ã€ŠThe Misadventure Of A Woman Reincarnated As A Nobleman&#x2019;s Sonã€‹


 Prologue

    I, a twenty-eight-year-old, straight woman, wanted to play a dating sim aimed at horny teenage boys for the most pitiable reason: to see how I should act to be seen as cute.

    Please don¡¯t make me repeat that.

    It came off a string of first dates that didn¡¯t so much crash and burn as awkwardly fizzle out. Growing up and even in my twenties, I¡¯d been told I wasn¡¯t cute, wasn¡¯t girly. I had an on-off relationship with self-hate over that. Worn down by this particularly bad run of rejections, I was desperate and drunk enough to do something crazy.

    The Key To Her Heart was, allegedly, the most popular dating sim on a certain website of slightly-less-than-legal repute. A game where I played as a character that ¡°seduces¡± one of several other characters. In this case, I was a nobleman¡¯s son ¡°choosing¡± a fianc¨¦e at a posh boarding school in pseudo-Victorian England. The character being fifteen was enough to stop me before I downloaded it, but it was listed as not including ¡°Adult CGs¡± and apparently rated at PG-13, so I thought I would give it a shot¡ªthe ratings and reviews really were so incredibly good.

    As I said, alcohol also played a part in my decision. But I was soon cursing the beer can that I couldn¡¯t put down, because I absolutely sucked at making teenage girls fall in love with me. Somehow, I managed to say or do the wrong thing. There were usually only two or three options, so, to consistently choose the wrong one, I was basically a genius at repulsing women.

    I persevered anyway. The game came with options to save and load, so I could go through all the choices and see which went best, but it wasn¡¯t always clear until much later in the game which choice was actually right. It got so bad I broke out a piece of paper, scavenging across my flat for a pen that still worked. At some point, I managed to forget why I was even doing all of this, lost in my emotional seduction of schoolgirls. Perhaps the only lesson I did learn was that playing hard-to-get would have worked amazingly well on me.

    And then, after playing through the entire night, I finally made it to one of the girl¡¯s rooms where she was surely going to give me the ¡°key to her heart¡±.

    That bitch stabbed me.

    The laughter bubbled up inside until I had to let it out, rubbing my tired eyes, sinking to rest on the desk. It was a troll game. Of course it had such good ratings and reviews. If the Internet was good at one thing, it was making people waste their time¡ªsuch as by playing a game where the ¡°good ending¡± was being murdered. Delirious, I passed out, falling into a patchy sleep in front of my computer.

    From there¡­ the next thing I knew I was in warm water, no current to it. Warm like a mother¡¯s embrace. And I was sinking. Then a hand reached out, grabbing me, pulling, and the water was an icy torrent, trying to drag me down, but the painfully tight grip never faltered. In a last heave, I was pulled onto a riverbank. My lungs burned, body prickled, numb and yet it was like my blood turned to pins and needles, poking through my very flesh.

    Managing to open my eyes, a strange sight met me: a man in an old-fashioned suit, and women dressed up as maids (the outfits stretching down to their ankles), and another man, his clothes soaking wet but otherwise the same suit without the jacket. When I looked down, my trembling hands were smaller than I remembered. The wrong shape.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°Albert!¡±

    On instinct, I turned.

    ¡°Oh thank goodness. Master Albert is all right,¡± one of the maids said.

    Albert, I was Albert. That thought swirled around my head as they bundled me back into the coach, stripping off my wet clothes and putting on fresh ones, blankets draped over me. For hours, we travelled in silence. The scenery outside showed no tarmac roads, no cars, no distant wind turbines nor skyscrapers.

    I was now Albert Luton, eleven years old, second son of the Viscount of Luton. This coach would take me to a boarding school for boys on the outskirts of Cambridge. There, I would spend four years before moving on to a coed school. In my time at the coed school, I would be expected to introduce myself to the girls and at least leave a good impression. It wouldn¡¯t be expected for me to have an engagement by the end of the three years schooling, but it wouldn¡¯t be a surprise if I did or otherwise have a good relationship with one of the girls.

    And the coed school, that was the setting for The Key To Her Heart.

    I¡¯d been sleeping at my desk. What happened next, I couldn¡¯t remember. But I must have woken up in the morning and looked for breakfast, and my fridge was empty so I grumbled and shuffled off to the newsagent down the road, and¡­ the river. I thought I must have fallen into the river and drowned.

    This, then, was my own, personal hell. Brought back to the schooldays that had broken me more times than I could count, mixed with the game which had kicked me (hard) while I was already at rock bottom. If only I¡¯d downloaded a game where I was the doted princess of a beloved king, engaged to a handsome, caring noble. That was the sort of game I should have been playing to heal my broken heart.

    As the sun fell, the boarding school not far away, a mewling sound broke the rough silence of old coach wheels on a dirt road. I looked around, trying to find the source. One of the maids held a small bundle of blankets, bouncing it like there was a child inside, softly shushing it.

    She looked up and caught my eye, immediately bowing her head. ¡°I am sorry, sir. The kitten must be hungry.¡±

    ¡°Kitten?¡± I half-said, half-asked.

    Hesitation flickered in her expression. ¡°The kitten which you rescued, sir.¡±

    I had taken a short walk while the horses were fed and come to a river, or rather Albert had, the memory coming back to me. There¡¯d been a splash. Albert had looked and seen a small animal lost to the currents, and he had tried to reach out to grab it, but it had been just a little too far, losing his footing.

    Then there¡¯d been the cold, pressing in from all sides, digging into his skin. Even if he¡¯d wanted to scream, the icy water had already sucked all strength from him. Sinking, dragged to a darkness he couldn¡¯t escape.

    I must have chosen a good day to drown myself, my experience a lot nicer. But, maybe, I had died the same way, trying to rescue a cat or something like that.

    ¡°May I see it?¡± I asked, the polite choice of words coming naturally to Albert¡¯s body.

    She again looked reluctant, yet gave in, pulling the blanket back a bit and tilting the bundle towards me. I made no move to take it from her. The kitten was wrapped up much like me, and it certainly looked cute. Far cuter than I¡¯d ever been.

    ¡°Is it a boy or a girl?¡± I asked.

    ¡°A girl, sir.¡±

    I smiled to myself. ¡°Would you call her Alice, and raise her kindly at the estate?¡±

    ¡°Of course, sir, if Lord Luton consents.¡±

    So she said, but I doubted she would trouble Albert¡¯s father over a matter as trivial as a cat. Then again, I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised to later find out Alice was slaughtered, little worth put on any animals life in this time. Still, since Albert¡¯s youngest sister had a pet cat, I thought Alice would be fine.

    ¡°My youngest sister,¡± I whispered, correcting my thoughts.

    ¡°Pardon, sir?¡±

    I shook my head, letting the disconnect I felt pass. ¡°Nothing.¡±

    Alice, it had been a name too cute for me, but it would suit this kitten well. From now on, I was Albert.

    And I would live out this hell.

 Chapter 1 - Enter Your Name

    The boarding school looked like a simple but large abbey. Though, the three rows of windows gave away it wasn¡¯t a single, grand hall inside. There was a brief meeting with the headmaster once I arrived, little more than being told to wake up early tomorrow, before he had an older boy lead me to the dormitory for the first years¡ªone of four identical buildings a little away from the building. There was no goodbye for the servants that had travelled all day to bring me here. There was nothing said.

    Inside the dormitory, a sort of lounge was beyond a short entrance hall (for shoes and coats). The furniture didn¡¯t look all that posh, yet it wasn¡¯t just bare wood. Three couches, eight chairs¡ªdining chairs. Four tables.

    By the look of it, I was the last one to arrive. If I¡¯d been at the Luton manor, it would have only taken a few hours, but, well, there wasn¡¯t any reason for me to think about that. Not everything needed an explanation. The boys glanced at me from where they were. They probably expected a teacher soon. Once a moment of attention was paid to me, they returned to whatever they were talking about, split into their cliques already.

    Without enough seats for everyone¡ªa little more than half standing¡ªI found a quiet windowsill to lean against. This world wasn¡¯t quite the past of my old world. The Key To Her Heart. It was an almost late-Victorian England setting with a bit of fantasy for flavour. No one wanted to read a story about pissing into a chamberpot, so there was toilet plumbing. The food was apparently tasty; I wasn¡¯t sure when food became tasty by modern standards. There was some romanticism of the time, but it was contrasted by showing some of the real brutality that went on. At least, I thought the darker aspects were based on reality, most of my knowledge coming from period dramas and Charles Dickens stories. Otherwise, the biggest difference was the made up names. Queen Victoria still ruled, but baronies up to duchies were given out over the various towns and counties, not at all based on actual history.

    ¡°¡­ Miles.¡±

    That name pulled me out my thoughts, and I looked over. Miles. He¡¯d been Albert¡¯s close friend in the game. There¡¯d not been much said about what happened before the game started, but Albert had stood up for Miles, which was how they became friends in the first place. From where I was, I could see him clearly, his childish face on the verge of tears.

    I hadn¡¯t really thought whether or not I was going to follow the story. There wasn¡¯t much story to follow, not until I attended the coed school. But he had warned me not to get involved with the princess.

    It wasn¡¯t that I cared, but that I didn¡¯t care, and that was why I pushed myself up straight and walked over. ¡°Miles Dunstable, is it?¡±

    He looked at me for a moment, his gaze quickly glancing back to his tormentors, unsure what to do until he eventually settled on a simple reply. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Albert Luton,¡± I said, offering my hand. It took him a second, but he shook it.

    The other boys I didn¡¯t recognise. Maybe they would later attend the coed school as well, but the game had focused on the girls. Albert hadn¡¯t met more than a few boys his own age either. However, other boys still existed, four of them scowling at me. One¡ªslim and blond and with just the sort of face you¡¯d expect¡ªspoke up. ¡°What do you think you are doing?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m interrupting,¡± I said, stating it as clear as a fact. ¡°If you would excuse us.¡±

    I went to turn away, hoping Miles would be pulled along without thinking, but a hand darted out to grab my wrist. ¡°You are not excused.¡±

    As I faced the boy once more, I noticed we¡¯d drawn a bit of attention. Confrontations¡­. The girls had always liked to talk about me loudly, drop notes in my bag, steal my things¡ªmake me powerless. They didn¡¯t want to give me the chance to fight back, because that would ruin their game. At least, that was how I understood it now, many years spent reliving those moments and thinking what I could have done differently.

    These weren¡¯t girls, though.

    I stared him down. It wasn¡¯t a threat, or me begging for him to let go, but a disinterested look. I had no reason to escalate things. All I wanted to do was spare Miles the bullying, which I¡¯d done. He tried to pull me forwards, his three friends crowding me and Miles. And I said nothing, my dead gaze the reply.

    He raised his hand, fist clenched.

    ¡°Have you been caned before?¡± I asked. Corporal punishment was common for the time, so I was sure he at least knew about it if he hadn¡¯t suffered it before.

    His expression flickered, the ¡°intimidating¡± scowl slipping for a moment. ¡°You would snitch?¡±

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I? You¡¯ve raised your fist to me and I¡¯ve done nothing.¡±

    He hesitated, glances taking in the looks from everyone else. Honestly, I didn¡¯t know if any of them would care if he did punch me, or if they¡¯d care more about me snitching on him. But, for him, caning was probably a good deterrent.

    ¡°What do you mean? My friends and I heard what you said, didn¡¯t we?¡±

    I hated my time at school before and this time wasn¡¯t going to be any better. Games, it would always be these games, the rules kept from me, teams chosen before I got there. ¡°It¡¯s strange to me that you would choose to have yourself caned just to have me caned as well, when you could simply¡­ not.¡±

    His grip on my wrist became painfully tight, maybe enough to leave a bruise. Someone didn¡¯t like losing. I just wished I knew what he wanted to win. ¡°My father¡ª¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t care for you. None of ours do, that is why we are here. If I sent my father a letter to complain about you, I would get a reply from one of the servants asking what on this great earth made me think my father would care for some petty squabble between boys.¡±

    The silence after I finished speaking told me all I needed to know. I was not a good person, not a kind person. No, I always went too far, said too much, cruel. This was just a boy in front of me. He probably already knew what I¡¯d said¡ªmost us were second or third sons, maybe nephews or cousins of an actual nobleman¡ªand he was probably afraid, lonely. Maybe he was an awful person, but he was still a child. I couldn¡¯t hide behind that excuse. If anything, I was a hypocrite, taking out my frustrations on him after patting myself on the back for not escalating things.

