soul.

    I lifted both hands up defensively.

    Her words flew over Truman¡¯s head. Then, as if forcing himself to acknowledge them, his jaw clenched and his eyes fell shut.

    He opened them again, turning to me with an expectant look.

    Truman¡¯s sense of fairmindedness exceeds my expectations.

    Looking back, Truman carried Freya here. So to some degree, he must have understood ¡®she¡¯ didn¡¯t purposefully poison us. So his anger right now mustn¡¯t be because of that.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t clog the entrance; everyone knows I barely have the muscles to hold up my own arms,¡± I said, hands still up.

    Truman thought, then discreetly agreed, turning back to Freya and closing the gap between her throat and his blade.

    Shivers travelled down my spine at the sight of it. My pulse quickened, fists... clenching...

    Wait.

    I blinked.

    Why am I panicking?

    This is¡­ good.

    ¡°Sir Truman, this woman has done nothing but lie and lie and lie again. She poisoned us all! She¡¯s a monstrous wench! You cannot be fooled by her!¡±

    Freya was beating at the wrong door¡­ So I might as well open it for her.

    ¡°After I begged Sir Truman to carry you¡­¡± I stepped forward, positioning myself besides Truman. ¡°Just so we don¡¯t abandon you in the middle of a snowstorm¡­ this is what I get? You try to cast your wrongdoings upon me?¡±

    ¡°Do not even talk to me, you¡ª!¡± Truman¡¯s blade came in contact with Freya¡¯s skin. His glare burned through her soul.

    ¡°Was it an attempt to kill us?¡± He questioned. ¡°Do you hold a grudge, or was it someone¡¯s order? What do you know?¡±

    Surely Truman will spare her when she eventually explains herself.

    ¡°Why¡­¡± Freya''s disbelief curled into a nervous smile as he did. ¡°Why do you keep defending¡­!¡±

    Her eyes widened.

    The words got stuck in her mouth.

    ¡°No way¡­¡± Freya¡¯s accusative finger faltered. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me,¡± she frowned, outraged. ¡°You believe her, Sir Truman?! You believe this lying, conniving¡ª!!¡±

    Freya tried to reach towards me, but was reminded of the threat on her life when Truman¡¯s hand jerked in a stiff motion. The blade grazed her neck, and had Freya not stumbled back in utter shock, her neck would¡¯ve been¡­

    ¡°I asked you a fucking question!¡± Truman¡¯s shout echoed through the cave. The hairs on my arms stood.

    My gaze lingered on Truman, on the manner his body seemed to fight against his control.

    ¡®She could be innocent. It could have been unintentional.¡¯ His logic must be a variant of that.

    My gaze flickered to the giant wooden chunk blocking the exit.

    The ¡®repetition¡¯ of her blunders must be making his reasoning lose.

    I dug a hole for Freya and she ended up digging herself a grave.

    ¡°Come now, Sir Truman. You have to believe me. B-Because¡­ w-why the hell would I poison myse¡ª! I¡¯m not insane!¡±

    And she keeps at it.

    ¡°¡­ You don¡¯t look like you were poisoned, Freya.¡± I said.

    Freya leaned towards me, like she was ready to launch herself at me. But instead, she clenched her fists and turned to Truman.

    ¡°I-I have resistance to poison! My family forces it upon all of its members.¡± Her eyebrows came together at the sight of our doubtful expressions. ¡°If I wanted to kill you, would I have been the first to fall ill?! Think, Sir Truman! I was unconscious for hours¡ªyou saw it!¡±

    ¡°And how do we know that wasn¡¯t an act?¡± I asked, expression neutral. ¡°Poison tolerance? Are you from an assassin guild?¡±

    Freya¡¯s neck snapped towards me. ¡°How dare you accuse me of anything?¡± She spoke through gritted teeth. ¡°All you¡¯ve done since the day I met you was slither and be awful to everyone around you! Sir Truman, do not fall for her deceit!¡±

    Truman¡¯s nose scrunched up, his rage became tainted in disgust.

    Freya faltered.

    ¡°I¡­ I understand now! Y-You must trust her b-because you¡¯re so good-hearted, but do not! Because¡­¡± Freya swallowed, determined. ¡°BECAUSE THIS WOMAN IS A WITCH!¡±

    Freya¡¯s last card fluttered against the cave walls, echoing back to us.