    At least Miles probably wouldn¡¯t be the target of bullying any time soon.

    The boy¡¯s grip on my wrist weak now, I simply turned and walked away to the door, entering the bedroom part of the dormitory. There were ten rooms on the ground floor (one of them mine), fourteen on the first and sixteen the second. Each floor also had two lavatories and one bathroom. My room was number nine, right next to the bathroom and the stairwell. It was a little funny to me that they were numbered like a road: odd on the left, even on the right.

    Compared to the keys I was used to, this one felt clunky, worrying me it would snap off rather than turn, but I managed to unlock my door this time. Inside the room was a bed, desk, wardrobe and window, as well as an old-fashioned trunk that had been sent a few days earlier from the Luton manor. Though, there wasn¡¯t really anything of mine inside, most of it newly bought uniforms. From tomorrow, I would wear the uniform until I went home some months from now.

    My thoughts could only distract me for so long. I started to stew, what had happened with that boy going round and around my head, imagining what I could have done differently. But I really didn¡¯t know. I wasn¡¯t a boy. Albert had only really known his family and a few relatives. Neither of us were suited for this, knew what to do.

    That was okay. I¡¯d come here to suffer, after all. Not to mention, if adults always knew what to do, then bullying wouldn¡¯t ever be a problem, but¡ªall too well¡ªI knew that adults were useless.

    I spent the evening staring out at the grounds, lit only by the stars and moon. A teacher knocked on the other doors at some point. ¡°Lights out.¡± He said that over and over, but skipped my dark room. After closing the curtains, I changed into my pyjamas and slipped into the bed. It wasn¡¯t exactly hard or lumpy, about the same as my old mattress before I splurged on a memory foam topper. Still, I found it hard to sleep, pointless thoughts coming to mind constantly.

    Hours must have passed, the time around midnight or so. Desperately needing the toilet, I finally convinced myself to get out from my warm bed, the chill in the air icy. Shuffling out in my slippers, I crossed the hallway to the lavatory.

    Someone was crying and trying their best not to be heard.

    I went to the toilet, forgetting I didn¡¯t have to sit down until after I¡¯d already frozen my cheeks on the cold seat. Hesitating for a moment, I didn¡¯t wipe, just shook, and then pulled up my drawers¡ªmore like boxer shorts than something puffy or frilly.

    Under the sound of the flush toilet refilling, I could still hear the crying.

    It could well have been my fault. I hadn¡¯t spoken quietly earlier, my harsh words for everyone to hear. But, even if I hadn¡¯t said anything, I still would have sat down in front of the door to room ten. It was only me I didn¡¯t care about. Quietly, I closed my eyes and hummed the tune of a nursery rhyme. Albert¡¯s voice was good, some time spent in a choir the last few holidays, and he¡¯d trained with the violin. The muffled crying abruptly stopped; though, the odd sniffle happened now and then. I kept going until there was silence, something like ten minutes.

    From the next day onwards, Miles (my neighbour in room seven) followed me nearly everywhere. I didn¡¯t know exactly why and never asked either. Everyone else avoided me at first, but the bullying soon started anyway. It didn¡¯t become anything terrible, maybe my warning of a caning in their minds or maybe I was too boring. When they called me names, I ignored them. When they tripped me, I picked myself up without a word. At least with these boys, some of them were happy to just laugh at me with their friends, while, for a few, it felt like they wanted to get a rise out of me.

    In the end, I was sure it was more like they couldn¡¯t leave me alone. The way I acted wasn¡¯t normal, a scab they had to pick, so it was enough to jostle me, exclude me, make sure I never felt comfortable. I wasn¡¯t and would never be one of them.

    Miles was mostly left alone. There were even a few times when a group of boys asked him why he bothered hanging out with me, asking him to join them instead. But I was stuck with him. Well, I helped him with schoolwork, so it wasn¡¯t like I did nothing for him. Classes were easy enough for me. Maths didn¡¯t yet cover multiplication or division, so I just had to make sure I presented my work as the teacher asked. Reading, also, was painlessly easy. When it came to writing, the other boys and some teachers made fun of the girly way I wrote, but it was close enough to the copybook that I didn¡¯t have to take extra lessons¡ªMiles wasn¡¯t so lucky, spending a few hours each week copying out lines.

    Then there was the classics. Albert had luckily been an okay student, his Latin not bad enough to get me in trouble the first few lessons. History and geography were similar but different to what little I could remember learning. Still, these classes were simple for me; though, it had nothing to do with me being a modern adult. Working a mindless job for seven years, rote learning wasn¡¯t really any worse, so I could sit down and copy what the teacher wrote and repeat it to myself a hundred times for homework. When I could, I used a mnemonic to help, but mostly I just forced the names and dates and vocabulary to stick in my head through repetition. For sports, I was decently fit, and only ever picked last.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    After a few months, I was pretty much settled in. Getting used to a boy¡¯s body wasn¡¯t all that tricky, probably a lot easier than the other way around. I still thought of myself as a woman too close to thirty for her own liking, though, but I didn¡¯t have any particular dysphoria about being in a boy¡¯s body. It just sometimes caught me off guard when I spent a while alone and suddenly saw myself in the mirror.

    With the end of the year approaching, the school broke up. Another difference to history, there wasn¡¯t Christianity, not by that name. It hadn¡¯t come up much in the game. The church preached the same sort of core stuff¡ªbe kind to everyone and all that¡ªbut without Jesus and the Old Testament, their holy book instead a book of collections of parables and saints.

    That all meant no Christmas as such. Rather, a strange kind of Halloween stretched out through the last week of the year. They called it All Hallows¡¯ Tide (Hallows¡¯ for short), a celebration of the saints, which mostly meant giving kids sweets as well as small gifts to close family and friends. At midnight, the start of the new year, a coin would be left for children in a sock as thanks from the saints for remembering them. The coin would usually be spent on more sweets, because children.

    It was just as big of a deal as Christmas probably was in Victorian times, so everyone at the school was expected to go home. I didn¡¯t know of anyone staying, but a couple of boys were going to other relatives since their parents were abroad. My parents were unfortunately in England.

    The coach trundled along to the Luton manor, my home that I¡¯d never been to before.

    Albert¡¯s memories of the place weren¡¯t exactly warm, but he hadn¡¯t hated growing up there. His nanny had been strict while fair, and his tutors patient¡ªas long as he didn¡¯t mess around. Family, he wasn¡¯t particularly close with any of them. His brother was older by four years, one sister two years older and the other three years younger. He¡¯d hardly seen his parents outside of meals, and they had barely said a word to any of the children at those times.

    Rather than lonely, Albert had simply enjoyed playing games by himself, usually pretend adventures with a carved soldier that featured a few other carved toys (a ship, train, horse). He¡¯d also liked to read, probably influencing the adventures he would act out.

    All of that suited me. There was no fuss made of me when I arrived home. A footman led me to my room, really just carrying my luggage for me, and then I was alone. The afternoon young, it would be a few hours until dinner.

    My bed was soft. The view from the window, there were flowerbeds and a dozen trees scattered about, nicer than the swampy lawn I was treated to at the school. There was a lot of space to move, but, used to my dorm room, it felt empty. I had liked sitting at my desk and being able to look nearly straight up at the night sky. My casual clothes were more comfortable than the uniform, almost as comfortable as the pyjamas.

    With nothing to do, feeling too lazy to even read a book, I pulled the desk chair over to the windows. Sitting there, I idly practised my magic¡ªthe touch of fantasy to the setting. It was nothing more than summoning a small flame in my hand. That was the ¡°proof of my nobility¡±, showing I was descended from William I after the ancient dragons blessed him as the rightful king of England. From my understanding of how broad family trees grew, likely everyone in Britain was descended from him, but I never expected nobility to let a little genetics get in the way of a good thing. Apparently, other nobility in foreign countries had their own magic they could do. I thought fire was pretty much the best one, though, lighting lamps, heating baths. Plumbing made summoning water mostly useless, I couldn¡¯t think of anything that useful for wind.

    When dinnertime came, I reluctantly left my seat, sure this would be awkward. Supper, they called it, dinner being lunch. I¡¯d slipped up on that a few times, always called it lunch and dinner back before this all had happened.

    The manor was a simple elegance, not quite on the over-the-top levels of gold-trimmed paintings and polished suits of armour lining the hallways. Rather, the pointless spending came in the form of intricate detailing. For the carpet, it was a brownish red that wouldn¡¯t stain easily, but a pattern in beige and navy blue repeated along the whole length of it, flowery and with four-point stars. Wallpaper was apparently a thing, dark red base decorated by embossed flowers in a similar purple¡ªthe design almost abstract, a simple pattern as it was. Pedestals were spaced a few paces apart, adorned with china vases (empty for now), leaving the windows unobstructed. Gas lamps lit the hallway; I didn¡¯t know if that was historically correct, but I was sure at least London had gas lighting by the Victorian era.

    Entering the dining room, it was pretty much as Albert remembered it and it followed the same aesthetic as the hallways. Though, the vases here were filled with flowers, adding some bright colour in bunches of blue and yellow. The maid who had led me here bowed and left as I sat down.

    My family: Lionel, father; Lillian, mother; Raymond, older brother; Violet, older sister; Daisy, youngest sister. They sat in silence. The meal was served over three courses, food tastier than at the school but still lacking the excessive salt and sugar that made modern food so addictive. That said, an excessive amount of butter helped, especially with the vegetables. Etiquette wasn¡¯t a problem, the cutlery arranged mostly in the order to use it and it was one of the things I had been taught, the lessons permanently etched into my head.

    By the end of the meal, I felt a little bloated, maybe indulging just a little too much in the duck-fat roasties. Our plates and cutlery were cleared away. No dessert, not for a normal meal¡ªunless father was away on business.

    None of the family stood up, and we wouldn¡¯t until father either excused us or left himself. He straightened his collar, adjusted his glasses, and then raised his gaze to me.

    ¡°Welcome home, Albert.¡±

    I bowed my head a touch. ¡°Thank you, father.¡±

    He raised his glass and looked at the last bit of wine before drinking it. ¡°How was your time at the school?¡±

    ¡°Do you really care to hear?¡± I asked, my tone flat and not the least bit sarcastic¡ªI¡¯d avoided the cane so far, hoping to continue that streak.

    Mother gasped, and she sharply whispered, ¡°Albert!¡±

    ¡°Is he wrong, dear?¡±

    She had no answer but her narrowed eyes and mouth pressed to a line, giving me that harsh look, unwilling to outright contradict her husband in company, even if that company was family and staff. Instead, she said to me, ¡°Do tell us.¡±

    After a second to prepare my thoughts, I spoke. ¡°I am on good terms with the son of Lord Dunstable, not so much with the other boys. I am doing well with my studies and have had no detentions or infractions as of yet. I am thinking of joining the fencing club, or else the cricket club once the season permits.¡±

    ¡°Very good,¡± father said, and I wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d even listened.

    Mother nodded. ¡°We should see if the Lord Dunstable¡¯s son would like to visit¡ªwe are practically neighbours.¡±

    ¡°If that is father¡¯s wish,¡± I said, bowing my head.

    From there, the conversation moved on to other cursory questions posed to my siblings. Then the meal finally finished, father leaving first with mother behind him. Albert used to wait for Raymond and Violet to leave before he did, but there was no real reason for it, so I stood up once mother left the room and strode out before any trouble could find me.

    Quick, light footsteps followed me in the hallway. ¡°Al!¡±

    Miles sometimes called me that, only one other person who did. I stopped and turned around, Daisy huffing as she slowed to a stop of her own, cheeks red. ¡°Is something the matter?¡± I asked.

    She pouted, her pudgy cheeks sticking out, utterly adorable. A simple dress, lace frills, and her hair in a ponytail. Only, the bow was loose.

    Before she answered me, I said, ¡°Let me fix your bow.¡± I moved as I spoke, turning her around with a touch on her shoulder. Though I hadn¡¯t exactly been a master at tying, it was a simple knot, easy enough to do and then fiddle with until it looked even. ¡°There we go.¡±

    ¡°Since when do you know how to tie bows?¡± she asked.

    Cheeky, I had to resist ruffling her hair. ¡°The words you¡¯re looking for are thank you.¡±

    She looked at me with her pout again.

    ¡°So what is it you wanted?¡± I asked.

    Her expression changed, smile impish. ¡°Your cat is all mine,¡± she said, smug.

    ¡°Ah, Alice is well?¡±

    Given how she deflated, I guessed she was expecting me to be upset, trying to tease me. ¡°Yes,¡± she said, grumbling the word.

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡±

    Nothing more said, I went to turn around after a couple of seconds, but she said, ¡°Wait!¡±

    I stopped, looking back at her.

    She fidgeted, and then sighed, and then finally said, ¡°If you really want to, I guess you can come see Alice some time. But she likes me the most, so don¡¯t be disappointed, okay? And she gets on well with Chestnut¡ªthey¡¯re just like mother and daughter.¡±

    My soul wasn¡¯t black enough to ask her when the last time our mother had hugged her. I thought it, though, finding it funny (in an unfunny way) how children raised like her still knew that a mother was supposed to love her children.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I said. ¡°I will come tomorrow to check on her.¡±

    ¡°Well, I suppose that¡¯s fine,¡± she said.

    This time, she didn¡¯t stop me as I left.

    Usually, I spent my evenings on homework, but there wasn¡¯t any for the holiday. A religious time, I was expected to read a parable a day. Most people travelled and threw parties and all that, so the school couldn¡¯t set any homework that got in the way. I passed the time reading (not the holy book) before going to bed.

    The next morning, we had breakfast together. Nothing was said outside of father commenting on a few stories in the newspaper, mother offering her two pence when he did. Afterwards, I waited for Daisy, who patiently waited for our older siblings to leave, taking their time. Then she looked at me, fidgeting.

    A smile came to me. ¡°Are you waiting for me to go first?¡± I asked.

    She bit her lip, and nodded.

    ¡°But I¡¯m waiting for you to go.¡±

    Her eyes narrowed, thinking with her whole face.

    I could only keep my face straight for a few seconds. Laughing softly, I stood up.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± she asked, unsure if she should be offended.

    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go see Alice,¡± I said.

    A few strides put me near the door, her chair scraping, feet tapping along behind me. ¡°Wait for me,¡± she said, urgent but measured. Once she¡¯d caught up, she made the extra effort to get in front of me and led the way. Her room was closer than mine to the dining room. When we arrived, she snuck in first for a moment, only letting me in after a minute or so.

    Compared to my room, hers was less empty. She had the bed and desk, but a chest of drawers went alongside her wardrobe, a large doll house taking up one corner with a wooden chest next to it, as well as an old rocking horse in the middle. Beside her bed were a pair of boxes with small, worn blankets lining them, maybe a cushion underneath. Baby blue was the colour of choice for the various rugs and throw pillows.

    While I stood in the doorway to her room, Daisy went over to the bed, carefully kneeling down by the two boxes. A cat meowed at her. She scratched Chestnut under the chin, and then turned, a look of surprise showing for a moment.

    ¡°Come see,¡± she said.

    Smiling, I joined her there, loosely sitting cross-legged. Her cat Chestnut was a tabby, grey-brown with black stripes, a chubby fluffiness to it and a general look of being superior to all other living animals. And snuggled with it was a tortoiseshell kitten.

    ¡°You look well, Alice,¡± I softly said, holding my hand out for them both to sniff. Chestnut wasn¡¯t all that interested in me, but Alice was, even venturing forwards to sniff up to my palm, before she finally rubbed against my hand. I gently stroked her, scratching under the chin like Daisy had with her cat.

    Behind us, someone cleared their voice. I ignored them. After a few seconds and a click of their tongue, they spoke up¡ªViolet, my older sister. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you soft enough to pick up a stray from the side of the road.¡±

    ¡°While I¡¯m not a particularly kind person, I don¡¯t try to be cruel.¡±

    Daisy huffed, crossing her arms as she stared past me. ¡°I didn¡¯t say you could come in.¡±

    ¡°Oh dear, my apologies,¡± Violet said, laughter in her tone. ¡°How lucky, Albert, you¡¯ve been saved from your wretched sister.¡±

    I bit back the spite that wanted to go against what I¡¯d just told her. ¡°Has Alice been having fun?¡±

    Daisy looked between me and Violet for a moment, and then answered my question, telling me of the games she played with Alice, and how the cats would sunbathe together on her windowsill. Violet left with another click of her tongue. When she did, Daisy relaxed.

    Before my death, or whatever had brought me here, I hadn¡¯t really had a family. A call to my parents once a year, mumbling about how we needed to catch up soon and how busy I¡¯d been and no I wasn¡¯t seeing anyone and yes I¡¯d tell you if I had a boyfriend and no I wasn¡¯t gay. There was nothing worse than hearing my old-fashioned mother try to say ¡°lesbian¡± like she was completely fine with them. My father grunted what I always assumed was a greeting in the background, and that was the extent of my chats with him.

    ¡°It has been a bit lonely without you here,¡± Daisy said.

    Albert hadn¡¯t thought of himself as close with her, hardly ever played with her. But hardly ever was not never. ¡°That¡¯s why I had to pick up Alice¡ªto keep you company.¡±

    She perked up at those words, a smile coming to her.

    Daisy, my youngest sister, not my younger sister; the third daughter born.

    I¡¯d had thoughts about revolutionising the world with future knowledge. However, the past merging with a game meant I couldn¡¯t really know what was true. There was already plumbing, and people washed their hands, diseases were treated with (sensible) natural medicines like willow bark where possible. Maybe I could have written out all the advanced maths and science I remembered, but, really, it was probably useless until computers were invented (something I had no idea about). I certainly couldn¡¯t see a way to prevent the first world war and I would be dead by the second one, and there would no doubt be some other wars to take their place even if I could do something.

    For now, I would just be Albert.

 Chapter 2 - Choose Your Route

    The four years at boarding school, puberty¡ªit was, well, it was. I made it through without the bullying getting too rough, staying out of trouble with the teachers. Miles managed too. Though he¡¯d been all shy and timid at first, he¡¯d slowly found himself. The heir to the (small) earldom of Dunstable. I liked to think that I had helped him grow, his charisma coming from the many, many attempts at small talk with me. But otherwise he¡¯d learned to put on a warm and natural smile at the drop of a hat, to seem sincere, and all the other sorts of things real nobility were supposed to be good at.

    As for me, I¡¯d taken part in clubs and read a lot and otherwise kept to myself. Not exactly poorly regarded, but regarded as a weirdo and a loner, seen as ungrateful for how I treated Miles despite him going out of his way to keep me company. Of course, Miles hated the lot of them, but we kept that between ourselves.

    Leaving the boarding school for the final time, I almost felt sad. That was all the proof I needed to believe in Stockholm syndrome.

    The Luton manor had hardly changed over the few years, basically what flowers were grown. My relationship with my family had also stayed the same, albeit I spent more time with Daisy as I played with Alice. Despite being a cat, Alice ended up more like a puppy, probably because of how Daisy treated her (and I wasn¡¯t any better). For example, Alice could sit, fetch, and find Chestnut.

    Nothing had happened with father or mother. Raymond had unofficially proposed to a duke¡¯s daughter, the engagement being worked out. Violet had a suitor now and then, but no one that had stuck around. I didn¡¯t know more than that and didn¡¯t care to either. We all stayed out of each other¡¯s way and that was fine by me.

    As for Daisy, she never spoke much of her own life, really, usually only talking about the cats. She never gave me reason to pry, so I didn¡¯t. From what I heard, she was doing well with her studies under the governess, and she would likely go on to a finishing school once she turned fifteen. I hoped that wasn¡¯t because she had asked to, thinking my time at the boarding school was fun.

    I kept in touch with Miles. While I didn¡¯t really write anything other than stories of what Alice had got up to, he told me how his father had started to recognise him, bringing him along to a few meetings, checking over some of the figures for businesses the estate owned. It was nice to hear. Even if he¡¯d never said, being sent to a boarding school despite being the first son must have hurt. Busy as he was, I didn¡¯t want to invite him over and didn¡¯t expect an invitation either. We¡¯d spent most of the last four years together, so a month wasn¡¯t enough time for me to miss him, or whatever the feeling was when friends didn¡¯t see each other for a while.

    With nothing else to distract me, I spent a lot of time lost in thought. As day after day passed, I wondered if things would really continue like they had in The Key To Her Heart. To begin with, it was strange for a second son to be sent to a ¡°finishing school¡±, money wasted since I wouldn¡¯t be inheriting the Luton title. It wasn¡¯t like I could marry up either, not all that much difference between being second son of a viscount and the husband of an earl¡¯s daughter. I hadn¡¯t hid how asocial I was, so it wasn¡¯t like I would be expected to make important connections.

    Halfway through August, one of my questions was to be answered. I was summoned (not by magic) to father¡¯s office. A stuffy room, it had the smell of stale cigarette smoke¡ªwell, stale tobacco from cigars or pipes¡ªand whiskey or brandy, hard for me to say since cheap beer had always been my choice for taking the edge off after a difficult day. The curtains were mostly drawn, a sliver of light cutting through the gloom. He sat behind a desk weighed down by a pile of loose books one side, neatly stacked papers the other. A few pens stood in a pot next to an inkwell. They had touches of gold, the detail on them almost like art.

    Even though I¡¯d been led inside the room by a servant, I waited by the door. After half a minute, father said, ¡°Sit down.¡±

    I did as he asked without a word.

    Around a minute passed in silence this time, broken as he moved his chair back and sighed. His gaze flicked up from the papers, meeting mine, and I wasn¡¯t sure if he was staring me down or judging me. Whatever he was doing, he didn¡¯t drag it out much longer.

    ¡°I am considering enrolling you in a finishing school. Saint Anthony¡¯s.¡±

    Bowing my head, I said, ¡°If that is what you wish.¡±

    ¡°You have no thoughts on the matter?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No, father.¡±

    I¡¯d practised holding my tongue a lot in my last life. Work was to pay the bills, so it didn¡¯t matter what I thought¡ªI just needed to do the work given to me. That hadn¡¯t changed.

    Once he¡¯d suitably stared at me again, he returned his focus to the papers. ¡°You may go.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t long after that day that Miles wrote to me and said he would be attending that very school come September. I wondered then if our fathers had arranged it between themselves. As distant as father and I were, it wasn¡¯t that he hated me, he was simply normal for the times and for his station.

    Knowing that overthinking wasn¡¯t the best way to pass the time, I left my thoughts there. A week after Miles¡¯ letter arrived, father confirmed at supper I would be going to the finishing school. The news was received coolly by my older siblings, Daisy later complaining that I was already leaving her again. Measurements were taken, a new set of uniforms ordered, which included suits for balls and other formal occasions.

    Then I was in a coach, heading off to the outskirts of Reading this time. For a change, it wasn¡¯t a trip I took by myself (and the servants).

    ¡°It¡¯s only been a month, but it felt so much longer,¡± Miles said, grinning at me before turning to the window.

    ¡°When does the winter break start?¡± I asked, monotonous as always.

    Miles made a wincing sound. ¡°We¡¯ve barely said our hullos and you¡¯re tired of me?¡±

    ¡°I was merely curious,¡± I said, softly smiling at the view outside the window on my side.

    Fields stretched out to the hilly horizon, sometimes stopped by a line of trees. I wondered how long it would be before power lines decorated the sight like bunting without the flags.

    ¡°What do you hope to do with your future?¡± Miles asked.

    I took a moment to think, the question unexpected. ¡°Frugally live off my family¡¯s money. I might try my hand at writing, or accounting if I have to work.¡±

    He laughed, the tone light and soft. ¡°It¡¯s a surprisingly ¡®you¡¯ answer.¡±

    ¡°I suppose I could come mooch off you if my father is stingy.¡±

    ¡°And what would you do when I get married?¡± he asked, humour still in his voice.

    I rubbed my chin, the tiniest patch of stubble scratching me. Shaving had been a part of my life as a woman, usually hoping a date went well, and it had become part of my routine again. At least every three days, I had to shave off the horribly patchy beard that tried to grow, as well as the scraggly moustache. Some mornings, still half-asleep, I¡¯d almost carried on and started shaving my armpits, luckily getting no further than a lather¡ªnot that there was much yet there to shave either. The razor had taken some getting used to, blood sacrificed to the saint of sinks.