    A short silence settled.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°What?! Will you deny it now?!¡± She sneered at me. ¡°That you¡¯re a fallen noblewoman who used to indulge in forbidden crafts? Misleading hundreds of innocents under the lie that you¡¯re blessed by the deity? Using forbidden magic to curse others through so-called revelations!? Even I was a victim of your tricks! Sir Truman, she admitted it herself to me the other day. Believe me when I say¡ª!¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Yes! She was abandoned by¡­¡± Freya¡¯s voice faded, and so did the blame in her eyes.

    ¡°Sir Truman and Alice know everything, Freya.¡± I added.

    I later told Alice about the new tactic, emphasizing how it would be better to accept this incorrect identity, since it was miles better than my real one¡­

    Freya stepped back from Truman¡¯s blade, and I saw it in her eyes; shattered confidence. Betrayal.

    ¡°You knew¡­?¡± Her voice was weak.

    A twinge of guilt began to stir at my heart.

    ¡°So, did you shut the entrance or not?¡± I nudged.

    Suddenly, a tightness squeezed my chest. My sight went blurry, then came clear again.

    The poison was catching up. What a pain.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Freya¡¯s breaths came in shallow heaps, her head was lowered and her fists clenched. ¡°The soup¡­ I¡­¡±

    ¡°Enough,¡± Truman¡¯s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. Shaking his head in exasperated disgust. ¡°Enough.¡±

    The tone of Truman¡¯s voice was chilling. Gone was his restrained anger, all I heard as my eyes widened in realization was¡­ resolve.

    I could hear it in his breathless motion, the small shift in his stance.

    A decision made, a movement already in motion. My gaze sharpened as I glimpsed his sword tilting, the point drifting toward Freya¡¯s exposed throat, smooth, deliberate.

    He cannot kill her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± I commanded.

    Truman¡¯s hand twitched, his glance flickered toward me¡ªthe slightest hesitation, but it was enough.

    ¡°Dame Freya is innocent!¡± A weak voice resonated from within the cave, making all of us freeze.

    Truman turned slightly to eye Alice, his posture unchanged.

    Alice looked almost as pale as a corpse. She seemed able to stand, yet, she pressed forward, leaning heavily on the wall.

    Truman turned back to Freya, who looked devoid of life, almost as pale as Alice. Her gaze stuck on the blade that dug into her throat, making a light blister on her skin. It bled.

    Truman stated in a low tone, ¡°This woman has attempted to kill us twice.¡±

    Her voice trembled, thinner than usual. ¡°She didn¡¯t¡­ not to kill us.¡±

    I wanted to roll my eyes at Alice trusting Freya again, but my relief from the stress I went through thinking shit went off the rails just now was higher, so I opened my mouth to second her.

    But instead of words, I felt a lump of liquid climb up my throat.

    A metallic taste in my mouth.

    I discreetly turned away and coughed into my palm.

    Blood.

    Disgusting. Not good.

    I hid my palm before I could form a proper thought.

    ¡°She¡­ must have put it in¡­ by accident,¡± Alice said.

    Truman shook his head at Freya, unmoved. His gaze pierced Freya¡¯s and his grip tightened once more.

    ¡°There¡¯s also the fact that,¡± I stepped closer to Freya. ¡°Ki¡­ Harming Freya here and now would be¡­ well, inconvenient. It would further diminish our chance of survival.¡±

    Freya might be a pain in the ass, but she¡¯s useful. And I can¡¯t let her die because of me, I¡¯m not a monster.

    Truman¡¯s gaze lingered on me. He let out a breath through his nose, clenched his fist around the handle one last time before lowering his sword. His gaze still pierced hers with all the threat of a predator.

    I don¡¯t know how else to describe it, anyway.

    A tear of blood slid down the wound on Freya¡¯s neck. Her eyes were still wide, unblinking from the shock.

    I threw a look back at Alice, a relieved feeling creeping up on me. ¡°Am I right, Ali?¡±

    A shaky breath. Dilated pupils. A stagger.

    My smile faded.

    She¡¯s about to pass out.

    ¡°It¡¯s unwise¡­ to fight¡ª¡± Alice swayed, her grip on the wall weakened, and her eyelids fell shut.

    Before I could think, I had joined her, reaching out to catch her arms. I swiftly prevented her fall and possible injury.

    ¡°Ali,¡± I muttered, tapping her cheek. ¡°Alice?¡±

    Her skin was cold, clammy.

    Bracing her against myself, I called for Truman and Freya.

    ¡°We need to lay her down.¡±

    ~

    Alice was back to sleep. Her pallor had lessened, after I applied some medical care and had her drink the last of my water.