    Belatedly, I remembered Miles had asked me a question. He¡¯d learned long ago that there wasn¡¯t much point rushing me, spiteful as I was.

    ¡°Well, on the incredibly rare chance you can convince an extremely naive woman to wed you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Are my chances truly that terrible?¡±

    ¡°¡ªI suppose it wouldn¡¯t matter, since we would certainly have an affair and ruin the marriage.¡±

    He huffed, the sound exaggerated. ¡°Would you really seduce my wife, and so certainly?¡±

    I turned my head, touched his shoulder so he would look at me. Staring into his eyes, I asked, ¡°Who said it was your wife I would be seducing?¡±

    His warm eyes stared back, a gentle expression on his face, and then he burst out laughing, much louder than earlier. For my part, I chuckled and turned back to admire the scenic view.

    ¡°Remind me never to chase the same girl as you,¡± he said.

    In a way, I¡¯d finally achieved my dream from my old life, now able to flirt with a teenaged boy all I wanted. Frowning to myself, I thought that that wasn¡¯t my dream at all. But that thinking brought me to a topic I¡¯d not exactly been struggling with, more just sometimes troubled by. As used to being Albert as I was, I thought of myself as Alice, and Alice was a straight woman. I didn¡¯t find Miles attractive. He was handsome enough for a boy his age, but he was still a boy. The teachers at the boarding school hadn¡¯t stood out. Some of the male servants, well, even if it would have been a forbidden love (in more than one way), I didn¡¯t feel any¡­ urges.

    On the other hand, there hadn¡¯t been many women for Albert¡¯s eyes to ogle. The testosterone was definitely there, growth spurt and cracking voice and awkward moments plenty, yet everyone dressed so conservatively and I was hardly ever around young women. It would certainly be more convenient if ¡°Albert¡± was straight. If not, there were definitely other gay men in this time, but I wouldn¡¯t want to risk my family cutting me off. Even if Miles and I joked, I couldn¡¯t say whether he¡¯d reject me.

    Letting out a sigh, I put those thoughts away again, another question I couldn¡¯t answer at this time. For the rest of the trip, we alternated between silence and bits of small talk. Gossip, really, from his trips to London with his father. A lot of new money was coming up thanks to the industrial revolution and that made for a lot of rumours.

    Then we arrived, and it was just like I remembered it, albeit real and not a colour drawing. A broad manor house, the bricks almost orange they were so bright, and a few small buildings scattered either side. Hidden from view, the river Thames ran along the far end of the grounds.

    ¡°Not bad at all,¡± Miles whispered to me while we were shown to our rooms in the boys¡¯ dormitory. I silently agreed. It had a more timeless elegance than the Luton manor, wooden floors polished to a shine and wooden panelling simply detailed, paintings of landscapes for decoration between doors, and the broad windows let in a lot of light. Most of the rooms followed that aesthetic, including our bedrooms. ¡°Neighbours again, eh?¡± Miles said, amused.

    I sighed, going into my room.

    ¡°Hey! Don¡¯t just shut me out,¡± he said, rushing over before I could close the door.

    Rather than heading down to the lounge on the ground floor and meeting our soon-to-be classmates, we somehow spent the afternoon in my room, talking about nothing. Well, Miles spoke a lot and I didn¡¯t even pretend to listen¡ªI¡¯d brought a few good books, something exciting about reading a first edition Charles Dickens. When it got dark out, I made him leave, enjoying a bit of quiet before bed.

    The next morning, a trio of sharp knocks woke me up. I considered ignoring them, but another knock rang out and I guessed there¡¯d be no end to them. As I opened the door, Miles asked, ¡°How do I look?¡±

    I stared at him. ¡°With your eyes.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°No, in my uniform. Aren¡¯t I rather dashing,¡± he said, no sense of shame in his voice.

    I didn¡¯t want to dash his hopes, not so early, but the fit was a bit loose. Whoever measured him probably took into account a few months growth since it would be awkward to tailor it during the term. Still, it was a nice uniform, black trousers and blazer with a white, buttoned shirt; the burgundy stripes on the black tie added a nice accent to the look.

    ¡°The uniform does look good,¡± I said, nodding.

    ¡°What about me?¡±

    I paused for a second, and then said, ¡°Let me get dressed and we can go for breakfast.¡±

    His defeated sigh was interrupted by me closing the door. Once I¡¯d changed and brushed my teeth¡ªthese more luxurious bedrooms coming with a sink¡ªI opened the door again. He was still there and, after taking a step back and looking me up and down, he hung his head. ¡°It¡¯s my loss,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°I did say you should join a sports club,¡± I said, patting his shoulder.

    His grumbling accompanied us all the way to the main building and the boys¡¯ cafeteria there, where he went quiet. The boarding school hadn¡¯t included much meat on the menu outside of supper, but here they were dishing out bacon and sausages alongside everything else expected for a full English breakfast. Only then did I realise that I must have really impressed father for him to send me here.

    Early as we were, we had first dibs on the piping hot food, and we ate so much¡ªgrowing boys and all that. It was funny to me since my appetite had been so small as a woman; though, my weight back then still suffered when I binged on ice-cream or drank too much. At least for now, I was free to stuff my face without consequence.

    A few other boys had turned up by the time Miles and I finished, but they didn¡¯t talk to us or anything. I got the impression that they were still nervous. Unlike me and Miles, they probably hadn¡¯t been thrown out into the world alone before, precious first sons. Or maybe they were just as awed by the food as we were. I wasn¡¯t all that invested, those my idle thoughts on the way out.

    We wandered around the grounds until the bell rang for the morning assembly. Miles panicked, unsure where to go, but I led us there no problem. Considering I¡¯d only played The Key To Her Heart for one drunken evening four years ago, it said a lot about the game¡¯s quality that I still remembered the layout of the school so well. Rather than empty, the assembly hall was like a chapel, a dozen pews either side of an aisle (boys on one side, girls the other) that led up to a raised platform with a lectern. The teachers were already lined up on the platform, two of them guiding new students to sit on the front rows.

    While we waited for everyone to filter in, Miles elbowed me, leaning in to whisper. ¡°See anyone you like?¡±

    I turned to him, his eyes and eyebrows trying to point over to the girls. Even when I did look, I couldn¡¯t see any faces. But this had been the start of the game. A movie had played, showing the school from the air, and then the camera had flown through the front door of the manor and into the hall, where it highlighted Albert, Miles and the three ¡°heroines¡±. Though, the story had only started after the assembly.

    Giving up on seeing if I could spot any of the girls from the game, I checked the teachers instead, recognising half of them. All of the boys classes were taught by men, and the on-site doctor was male, but the teachers for most of the girls classes, as well as the nurse, were women.

    ¡°Miss Penshurst would look quite nice in a good dress and with her hair done up,¡± I said, more an observation than a compliment. Though, her face had a prettiness to it that her stern expression tried to hide.

    ¡°I¡¯d thought you a queer fellow, but now I see you are a man of refined taste,¡± Miles said, nodding along to his own words. ¡°Which one is Miss Penshurst?¡±

    Wincing in my head, I remembered ¡°Albert¡± had no reason to know anyone¡¯s name here. ¡°With the mauve broach.¡±

    ¡°Mauve¡­ that¡¯s light purple,¡± he muttered, craning his neck over the other first-year boys in front of us. ¡°Ah, she does have quite the look. I wouldn¡¯t mind a detention alone with her.¡±

    I chuckled lightly, coming up with a reason why I knew her name in case he asked, but he had one thing on his mind, difficult to displace it. If I hadn¡¯t been focused on that, I would¡¯ve chided him for his comment. I knew it was a different time and all that, but I¡¯d been treated to whispers like those in my time, could vividly remember how unpleasant it was.

    Silence was called, the headmaster spoke, introduced the teachers and rambled on about dignity and whatever, everyone clapped politely. The longest thirty minutes later, we were dismissed for the day. Classes would begin tomorrow.

    ¡°I know I woke up early on my own, but you would think this could have waited for later in the day,¡± Miles said, stretching, as we filed out the hall behind the second-year girls.

    In the foyer, most of the older students loitered, chatting happily in their small groups. Heirs of dukes and marquesses among the boys. I was definitely near the bottom, no title at all coming my way. The girls were mostly eldest daughters, but it was more varied than with the boys.

    Miles and I milled around the room, more because we couldn¡¯t make it to an exit than because we wanted to stay. Though, I wasn¡¯t exactly eager to go, not until I saw the first-year girls finish leaving the hall.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you later,¡± I said, patting Miles on the shoulder.

    ¡°Oi, where are you going without me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Toilet.¡±

    He hesitated, holding up a finger and then slowly bringing it to his face, scratching his cheek. ¡°Ah, okay.¡±

    Trained by the London Underground at rush hour, this crowd was nothing. I slipped through to the stairwell and upstairs to a hallway lined with general purpose classrooms¡ªchairs, tables and a chalkboard. There was no one here at this time. No lavatories either, but, clumsy me, I¡¯d managed to get lost on my way back to the dorms.

    I needed to see if my fate was bound to the story in the game.

    Meandering aimlessly, looking inside the rooms as I passed them, my heart beat quick in my chest. It felt a lot more intense than when I¡¯d been a woman, like I might well end up with a bruise on the inside of my ribs.

    Footsteps.

    I turned around slowly, trying to appear calm. There she was: Princess Gwendoline. Though, that she was attending this school alongside barons¡¯ daughters really said all that needed to be said for how her family ¡°valued¡± her.

    After a few seconds, she raised her head and spotted me. Surprise, then hope, then hesitation, then shyness flashed across her face. In the game, she¡¯d been an honest and gentle character, too cute¡ªup until she¡¯d stabbed me.

    However, this wasn¡¯t the game. I knew that because, rather than wait for her to come over to me and then greet her, I turned around. Her footsteps quickly started, shoes tapping a fast pace on the floor. I strode. The hallway was only so long, and I was definitely going to reach the end before she caught up, making my escape down the stairs (I could take them four at a time, while she would have to take care with her skirt).

    Only, I heard her slip and fall over. That hadn¡¯t been in the game. To silence any thought I might have considered of continuing my escape, she let a series of quiet sounds. ¡°Ow ow ow.¡±

    With an immense sigh, I slowly turned around. She was in a bit of a heap. I walked over, offering her a hand. When she didn¡¯t notice, I cleared my throat, getting her attention away from her knee.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she softly said, letting me pull her up.

    Since she was back on her feet, I quickly turned around and took half a stride before she spoke, stopping me.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I see the nurse?¡± she asked.

    Implicit in that, she suggested I should escort her there. ¡°Nah, you¡¯ll be fine,¡± I said over my shoulder.

    ¡°Will I?¡±

    She sounded far from convinced, but that wasn¡¯t my problem. ¡°You would¡¯ve winced if your ankle was twisted, so it¡¯s just a bruised knee at worst, and that will heal in a day if you eat spinach at supper.¡±

    A second passed, and then she said, ¡°I will keep that in mind.¡±

    Not wanting to tempt fate any further, I gave up on the running away. Even though she hadn¡¯t said, I gave her the directions to the headmaster¡¯s office, to which she gave her confused thanks. The exchange complete, I escaped without further complaint.

    In the game, it had been more of an introduction, Albert giving his name and the princess hers, and Albert acting all embarrassed over talking so casually with royalty. It had also given unspoken background information about her. She was the daughter of William IV, but it was a contentious point of (alternative) history. He had married a princess Adelaide, only for pregnancy after pregnancy to end in misfortune. Convinced of a conspiracy against him (and this was where history diverged), he had claimed his wife had died and even went so far as having a public funeral for her. However, on his deathbed, he revealed that she was in good health and that they had even had a child. The country was expecting Queen Victoria to take the throne, though, completely unprepared, and it was the sort of situation to cause massive unrest if not resolved. Parliament rushed through a declaration that his wife had been declared dead and so any children forfeited their claim to the throne.

    To put it simply: if things had gone differently, Gwendoline would have been queen.

    When her mother died, she was brought back to England from the estate in Meiningen where she¡¯d grown up. Her lineage was doubted, her existence troubling to the royal family. It was a miracle she was even allowed outside. But I guessed that, at least in this game-reality world, the royals wanted to make her someone else¡¯s problem¡ªpreferably someone who couldn¡¯t make much of a fuss.

    Also, she had been surrounded by British tutors when abroad, so she spoke fluent English. No plot holes whatsoever.

    There was a bit of a chill to the air outside. I kept my arms crossed on the way to my next unwanted yet potential engagement. Halfway between the manor and the dorms, an oak tree mildly autumned, leaves pleasant shades of orange. Beneath it stood a girl, her searching gaze falling upon me and a smile coming to her lips.

    I walked right past her.

    Her footsteps followed me, as footsteps often did since I¡¯d come to this world. ¡°Mr Luton, is it?¡±

    With a sigh, I came to a stop and turned to her. She had a mischievous smile that reminded me of Daisy. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t speak unless spoken to,¡± I said, a reminder rather than a criticism. I didn¡¯t care, of course, but others did and so it was a bad habit to have for a lady in this time period.

    ¡°Then it is quite fortunate for me that you spoken, as I fear I may never have had the chance to speak with you, the man of few words you are.¡±

    She had said it all in a light, playful tone. And I flatly replied, ¡°Okay.¡±

    If anything, her good mood only grew from my curtness. ¡°I hear you¡¯re marvellously quick with numbers.¡±

    I gave her no reply.

    ¡°Say, what is twelve by seven?¡±

    I stared blankly at her for a long moment, and then said, ¡°This show horse doesn¡¯t feel like jumping.¡±

    ¡°Really? I thought you more a work horse.¡±

    Nothing asked, I had even less of a reason than usual to say nothing.

    Still, she kept her gaze firmly on me, her brown eyes bright and smile unending. ¡°I hope you will indulge me now and then,¡± she said.

    ¡°What a cruel thing to ask of me.¡±

    She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand¡ªalmost but not quite a giggle. Then, with a curtsy, she bid me on my way and, in return, I bid her a good day.

    A different but similar encounter as in the game. Albert hadn¡¯t been an amazing student, just a little above average. Somewhat shy, but talkative once he was comfortable with the person, and kind, but he sometimes couldn¡¯t express that well. In other words, he was exactly like the sort of teenage boy who would download The Key To Her Heart in the first place.

    The conversation with this strange girl had been focused on Raymond in the game, but it hadn¡¯t come up again. It had never been explained why Albert was attending such a school either. Raymond seemed competent, if a bit quiet. I wondered if, at least in this world, father maybe saw promise in me for something else.

    Isabel Reading, second daughter of the Duke of Reading. Given that the school was in part owned by her father, she was privy to certain gossip. She had a lot more said about her in the game, but it wasn¡¯t as interesting as Gwendoline¡¯s backstory, so I¡¯d scrolled through it without really paying attention.

    Two down, one more to go.

    Getting to the library involved a trip to my room and then heading back to the manor. There were few spaces where both boys and girls could actually sit together in some fashion, and the library was one of them. Of course, talking was prohibited, but to children (teenagers especially), rules were very transient things and usually only manifested in the presence of adults. In the game, it was suggested that most of the teachers on library supervision overlooked whispering so long as a certain decorum was otherwise maintained.

    I found a table in the far corner to sit down at and settled down with my book. In the game, Albert accidentally sat in a girl¡¯s seat while she was picking out a book to read, which lead to an awkward and fumbling conversation¡ªbecause bookish girls obviously couldn¡¯t talk normally.

    Similar but different, I soon found myself the target of a young woman¡¯s gaze. Beatrice Westmorland. ¡°May I help you?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Is that¡­ The Pickwick Club?¡±

    A quiet voice, a little deep for a girl¡¯s. Her gaze didn¡¯t flicker away from me, no flush climbing up her neck or colouring her cheeks, and she had paused in her speaking, not stuttered or hesitated. An almost completely different character compared to the impression she¡¯d left in the game. Person, I corrected myself. She might well have only been fifteen years old, but those weren¡¯t fifteen years spent sat in front of a book. Diction, decorum, dining¡ªthe three D¡¯s every nobleman¡¯s daughter had been taught. Whatever shyness she may have had in the past would have been worked out of her, no compassion for her, no mercy. Or, to the people of this time, it may well have been a mercy, a daughter unable to get a husband one of the most pitiful things to them.

    Lost in my pointless thinking, she cleared her throat. Prompted, I nodded my head. ¡°Yes, I quite enjoy Boz¡¯s writing.¡±

    ¡°I do too.¡±

    Nothing more was said, both of us reading in silence as diagonal neighbours. When the bell for midday rang, we gave each other a bowed-head goodbye, and then I left first, eager to see what food lunch would bring. Unsurprisingly, Miles was also there quick and with a plate so full I was impressed. After packing my own plate to the brim, I sat down next to him and said, ¡°Hullo.¡±

    He turned to me and forced down his mouthful of food. ¡°Where the blazes did you wander off to?¡±

    I thoroughly chewed a mouthful of cottage pie before answering. ¡°A few places.¡±

    After a huff and a tut, he asked, ¡°Anything interesting happen?¡±

    ¡°Well, I met three girls.¡±

    He paused for a second, and then shook his head.

    It wasn¡¯t just Albert and the girls who had changed. In the game, Miles was the sidekick, the butt of jokes and with little to say. But, in real life, it took a lot of confidence to take my jabs with a smile and a laugh. He knew himself well, was sure of himself, and it would certainly show soon. The game hadn¡¯t said anything about him having admirers or getting involved with a girl, but I was sure it wouldn¡¯t be long until someone came along.

    ¡°Did any of them¡­ interest you?¡± he asked.

    I hadn¡¯t been expecting that question, but, knowing him, I should have. Though, given how the game went, I was going to do my best to ignore them and hope to make it through the year with all of us alive.

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    He elbowed me. ¡°Come on, it¡¯s not like I¡¯m telling you to marry them.¡±

    ¡°Well, if I had to choose, then I guess¡­.¡±

 Chapter 3 Route A - Isabel Ending

    ¡°Lady Isabel Reading,¡± I said.

    Miles nodded. ¡°That¡¯s the duke¡¯s second daughter, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Of the three, she¡¯d definitely been the most interesting. There was an air of mystery to how she¡¯d been able to pick me out, why she¡¯d wanted to test my maths. I had thoughts based on later events in the game, but, really, those were only guesses. Besides all that, she also had felt more like a girl from my times, like I could have bumped into her in a store while she had a bottle of red wine and crisps in her basket (in a few years when she could legally drink). Spending time talking with her would probably have been more comfortable for me than with the other two.

    That decision quickly felt like it hadn¡¯t been much of a decision at all, Miles saying nothing more on the matter. I hadn¡¯t exactly hidden my reluctance to choose any of them, so it wasn¡¯t strange for him to pick up on it.

    The next day onwards brought lessons from early in the morning until supper. Between the lessons were decent breaks, not wanting to rush the girls from one room to another and allowing time to tend to any necessities. Compared to the boarding school, we boys were taught much more the sort of thing expected of nobility, from spoken French to ballroom dancing to philosophy. We shared one class with the girls, which was English literature, and it focused particularly on reading aloud in a clear and compassionate manner to convey the emotion of the text¡ªwhatever that meant.

    Other than that, I only saw the girls in passing (rarely, their classes mostly in a separate building than the manor, and the weather too cold for them to wander around the grounds) or in the library. To avoid Beatrice, I mostly read in the cafeteria or my room. Gwendoline wasn¡¯t much of a risk as long as I didn¡¯t hang around before or after literature class. Isabel, well, I felt trying to hide from her would only make her more motivated, so I didn¡¯t do anything special to avoid her.

    The first month passed quick. I enjoyed the lessons more than before, even if they were still near enough rote learning and doing things as the teacher wanted them done. Miles did well enough, although I still helped him out in his weaker classes. However, I had to spend most evenings practising to dance in my room. Dancing hadn¡¯t ever been a thing for me, rhythm something I could follow for playing music but struggled to move to, clumsy in a way I hadn¡¯t noticed.

    There¡¯d otherwise been no trouble. For all the worrying I had tried not to do, the most I¡¯d seen of the girls was when they were asked to read in class. It was the same as in The Key To Her Heart, the game busy setting the scene and all that, getting to events with the girls later on.

    However, I was approaching the first choice in the game.

    Three sharp knocks interrupted my afternoon reading. I would have ignored them, but Miles knew how to persist¡ªprobably because I ignored him if he didn¡¯t. Carefully slotting in the bookmark Daisy had made for me, I closed the book, and then shuffled over to the door.

    ¡°How do I look?¡± he asked.

    ¡°With your eyes.¡±

    He tutted, sliding past me and into my room. ¡°You¡¯ve done that joke before.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a good joke,¡± I said, shutting the door.

    As he always did, he made himself comfortable sitting on the edge of my bed. His gaze flickered to the view outside, a habit of his to check for anything interesting going on out there. ¡°So now that you¡¯ve done your bit, what do you think of my suit?¡±

    ¡°Could you leave? I have to change,¡± I said.

    Hanging his head, he sighed. ¡°All I¡¯m asking for is a word or two of encouragement.¡±

    ¡°You should try a dictionary,¡± I said, opening up my wardrobe.

    That gave him a chuckle, and he stood up, joining me. ¡°What one are you thinking?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s the black jacket, or the black jacket, or maybe the black jacket. To go with it, obviously the white shirt. And then the hard choice: a black vest, or a charcoal-grey vest.¡±

    ¡°Grey isn¡¯t one of the two permitted colours,¡± Miles said, tone chiding.

    I clicked my tongue. ¡°You¡¯re right, I should know better.¡±

    Though I¡¯d joked about it, the three jackets were well-made and distinct. I checked the fit of them over my school shirt and settled for the one that felt a bit tight, maybe not another chance to wear it. Fortunately, no top hat was required, and I was fine with the school tie. Elbowing Miles out the room, I changed quickly and then joined him in the hallway.

    It would still be some hour until it started, but tonight was our debut ball.

    Passing the time out on the grounds, we walked up to the river and back at an unhurried pace before heading to the building which was, as far as I knew, exclusively for events like this. We entered a room to the side, waiting in there with the other boys. This ball was for first-years only, an introduction to them and how they were hosted at the school, but later ones would include the upper years as well.

    What was more, everyone would dance, either with a partner of their choosing or randomly assigned by a chaperone. I didn¡¯t imagine any of us had a partner in mind after so little time here.

    Outside, the night turned dark, and we boys were lined up in the hall, where a line of girls filed out to stand opposite us. Gas lamps on the walls and candles on the tables off to the side lit the scene, warm light. I wondered if the gas burnt cleanly in this world or if the janitors had to wipe the soot off the walls every time an event was held.

    At one end of the line, the teacher cleared his throat. ¡°Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.¡±

    No one moved. Of course no one moved. But, in the game, Albert had the choice of boldly going over to one of the three heroines, which was really stupid of him. I would¡¯ve hated to be put in that kind of spot where I felt I had to dance with the person or else make a fool out of them.

    No sooner had I thought that that one of the girls stepped forward. My heart clenched when her gaze met mine, an impish smile. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the silent hall as she strutted on over to me.

    She held out a hand.

    Isabel Reading.

    She led me to the dance floor, and I felt like a child again, anxious under the looks of my peers. Not quite humiliated, but that was more to do with my worry being focused on the upcoming dancing. There was, of course, no hushed whispers or any other disturbance, but they would come the moment the chaperones looked away, the days following.

    Soon enough, we were joined by the couples decided at the whim of a pointing finger and the words ¡°You and you¡±. Then the music began, a small orchestra playing at the opposite side of the room as the tables.

    The girls had more colours to choose from for their outfits. Whether it was the game world or that I didn¡¯t know what Victorian fashion looked like, the style surprised me. Isabel wore a long, crimson dress which showed little skin (maybe a gown given the occasion), with a black sash to pull her waist in. There might have been a corset underneath, or something like a wireframe cage to give the skirt a little billow, but it didn¡¯t look all that different to her normal silhouette. Pleats and small ruffles gave the dress character.

    ¡°Do you like what you see?¡± she softly asked, looking up to meet my eyes.

    ¡°As nice of a dress as it is, I doubt it would fit me.¡±

    She tittered, holding the laugh behind a smile, and left it at that for now.