    I sat by her side, both knees on the ground while she laid on whatever fabrics we had.

    I was honestly at a loss as to what to do, exactly.

    Sure, I know the Stemley isn¡¯t deadly, and I have the antidote. But I didn¡¯t expect these two to be hawk eyeing me like this behind my back!

    I slowly took off my coat, which I was able to do thanks to the warmth of the Emberite, turned it into a ball and put it under Alice¡¯s feet, in some lousy attempt to promote her blood circulation.

    The blazer I wore was airy, which was a nice change for the injury on my back. I glanced back at Alice, my jaw clenching momentarily.

    It made sense that Alice was the only one heavily affected by the poisoning, since Freya and Truman had rigged the immunity game, and I had taken the antidote right after eating the soup.

    Speaking of which, I still feel like shit. I was definitely faring better than Alice, but was eating the stem of the mushroom not the way to take the medicine¡­?

    I shook my head, determining to leave this issue for a later time.

    ¡°I agree with Alice, Sir Truman.¡± I turned to the two with a serious look. ¡°I don¡¯t think this idiot would have poisoned us all, including herself, knowingly. She has nothing to gain from it. And we have nothing to gain from murdering her right now. If anything, it¡¯d be less body heat, more trauma and a stench we don¡¯t want.¡± I shrugged.

    Truman seemed to think about my words, looked at the ground beneath his crossed legs.

    ¡°I dislike being this passive,¡± He admitted in almost a whisper. ¡°I can hear your heartbeat. You haven¡¯t recovered from the poison either. At this rate, you might collapse.¡± He looked up at me, his gaze darkening. ¡°But Freya¡¯s heart is completely fine.¡±

    I turned to Freya, who was cross-legged too, leaning forward, with her face in her palms.

    The warmth touching my neck was a strange change, making me unconsciously run a hand over it, sensing the thin line on it. It scarred.

    ¡°Say something for yourself, Freya Hughes.¡± I ordered.

    Freya flinched at the sound of her full name. She looked up with a flash.

    ¡°I swear I did not do it!¡± She straightened. ¡°Sir Truman, why would I poison you and miss Alice?¡±

    ¡°You tell me,¡± Truman said.

    Freya takes a breath in, then out, like she was calming herself down. Her fingers tapped against her knees. ¡°This reminds me of my childhood. Damn it, why did I plug the exit¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, please do tell us why.¡± I said.

    ¡°You tell me why you¡¯re fine first! I did see you bleed, but¡­ look at miss Ali, then look at you!¡±

    Of course, I had the perfect bullshit excuse for this.

    Pressing my palms together, in the most convincing tone ever, ¡°I have blue eyes.¡±

    Freya frowned, the pouted. ¡°Right, cursed ones¡­ Or, whatever the new name was... You must have better healing capabilities than Ali.¡±

    Freya fidgeted for a couple of seconds, and then with a hesitant look, she spoke. ¡°Even though I cannot comprehend why we are not the least bit suspicious of this witch,¡± Her breaths were heavy, pointing to me. ¡°I just¡­ since I was the one who cooked¡­ then, perhaps, I may have unknowingly foraged the wrong mushroom and thrown it in.¡± She said the words like they were a burden on her shoulders. ¡°That is the only possibility, unless-¡± She shot me a glare as I watched with a half suspicious, half satisfied gaze.

    ¡°That makes sense,¡± I nodded.

    I don¡¯t feel bad. Freya was a bitch to me this whole time. She just paid back in full.

    I shook my head, as if to shake off the twinge of guilt tugging at my heart.

    I shouldn¡¯t feel bad.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Truman mumbled, making me turn to him.

    I waited for him to elaborate.

    But he simply sighed. ¡°But isn¡¯t as though we could chop her up and use her limbs as firewood, since she plugged the entrance.¡± His shoulders slumped.

    My eyebrows shot up. ¡°That¡¯s fucked up,¡± I half-mumbled, nodding along to what he was saying.

    ¡°So until the storm passes,¡± a hint of uneasiness in Truman¡¯s eyes, ¡°We must cohabitate.¡±

    Immediately, I turned to Freya. ¡°Whatever Truman said last.¡±

    Freya nodded in reluctant agreement.

    I shook my head again.

    ¡­ Okay, maybe I did feel a little bad.

    ¡°If miss Ali dies, you will be held responsible. Know that,¡± Truman added, at last setting his sword down.