    We had just a little longer to wait before the chaperone-in-charge instructed us all to, without further ado, dance. My anxiety on high alert, I offered her my hand. She held herself with confidence, no hesitation as she stepped close to me; I was tempted to warn her that that was a dangerous place to be. The couples around us moving, I couldn¡¯t put it off even if I¡¯d thought a few more seconds would have helped.

    Harder than any exam, more challenging than any homework, I moved my feet. My ears tuned to the beat of the orchestra, the questions she sent my way were entirely ignored, at least until she asked, ¡°Are you ignoring me?¡±

    Even my ears weren¡¯t stupid enough to ignore that.

    ¡°Either I can listen to you, or I can avoid stepping on your toes,¡± I said.

    She gently laughed, or maybe that was someone nearby. Regardless, she soon said, ¡°So you do have a weakness.¡±

    I stepped on her toe, quietly apologising as she winced. It honestly hadn¡¯t been on purpose. The message well-received now, she stayed silent for the rest of the dancing¡ªa good half an hour, broken up by a short break every ten minutes. Just looking at the girls then, I was glad I didn¡¯t have to wear such heavy clothing. My suit wasn¡¯t all that much better for exercise, though, sweat sticking to my skin.

    At the end, we all did our bows and curtsies, and then (elegantly) scuttled off to the tables for a glass of wine. I didn¡¯t condone underage drinking, but it was a welcome treat, feeling cold with how hot I was, and it was just the one glass.

    That was it¡ªat least for now. Miles asked me a couple of questions on the way back to the dorms, but then stuck to sympathising with Isabel for having to suffer through my dancing. Unsurprisingly, none of the other boys were interested enough to bother talking to me, my reputation poor as always.

    Over the coming days, she didn¡¯t appear in an odd place like our first meeting, our eyes never met in literature class. I thought I¡¯d maybe put her off¡ªhoped, even. After all, rather than me choosing ¡°her route¡±, it was more like she¡¯d chosen mine. If she wanted to load an old save and change her mind, perfect.

    A week before the end of the term, another ball was going to be held. This one would include all three years of students and go on a lot longer than half an hour, but we wouldn¡¯t be expected to dance the whole time. Networking, socialising were a part of it, as was looking for a fianc¨¦ or fianc¨¦e¡ªone of the rare times the boys and girls could talk ¡°freely¡±.

    There was a mandatory dance for the first song. After that, I was prepared to sit in a corner by myself the whole time, Miles dropping in now and then. Despite what some stories said, I was confident that no girls would take an interest in me and my brooding.

    So the day came and started near enough like the last, Miles getting ready early and bugging me about how he looked (better this time, his red tie going well with his pale complexion). Not caring myself, I stuck with the school tie, again choosing the suit which fit best. Then we were off on another tour around the grounds, but hurried by the cold, taking refuge in the cafeteria for the last half an hour or so before we needed to go to the hall.

    It was a lot busier, expectedly. Despite all my growing, being surrounded by the older boys reminded me of how young my body was. Back in my day, at fifteen, I¡¯d been riddled with spots and going through a chubby phase that lasted until uni, unhappy, lonely. Time had helped with the last two, although not by solving them. I¡¯d come to realise that happiness wasn¡¯t an emotion but a state of mind, the times when I enjoyed what I was doing and forgot my worries. Loneliness, I had eventually given up on finding someone who understood me and still accepted me, learned to quiet the voice that told me I couldn¡¯t be loved.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Even now, I felt that Miles liked the Albert I pretended to be. I wasn¡¯t exactly acting, yet I wasn¡¯t being honest either.

    The third-years were taken through to the hall first, and then the second-years, and then finally us leftover boys. I tried to settle myself with a deep breath, repeating in my head that my dancing had got better over the last two months.

    Finally, the first-year girls lined up opposite us. I wondered if they¡¯d maybe reached the point I should have thought of them as young ladies. In my time, it had been a bit of a weird phrase, usually used for young girls; however, young woman was more twenties, maybe eighteen at a stretch. Mature as they acted, I was sure there were hormones and brain development and all that teenage stuff going on. If asked, I probably would have stuck with just ladies.

    Isabel caught my eye.

    ¡°Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.¡±

    She raised an eyebrow, taunting me, an unspoken threat to walk over to me once again. I felt it keenly. If I¡¯d thought there was even the slimmest chance she wouldn¡¯t follow through, I would¡¯ve held my ground, but I knew she would. Saving myself maybe some of the embarrassment, I gave in and strode over to her.

    Then she made me stand there for a painful second before taking my hand, the bloody tease. At least unlike last time, we were far from the only couple on the dance floor, a few other first-years coming with us and all the older students there already. Poor third-years had been waiting near ten minutes already. Like last time, the rest of the first-years were then paired up at random.

    Finally, the music began, a flicker of worry crossing her face. I smiled, but that didn¡¯t seem to reassure her. It took a minute of dancing without any accidents for her to relax.

    ¡°If you want to talk, I think I can listen and dance now,¡± I said.

    ¡°You think?¡±

    ¡°Sometimes, but I try not to.¡±

    A laugh tried to slip through, stopped by her lips pressing into a thin smile. After a second, she said, ¡°You are rather witty.¡±

    I almost stepped on her foot, so easily forgetting to shorten my steps. ¡°What did you want to ask?¡±

    She hummed a note in thought, effortlessly moving to the rhythm, always with a pleasant smile. Then she said, ¡°You¡¯ve no grand ambitions.¡±

    ¡°Nothing at all.¡±

    ¡°You seem little interested in the ladies,¡± she said, and then added, ¡°nor making connections.¡±

    I gently shook my head, careful not to upset my balance.

    ¡°What does interest you?¡±

    ¡°Books, silence, a half-decent bed, two good meals a day,¡± I said, listing them off as they came to me.

    Her smile let through a soft laugh. ¡°If not for the first, you might well have been better off born a pet cat.¡±

    ¡°I could give up reading as long as my owner isn¡¯t the sort to try and pet me all the time, or try to have me play fetch, or otherwise interrupt my naps on the windowsill.¡±

    This time, she couldn¡¯t help but turn her head away, embarrassed as she let out a giggle. When she turned back, she still had no trouble meeting my gaze. ¡°That is a rather specific image you¡¯ve put in my mind.¡±

    ¡°I have a specific owner in mind,¡± I said.

    The conversation ended there for the rest of the song, a little breathlessness coming to her even though she¡¯d been the one who had wanted to talk and dance. With the first song over, it seemed a good half of the couples stopped, bowing and curtsying and going on their way. Of course, I did the same.

    She followed me.

    I sat down at the table nearest to a corner, my back to the wall, and she gracefully sat down opposite. Really, I¡¯d been hoping that the little chat had satisfied her. In the game, it had been Albert asking her to dance, Albert asking her questions. It had been more of a quiz in some ways, where I was supposed to learn details about her and use those to choose how to appeal to her. However, I had been terrible at that, so it shouldn¡¯t have surprised me that I didn¡¯t know what she was thinking, why she did what she did.

    ¡°Do you mind if I join you?¡± she asked.

    ¡°It is a bit late to act like you care.¡±

    I¡¯d said it without thinking, but, the moment I¡¯d finished, I regretted the words that were so needlessly cruel. This was why I only talked to Miles, why I spoke so carefully with my father, why I ignored my older sister¡¯s taunts. The habit I couldn¡¯t let go. Worst of all, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling in the back of my head that she deserved it, that if she wanted to pry then she should accept what she got, that this wasn¡¯t some scared eleven-year-old trying to act tough.

    She laughed it off, but I knew she¡¯d felt the sting. I knew that awkward smile, the way she didn¡¯t quite meet my eyes, the moment of hesitation as she considered just getting up and leaving.

    An apology might have helped; I¡¯d never found that they did. Once I crossed a line, well, I couldn¡¯t just step back and pretend it had never happened. And it happened over and over, ending friendships, relationships. Miles was the only person who¡¯d stuck around, and I still held back, the nastiest things to say coming to mind even if I really did like him as a friend.

    Lost in my thoughts, I almost missed when she spoke.

    ¡°I have taken advantage of your kindness,¡± she said, her smile troubled. ¡°Yet I hope you would believe I meant it in good faith.¡±

    Though I didn¡¯t know quite what she meant by that, most of the sentiment had got through. And I thought I might have misjudged her. I thought, maybe, it wasn¡¯t my words that had hurt her. For all she seemed to know about me, she surely knew what I was like, and she¡¯d sought me out anyway.

    ¡°There was¡­ a letter for me, claiming to be from you,¡± she softly said.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t write it.¡±

    She smiled, nodding. ¡°Of course not. Besides knowing you wouldn¡¯t, the handwriting was also too rough. I¡¯m not so delusional to believe just any pleasant lie.¡±

    ¡°You know what my handwriting looks like?¡±

    Looking away, she had a distant expression. ¡°It¡¯s unsightly of me, which I have been told many times, yet I am a curious person. It¡¯s not that I know much of you in particular so much as I know a lot. For example, your friend attended several events with his father over the recent summer, and your father was seen talking to Lord Dunstable at two of them.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say it¡¯s a terrible thing to be curious.¡±

    She laughed behind her hand, the sound hollow. After a short pause, she cleared her throat and continued. ¡°I hope to write in the future¡ªin the papers. To be someone who attends events and sees what wonderful dresses and suits are worn, sees the lords talking, sees what foods and desserts the ladies favour. If my husband would permit me that, I would be a happy wife.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a reasonable enough request that I can¡¯t imagine any decent man would refuse you.¡±

    ¡°You think better of decent men than I,¡± she said, her tone dry.

    From there, we went through patches of silence and idle conversation until she excused herself. I didn¡¯t really know what to think. Four years hadn¡¯t changed that I couldn¡¯t understand how people thought. She¡¯d wanted to confirm I hadn¡¯t sent her that letter. Other than that, I felt she liked talking to me, someone a bit detached and casual who she could be more honest with. It was probably hard for her to make close friends if the other ladies saw her as a gossip.

    I didn¡¯t dwell on it, Miles soon coming over and subtly inquiring how things had gone. For his part, he¡¯d managed a second dance with his randomly chosen partner, bragging over his womanly charms.

    A couple hours of nibbling snacks and watching Miles try to get another dance later, the ball ended. That was it for now. The last week of school saw most of our classmates vanish as they went home early for All Hallows¡¯ Tide, and then Miles and I headed off on a coach together, dropping him off in Dunstable before heading to the Luton manor nearby.

    Just like whenever I¡¯d returned from the boarding school, I was ignored, taken to my room by a servant and left there until supper. At the end of the meal, just as always, father said, ¡°Welcome home, Albert.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, father,¡± I said, bowing my head.

    In a disinterested tone, he asked, ¡°How was your time at the school?¡±

    I¡¯d never felt the need to lie, to try and impress him. This time, though, there was a small pressure to lie by omission, but I was sure it would come up eventually. ¡°I settled in well and have taken to my studies. There isn¡¯t a club to my liking at this time, the sports only starting in spring. And I have entertained Lord Reading¡¯s second daughter at the balls.¡±

    Mother perked up at that reveal, her eyes darting to see if father would speak or if she could. After a moment, he said, ¡°That is Lady Isabel.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    He nodded, and then turned slightly, looking at mother. She asked, ¡°Should we send her an invitation for the festivities?¡±

    ¡°If that is father¡¯s wish. However, I wouldn¡¯t want to trouble her at this time,¡± I said.

    Later, when I went to see Alice, Daisy had a few questions of her own to ask me. It was a little funny since she¡¯d been growing away from me the last year, more interested in her romance books¡ªshe was at that age.

    Once the holiday passed and I was back at school, I didn¡¯t have to wait long for the New Year ball. Almost a routine, Miles and I had our back and forth and a wander around the grounds, and Isabel caught my eye when we were lined up. By now, I was comfortable dancing with her. If she didn¡¯t mind, better her than putting another lady through a dance with me.

    After the first song, I talked with her a bit like last time, shallow questions about if I was enjoying the school, what had the boarding school been like. For someone so talkative, she listened well. But she had her ulterior motives, pulling me up for another dance in return for all her listening. It looked like she expected me to refuse, surprised when I stood up so easily¡ªI did at least try not to be mean unless I had a reason.

    A couple months later, the Spring ball. It was (quite literally) the same song and dance as always, small talk, a nice enough time. Along the way, I¡¯d remembered why I had downloaded The Key To Her Heart all those years ago.

    Isabel was a beautiful lady, in this world or back in mine, shoulder-length hair swept into a cute half up braid, gentle face, warm brown eyes, just on the slim side. However, that was only half the story. When I was a woman, I could get the first date. It was the second and third dates that were a struggle. I thought Isabel wouldn¡¯t have that problem. She made me feel like what I said was interesting, that who I was was interesting.

    And I wondered how the men I¡¯d gone on dates with had felt. They¡¯d probably got quite a different impression from me. I didn¡¯t want to hear about their job (I¡¯d spent all week at mine), and I didn¡¯t want to hear what they did in their spare time because I¡¯d already read their profile. Now, I felt like an idiot, not far off from the kind of woman who turned up to a date and sat on her phone the whole time. They¡¯d probably all thought I was mooching a meal off them, surprised when I offered to pay half at the end.

    That was in the past. Unfortunate since I felt like I could do a better job with Isabel as my role model.

    There was one last ball in the academic year. I¡¯d never attended it in the game, the endings all coming the night before. When I thought of that, a little voice of anxiety sat in the back of my head, worrying me day after day. Nothing had really happened like the game besides the forced meetings with the three heroines, maybe the dance at the first ball.

    I couldn¡¯t sleep the night before the Summer ball.

    Sitting at my desk, the night outside barely looked dark. It was the sort of darkness where a lady may have felt safe when she wasn¡¯t.

    Eventually, I gave in, changing back to the school uniform. After a check for teachers outside, I opened up my window, carefully climbing out and dropping down to the ground, my shins unhappy about it. There was always a teacher at the entrance to the dorms until around midnight, so I wasn¡¯t coming back for a while.

    In the game, the ¡°bad end¡± for Isabel, it was near the girls¡¯ dorms. I skirted around the pair of teachers patrolling, plenty of places to hide with shrubs and trees dotted all over the place. There was no one by the first-years¡¯ dorm, or the second-years¡¯.

    On my way to the third-years¡¯ dorm, I saw someone in the distance near the storage shed for the sports equipment, out where there was no reason for anyone to go at this hour. My heart beat painfully in my chest, hands shaking with a sudden flood of fear.

    I crept across the grass as best I could, less cover as I moved towards the sports fields, pulse pounding in my ears. Closer and closer. It was definitely a lady standing there, the silhouette in the mild darkness matching the girls¡¯ uniform. She had shoulder-length hair, brunette. I felt like I¡¯d soon faint, my breaths quick and shallow, vision narrowing in on her.

    Then she turned, and it was her face.

    It was Isabel.

    If her bad ending had been the first ending I¡¯d seen in the game, then I might have thought she¡¯d started dating someone else¡ªa bad ending because I¡¯d lost her sort of thing. Any second now, a man would come out the shadows and greet her, and they would happily walk off into the night together.

    But I¡¯d seen the other bad endings, death sentences for the heroines.

    An unavoidable fate. I felt less than powerless. My mind went blank. A voice in the back of my head told me this wasn¡¯t the game, that she¡¯d obviously arranged to meet up with someone, that nothing was wrong. Flickers of water flashed through my head, an immense, crushing regret. I couldn¡¯t focus on it. Warm water, cold water. Weak, weakness, tearing me apart.

    But I wasn¡¯t the sort of person who sat by and watched as something terrible happened. I wasn¡¯t. I tried to remember that until I broke through the paralysis.

    I walked, step by step, closer to her. My heart hammered at my ribcage. I felt I could collapse at any moment, body strung too tight. Step by step until I could have reached out and touched her, until someone else could have grabbed her.

    ¡°Isabel,¡± I whispered, and she jumped, hand on her heart.

    ¡°Oh you gave me such a fright,¡± she said, a touch of nervous laughter to her voice.

    I reached out and took her hand, and she let me, following without question, without complaint, as though she¡¯d been waiting for me the whole time. It couldn¡¯t have been that easy. Yet, no matter how far away we walked, there was no one to stop us.

    ¡°Really, I thought it couldn¡¯t be true, that you wouldn¡¯t have sent me such a letter,¡± she said softly, just enough to reach me. ¡°But if you had and I ignored it, why, I couldn¡¯t bear the thought of you coming to hate me.¡±

    I¡¯d been quick to call her a lady when I should¡¯ve known better. This was why laws were made. It was easy to forget how differently teenagers thought, and this different world didn¡¯t help. Of course a teenager would make this sort of mistake. Of course she wouldn¡¯t have flirted as obviously as women did back in my world. Of course I would¡¯ve mistaken the signs for friendship, not attracted to women and as oblivious as a brick.

    She¡¯d fallen in love with me and it had nearly cost her everything, and she didn¡¯t know it.

    Even if I hadn¡¯t meant to, I¡¯d strung her along, didn¡¯t turn her away. Even though nothing had happened tonight, I would have to hurt her eventually, one day turning around and telling her I had no feelings for her.

    And then there was the voice in the back of my head, telling me that all I¡¯d ever wanted was someone who loved me. I could pretend to love her. Maybe, one day, it would become real.

    ¡°So,¡± she said, dragging out the word. We came to a stop, the moon high above us, river whispering to the side. ¡°What is it you wanted to ask me?¡±

    I had the key to her heart; all I had to do now was turn it.

    Route A Bad End

 Chapter 3 Route B - Beatrice Ending

    ¡°Lady Beatrice Westmorland,¡± I said.

    Miles frowned. ¡°I¡¯m not familiar with Westmorland¡­.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s the earl¡¯s eldest of three daughters.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± he said with a flash of recognition. ¡°Is he the one without a son? I¡¯ve heard of an earl quietly suggesting that the succession of earldoms should be brought in line with that of the crown.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Of the three, she was definitely the most interesting one to me. All I really had to pass the time in this world was reading and she seemed to also like Charles Dickens (Boz, as he went by at the start of his writing career). If I had to, talking with her about what books we liked would probably be fine, but she seemed to like silence and I did too, so I wouldn¡¯t have minded us sitting quietly together and keeping to ourselves. I didn¡¯t think the other two would be happy with silence.

    That decision quickly felt like it hadn¡¯t been much of a decision at all, Miles saying nothing more on the matter. I hadn¡¯t exactly hidden my reluctance to choose any of them, so it wasn¡¯t strange for him to pick up on it.

    For the rest of the day, we wandered around the grounds and he talked a lot and I sometimes answered a question or made a joke. The next day onwards, lessons took up most of the day, so we didn¡¯t get to hang out just for fun during the week. I liked to be diligent and properly do the homework and revise my notes, and that had rubbed off on Miles, albeit he still left half of it to do over the weekends, always complaining as I lounged around while he had to waste his precious free time.

    I tried to avoid the girls, which happened easily enough. None of them went out of their way to even look my way, and I didn¡¯t go to the library (where I would definitely run into Beatrice), so nothing happened.

    The first month passed. A fresh worry had risen up in that time, namely that I struggled to dance. Practising every night by myself, I had burned the steps into my muscle memory, but, when it came to dancing with someone else, I had to adjust the length of my step and that was easy to forget.

    Still, that wouldn¡¯t have been a problem¡ªif not for the school holding a debut ball for the first-years.

    Three sharp knocks interrupted my afternoon reading. I would have ignored them, but Miles knew how to persist¡ªprobably because I ignored him if he didn¡¯t. After closing my book (Dickens¡¯s novella from last year), I shuffled over to the door.

    ¡°How do I look?¡± he asked.

    ¡°With your eyes.¡±

    He tutted, sliding past me and into my room. ¡°You¡¯ve done that joke before.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a good joke,¡± I said, shutting the door.

    Some jabs and evicting him and changing clothes later, I joined him in the hallway, the both of us in suits. For the boys, there was only really black suits with a white shirt permitted, although we could add some colour with a tie (I just used my school tie) and the style of the jacket added some variety.

    Until it was time for the ball to start, we wandered aimlessly, nothing better to do when I couldn¡¯t just sit down and read. Then we headed to the building that was little more than a vast hall with two rooms either side¡ªthe boys entrance and girls entrance. Only the first-years attending the Introductory ball, the room felt a little empty.

    One of the teachers chaperoning eventually came in and called us out. We filed through to the hall, forming into a line next to the dance floor, and the girls soon did the same opposite us.

    Though not usually an anxious person, I really was worried, not wanting to ruin some girl¡¯s evening so thoroughly with my attempts at dancing. Since this first ball was more of a practice, we were going to dance for about half an hour, which meant a lot of time to tread on toes.

    At one end of the line, the teacher cleared his throat. ¡°Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.¡±

    Considering we¡¯d all only been here a month, I doubted anyone would. In The Key To Her Heart, there was a choice to go up to one of the three heroines, but that was pretty weird to actually do, especially with everyone watching. Basically emotional blackmail.

    Someone stopped in front of me. Lost in my thoughts, I hadn¡¯t noticed, heard anyone moving.

    She held out a hand.

    Beatrice Westmorland.

    She led me to the dance floor, and I felt like I¡¯d missed something. Maybe the chaperone had told her to pair up with me, but the boy was supposed to go to the girl. I couldn¡¯t think of a reason and that thinking distracted me from my worry.

    Soon enough, we were joined by the couples decided at the whim of a pointing finger and the words ¡°You and you¡±. Then the music began, a small orchestra playing at the opposite side of the room as the tables.

    Not quite time to dance, I looked over her a little. She was about my height, a touch taller because of her evening slippers (like ballet flats, but with slightly raised heels and made of silk). Though girls had an actual choice when it came to colours for their dresses, she¡¯d gone for a brownish sort of thing, slimmer than the other girls, yet still with a bit of a billow to the skirt and still with a pinch at the waist. A reserved look.

    Feeling like I should give her a warning, I quietly said, ¡°Sorry if I misstep.¡±

    ¡°If you would forgive mine,¡± she replied, bowing her head.

    We had just a little longer to wait before the chaperone-in-charge instructed us all to, without further ado, dance. Settled by her words, I offered her my hand. She took it gently, coming close to me yet no closer than she needed to. The couples moving around us, I began to lead, my worry replaced with concentration.

    Harder than any exam, more challenging than any homework, I moved my feet. Fortunately, our strides nearly matched, so I didn¡¯t have to focus on that part nearly as much as I¡¯d feared. With that spare bit of focus, I watched her as we danced. Her lips made the tiniest movements, and I wondered why for a while until I realised they coincided with two of the four beats to the music; when I tried to mouth the numbers myself, I felt my lips pull like hers did for ¡°one¡± and ¡°four¡±. I wasn¡¯t the only one having trouble.

    After the first song, we had a short break before the next dance. It was roughly ten minutes dancing and one minute break and three dances in all. Later balls would go on for two hours or so, but we would only have to dance for the first song.

    I felt bad for her by the end of the third dance, her skin flushed, breath quick and shallow. My suit wasn¡¯t much better for this, drenched in sweat myself. With that all done, though, I bowed and she curtsied and we could go our separate ways. My way was to the drinks, hoping they would be cool. For the occasion, a glass of wine. I didn¡¯t condone underage drinking, but it was only one, and it really helped with how hot I felt.

    Some people were already leaving, others settling into their groups to chat or gossip or whatever it was teenagers did these days. I had my eye out for Miles, scanning across the room, so we could head back.

    I turned my head and almost jumped, a face right in front of me. My heart pounded in my chest and it was all I could do to remember to breathe.

    Beatrice lightly curtsied, her eyes looking at me expectantly.

    ¡°Hullo, Lady Beatrice.¡±

    ¡°I do not believe we have been introduced,¡± she said.

    Trying not to wince, I¡¯d certainly forgotten that. ¡°I am Lord Luton¡¯s second son, Mr Albert Luton.¡±

    She politely bowed her head. ¡°It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±

    ¡°And yours,¡± I said, bowing my head back.

    Rather than go away, she gave me another look, again pushing me to talk. After a moment to think what, I asked, ¡°May I help you?¡±

    ¡°The book you were reading that day¡­ I have been unable to find it in the library.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I brought it here myself.¡±

    She nodded along. ¡°You did say that you¡­ enjoyed his writing.¡±

    ¡°As did you.¡±

    She nodded again.