    ¡°¡­ I will die a rich aunt¡­¡± Alice¡¯s weak voice rose besides me. I turned to her, the antidote in my pocket practically burning against me.

    No. Not yet. I need to be alone with her.

    ¡°What did she say?¡± Freya asked.

    I waved a dismissive hand. ¡°She has a fever.¡±

 Whats Your Name!

    Alice¡¯s state was worsening with every passing minute. I could tell from her pained expression, lying stiff and pale against the sheets on the ground.

    My arms were crossed, the Emberite¡¯s warmth softly crashing against my back, watching over Alice like a hawk, while my ears tracked Freya and Truman¡¯s steps as they headed towards the entrance, in hopes of being able to unplug it somehow.

    My forehead was beaded with sweat, finally taking a breather after managing her fever for several hours now. She was coughing up a lot of blood, which genuinely threw me for a loop.

    I threw a look back as soon as their footsteps were no longer audible to me, and without a second thought, I pulled the antidote out of my pants¡¯ pockets.

    I can¡¯t believe I overlooked when I would be able to feed them all the antidote. Good thing Freya can take care of herself.

    I had already smashed the poisonous mushroom¡¯s stem, which was the antidote specified in Wholeheartedly Yours, so in a swift motion, I slipped half that shit into Alice¡¯s open mouth.

    Using my expertise in feeding an unconscious person medicine, I helped move her jaw, careful neither to wake her nor to let Truman hear the bizarre sounds she likely made.

    I leaned back once she had swallowed. But then, a thought emerged.

    Bro what if she dies from the poisoning.

    ¡°Hell no,¡± I mumbled, putting the rest of the antidote in her mouth.

    I can manage my own pain.

    ¡°Hang in there, we¡¯ll get out of here soon. The snowstorm won¡¯t last long.¡± I said. Alice was completely out, though. So in a moment of thoughtlessness, I couldn¡¯t help but try to reassure myself. ¡°A week¡­ one last week and it¡¯ll be over.¡¯

    ¡°And how do you know that?¡± Freya¡¯s raspy voice sounded over my head.

    My eyes fell shut. I let out a sigh, but only internally.

    Looking up at her, I forced a business smile. ¡°The spirits revealed it to me, dear Freya.¡±

    Freya mirrored my fake smile, ¡°Say that again while holding this.¡± She puts a hand into the pocket of her red tunic and pulls out a Lucenite.

    My nose crunched up, completely weirded out. I turned around to look at both her and Truman in the distance.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¡­ You carry this everywhere?¡±

    Truman stepped up from behind her, his shoulders slumped forward. Gaze still sharp.

    ¡°She has them on constantly,¡± he said, taking a seat beside the Emberite. ¡°The stones make an obnoxious sound when rubbing together. Makes patrolling sound disturbing.¡±

    ¡°Does she have more?¡± I asked Truman, trying to peek at him from behind Freya¡¯s legs.

    ¡°No, she dropped everything else on our way to the cave.¡±

    I nodded, smiling up at Freya.

    I need to break that thing.

    ¡°No matter. Answer my question now.¡± Freya orders, handing me the cold rock. ¡°How do you know about this cave, and about how long the storm will last?¡± There was a twirl of doubt in her eyes even towards the stone she handed me.

    I held it, waiting for her to sit as well, while I thought of a quick answer.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Freya began.

    ¡°I read about it in a book,¡± I stated, and the stone glowed.

    I set the rock down. Hard. Making sure I heard it crack.

    With a taunting look, I continued at the processing Freya.

    ¡°The holy book taught me everything I know.¡± I gently spoke, nodding respectfully at her.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°The exit?¡± I threw a glance towards Truman, who leaned against a wall, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in an almost adorable frown.

    ¡°Completely blocked,¡± Truman said, his mild tone darkening for a moment.

    ¡°Again, I¡¯m terribly sorry, Sir Truman¡­ It truly seemed like a good idea in the moment.¡± Freya said, reaching for Sir Truman¡¯s hand.

    Truman shut his eyes, not reciprocating Freya¡¯s gesture.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just hope I don¡¯t watch you all die,¡± I caught him mumble, making me tilt my head.

    ¡°What the- My lucky charm!¡± Freya¡¯s stone was in two pieces, one in each palm.

    I ignored it.

    The lightheadedness from before had gotten intense now that I was no longer focused on Alice, making me drowsy.

    I leaned back, checking my forehead.

    ¡­ Okay, if the Emberite stops working, I at least know I can prevent frostbite using my forehead.

    Let¡¯s just hope I don¡¯t watch you all die.

    His words were strange. Truman had the best chances of survival out of all of us, since he seemed to have auto-healing abilities. I even doubt he might be some weird immortal, knowing he came out of a mountain of corpses to come find me during the Attack.

    ¡­ there¡¯s no way he meant those words, since he himself is safe.

    Until now, I thought I had a good idea of who Truman was. Someone with an infectious thoughtlessness and relaxed air about him, who¡¯s oddly honorable despite his opportunism and weak knees for a good paycheck.

    That was my mental note concerning him.

    But I guess¡­ I could be wrong.

    ~

    I assumed it was nighttime when I came to consciousness again.

    My eyes still shut, I reflected on the weird dream I had, barely able to remember what it was. Likely misdiagnosing someone again or having to put the antidepressants in my mother¡¯s mouth and making her chew on them.

    I must have sweated through my sleep. Is it even morning yet?

    Shivers crawled down my back, my back and the injury on it feeling hotter than usual.

    The fever.

    It¡¯s the fricking fever.

    I forced my eyes open, but they were swollen.

    God, I bet they¡¯re bloodshot, too. Now they¡¯ll know and start considering me a burden again. That would be awful for my plan, since I¡¯m over the weakling act ¡­

    I looked around, eyes half open. But the location was strange. A cave. Seemed dark and lonely.

    I should¡­ melt some water¡­ my throat hurts.

    If I feel like this¡­ Ugh, the thought that Alice could have been in worse pain before made me frown, shaking my head.

    I blinked, looking around.

    No one. Alice, Alice¡¯s bedding, Lucenite Freya, Truman. I was alone. I looked down at my palms, and even they were not completely here.

    I flipped them back and forth, the realization slowly dawning on me.

    They¡¯re see-through¡­

    ¡°I¡¯M SEE THROUGH!¡± I yelled, voice echoing through the cave.

    Eyes now fully open, I could see that there was light coming from behind me. From a large opening.

    This isn¡¯t our cave. What the fuck.

    ¡°No need to yell,¡± A deep, masculine voice spoke behind me, from where soft light came from.

    Shivers.

    Since I didn¡¯t wear my coat, I could not use one of Truman¡¯s daggers, which I had stashed in its welt pocket.

    Thus, I shoved my hand into my pants¡¯ pocket, looking for the sharpest thing I could find. Without a second thought, I wrapped my hand around it and pulled it out.

    ¡°Where am I?! Who are- why am I ghostly!?¡±

    I twirled around, spoon in hand, glaring at my opponent with all of the courage of a feverish idiot.

    I blinked.

    My hold on my weapon weakened.

    Black eyes, black hair neatly styled back, clothes perfectly tailored to fit his muscled styled. And the beautiful, big-eyed little fox was in his arms.

    The stranger. His posture, his pressed jacket in some rich, military green¡ªhe looked like he¡¯d just walked out of a very important life.

    Or from some fancy cologne ad.

    I frowned.

    That was a feverish thought. Get your shit together, Penelope. You¡¯re a ghost.

    At the sight of my stance, his gaze softened into a devilishly amused look.

    His gaze lingered on the spoon in my hand, the corners of his mouth twitching. ¡°Is that a threat?¡±

    It¡¯s what I had used to drink the poisonous soup. I must have unknowingly shoved it in my pocket amid the panic.

    ¡°Not to be rude, but what the fuck is going on?¡±

    The stranger opened his mouth to speak, but then a question I would hate to forget again popped into my currently cooking brain.

    So we spoke simultaneously.

    ¡°I have a new condition for the contract,¡± he said.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I said.

    There was a strange tingling in my entire body, running all the way to the tips of my fingers. It felt like something within me was lost. Something that wasn¡¯t my own, but I no longer had it.

    And without it there, I sort of feel¡­ really awful.

    The pain from my stomach, the coughing, the dryness of my throat¡ªeverything doubled.

    ¡°We shall get to those details in a moment, but for now, it would be better for you that I¡­¡± The longer he spoke, the less he seemed clear within my sight.

    I might pass out.

    ¡°You must have brought me here¡­¡± I glared up, putting some force behind my knees.

    I won¡¯t collapse, not now. I needed to make sure he isn¡¯t a character in the book. That would give me an advantage against him he cannot fathom.

    ¡°Put me back, you asshole,¡± I glared. ¡°And tell me what¡¯s your name!¡±