    When she didn¡¯t speak, I guessed what she wanted to me to say. ¡°Would you like to borrow a book from me? I have all the stories by Boz and Dickens.¡±

    The corner of her mouth twinged, the closest she¡¯d come to smiling since I¡¯d met her. ¡°So you are familiar with him.¡±

    ¡°I feel like I could well tell you what novella he will release this Hallows¡¯.¡±

    This time, she did softly smile, which looked nice on her. While she was fairly pretty, her pale skin and blue eyes felt cold when she had a blank expression. I knew it wasn¡¯t my place to say that, though, thoroughly annoyed whenever some man had told me I would look prettier if I smiled more.

    ¡°If I could read¡­ The Battle of Life, it would be appreciated.¡±

    There¡¯d been a thought in my head not long ago about wanting to avoid the girls, trying to avoid the fate that awaited us in the game. However, this was different, Albert in the game pestering her, while here she was asking me for something. And really, I wasn¡¯t going to turn her down for a superstitious reason like that.

    ¡°I could visit the library after breakfast tomorrow,¡± I said.

    She politely bowed.

    Then she turned around and walked off, little but hurried steps that quickly lost her in the crowd. I kept looking where she¡¯d been for a few seconds longer. Turning my head, I nearly almost jumped, Miles right next to me.

    ¡°Hullo?¡± I said.

    He¡¯d also been looking off into the crowd, but turned at my words. ¡°Oh, hullo.¡±

    My heart settled back down, I smiled. ¡°Enjoyed yourself?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I did. The gloves they wear, they¡¯re quite soft and nice to touch, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    I didn¡¯t know what to say to that. ¡°Is that really what you took away from dancing with your partner?¡±

    ¡°Well, I feel it is in poor taste to think much else, her not having much choice in the matter.¡±

    He really surprised me at times. It was hard to believe he was only fifteen, no sisters, had spent four years at a boarding school. Then again, I had always jabbed him if he¡¯d gone too far¡ªa bit of nature, a pinch of nurture.

    The next day, I managed not to forget my (sort of) promise, bringing the book Beatrice had asked for to breakfast. Miles didn¡¯t say anything at first, used to me reading and ignoring him, and only spoke when I finished eating and stood up.

    ¡°Where are you off to?¡±

    ¡°A present for the missus,¡± I said, tapping the book.

    He nodded, and then frowned, but by then I¡¯d made it too far for him to ask me anything more. And he probably thought I would just lead him to the lavatory¡ªlike I had many times before after making cryptic statements.

    I didn¡¯t have far to go, the boys¡¯ cafeteria in the same building as the library, both of them either side of the assembly hall. Early, no one was in the hallway, and I wondered if she would even be there yet.

    My worry was quickly put to rest.

    The library consisted of rows of bookcases on one half, small tables the other half, each set with a chair. In one corner (where there was a clear view between most of the bookcases), the librarian sat at her counter, a stern look on her face. What interested me, though, was the lone figure in the same place as I¡¯d seen her last.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Under the librarian¡¯s stare, I walked over to Beatrice and placed the book on the table.

    Then I left.

    Miles didn¡¯t notice I returned without the book (or didn¡¯t say anything if he did), and the day carried on like any other. By the next morning, she¡¯d entirely slipped my mind as I had no expectations for her to return the book. So I ate breakfast with Miles, headed to class, pushed through to lunchtime and indulged in a good meal.

    Our first afternoon class was literature. Dickens was really the only Victorian writer I had known about, so I quite liked finding new authors. The old bell rang out, more a church bell than the school bells of my time. Miles and I got there early, having lounged about in the cafeteria after stuffing our faces. Of course, we didn¡¯t slump against the wall as we waited; the boarding school had been strict with that and it was a lesson not easily forgotten.

    Miles yawned, and I caught it. Even if I liked the class, it was sometimes lulling, listening to all these nobles trained in diction reading out wonderful stories.

    Lost in thought, I barely noticed what was happening around me. That was until familiar blue eyes brought me out of my head.

    Beatrice, satisfied she had my attention, curtsied as well as she could while holding a few books. The lack of bags for girls was, really, quite stupid. I bowed back to her and, when she didn¡¯t move on, I asked, ¡°May I help you?¡±

    She held out her pile of books. ¡°I am returning this to you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, taking the top book.

    ¡°If you have¡­ Oliver Twist, it would be appreciated.¡±

    I nodded, and she bowed her head in thanks, and then she walked to the back of the loose queue for the lesson. Turning over the book in my hands, it looked to be in the same condition as the day before. She really did like reading.

    Miles cleared his throat.

    ¡°Do you need a drink?¡± I asked.

    ¡°If I am to continue being your friend, I am sure I often will,¡± he said, more muttering to himself than talking to me.

    I left that (probably accurate) statement alone, ignored the looks the other students gave me. The rest of the day brought no other surprises. After dropping off the next book for her, I started spending my lunchtimes at the library. It hadn¡¯t bothered me how she¡¯d returned the last book in front of everyone, but I¡¯d only avoided the library to avoid her in the first place, and I wanted to avoid some rumours¡ªnot exactly flattering to be linked to me.

    So our routine went for the two weeks it took her to read all the Dickens books I had. In that time, we¡¯d never spoken more than her giving the title of what she wanted to read next. I liked that.

    Easier to read in the quiet of the library, I kept going there. We still didn¡¯t talk, but, now and then, I would take a break from reading and watch her for a moment. She was the sort of person to really lose herself in a book. A quick reader. At times, a smile would appear, but she showed most of her emotion through her eyes¡ªnarrowed, or wide open, or blinking fast. Sometimes she would hold her breath, sometimes her cheeks would flush and she would try to hide behind the book.

    I tried to remember what she¡¯d been like in the game. Albert had made a nuisance of himself, always coming by and asking her what she was reading, did she like it. I¡¯d seen a bit too much of myself in her, so I hadn¡¯t really played her route once I¡¯d got her ¡°bad end¡±. Instead, I¡¯d focused on the other girls, trying to see what made them so appealing.

    That girl¡ªthat character¡ªwas someone timid and curt and (apparently) unsociable, and Albert thought of himself as melting her icy heart. I now thought she just hated Albert for constantly disturbing her. At one point in the game, she even stopped coming to the library, and Albert still didn¡¯t get the message.

    However, whenever she caught my eye, she didn¡¯t look at all annoyed at me. If I arrived first, she still sat in her usual seat near mine. Sometimes, I caught her looking at me (I didn¡¯t get quite as engrossed in books as she did). Not bashful glances, though. She didn¡¯t blush and look away.

    The end of the term soon neared, and with it came the Hallows¡¯ ball. We wouldn¡¯t be here for the actual week of celebration, but it was close enough.

    With the balls always held on Sunday evenings, I had most of the day itself free, and that meant I went to the library after breakfast. Unsurprisingly, she was there. For the few hours until lunchtime, we read in silence, a few other student dotted around the room. Yet I couldn¡¯t focus. The first ball had gone well enough, and she¡¯d certainly helped with that, but I would be assigned some girl at random to dance with tonight. My dancing had got better with all the practising, that was true, and I tried to settle myself by repeating that over and over in my head.

    Between that worrying and getting hungry, I hadn¡¯t read much. Pushing myself to my feet, I started thinking about what I would eat, and whether Miles had found himself a partner for tonight.

    Beatrice softly cleared her throat.

    Turning to her, she looked at me expectantly. ¡°May I help you?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You seem¡­ unwell.¡±

    I smiled, a surprising bit of kindness from her. ¡°My dancing is still something to apologise for.¡±

    She nodded, understanding what I¡¯d said. I half-expected her to walk away, her question answered, but instead she paused for a moment and then said, ¡°I would not¡­ dislike dancing with you again.¡±

    ¡°Well, that would put me at ease.¡±

    And she left. After a second, I left too.

    The lead up to the ball went the same as last time with Miles, complete with jokes and a wander around the grounds (cut short by the cold). I soon also felt short, nearly all of the older boys taller than us first-years. We first-years were also led out last, lined up, and then the girls lined up opposite.

    ¡°Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.¡±

    I looked for Beatrice, and she looked back, bowing her head the slightest touch. With that, I walked over and took her hand, led us to the dance floor, all the older students already there. I felt bad for them¡ªthe third-years had probably been waiting ten minutes already. A few other first-years partnered up and then, like last time, the rest were paired up at random.

    Finally, the music began.

    Dancing, the last of my worry drained away, both of us better than before. I noticed that I was the same height as her now, despite the short heels of her shoes. She wore a different dress, though it wasn¡¯t any brighter. Mossy green.

    The song came to an end without any accidents from either of us. She curtsied and I bowed, and I thought that would be it, only the first dance compulsory.

    Her stare told me what to say. ¡°Would you care for another dance?¡± I asked.

    She offered her hand in reply. The dance floor much emptier now, I felt more relaxed, less people to bump. And she brought herself closer to me than before, easier to misstep, but we were in a good rhythm, matching each other well as we followed the simple waltz.

    When this song finished, and she had curtsied and I had bowed, she didn¡¯t have me ask her for another dance. But she did walk with me, followed me to a table in the corner of the room. We said nothing as we sipped at our (only one permitted) glasses of wine. The silence didn¡¯t last for long once our glasses were empty.

    ¡°May I speak¡­ frankly?¡± she asked.

    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t speak too loudly.¡±

    She smiled for a moment. ¡°I think a marriage would suit us both well.¡±

    That was certainly frank, and it took me a second to find the right words to reply. ¡°May I ask if there is any particular reason why you think that?¡±

    I met her eyes, unsure what I saw in them. ¡°You do not look at me, or other girls¡­ like most of the boys do. Even as we danced, I felt no¡­ heat from your stare.¡±

    That word¡ªher gaze wasn¡¯t hot, but warm. ¡°And so?¡±

    ¡°So it would seem¡­ we may be similar. My heart beats no faster for you, but it beats easier.¡±

    I liked that way of putting it, thinking I felt the same way. We weren¡¯t attracted to each other, that was clear, but we got on well for two people who hadn¡¯t had a full conversation yet, were comfortable with each other.

    ¡°Of course, I am not saying¡­ now. We have three years. How I should put it is¡­ it would be appreciated¡­ if you would keep me in mind.¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    She smiled, a warm smile that complemented her cold face. Then she excused herself, and, her seat still warm, Miles sat down with me a few seconds later.

    He looked at me expectantly, and I said nothing.

    ¡°Come on,¡± he said, a whine to his tone. ¡°I am not going to pry, but you have to give me something.¡±

    Truth stranger than any fiction I could have come up with, I said, ¡°She proposed to me.¡±

    He paused, his whole body still, and then he quietly said, ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Well, it was more she proposed a proposal to me, to which I¡¯m not opposed.¡±

    ¡°I may need another drink,¡± he said.

    Tutting, I shook my head. ¡°One only.¡±

    He didn¡¯t speak for a minute, lost in his thoughts. ¡°You don¡¯t love her, do you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not in love with her, no,¡± I said. ¡°However, I think I can come to love her as a friend¡ªas family.¡±

    ¡°That is enough for you?¡±

    I looked at Miles, the worry on his face, and thought how lucky I was to have such a friend. ¡°At the start of the year, didn¡¯t I say?¡±

    ¡°A frugal life,¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°But is love something to be frugal with? We aren¡¯t in such barbaric times that a marriage is a thing of politics and nothing more.¡±

    Resting a hand on his shoulder, I nodded. ¡°Thank you, really, but this is something between me and her, nothing to do with our families or anything like that.¡± I took back my hand.

    He calmed down, his gaze falling to the empty glasses on the table. ¡°If that¡¯s what you say, who am I to argue.¡±

    Nothing more was said of the issue, not that evening nor the quiet week that followed, everyone heading home for All Hallows¡¯ Tide. Miles and I stayed until the Friday, sharing a coach back. We stopped at Dunstable to drop him off, then to the Luton manor for me.

    Just like whenever I¡¯d returned from the boarding school, I was ignored, taken to my room by a servant and left there until supper. At the end of the meal, just as always, father said, ¡°Welcome home, Albert.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, father,¡± I said, bowing my head.

    In a disinterested tone, he asked, ¡°How was your time at the school?¡±

    I¡¯d always answered the question easily enough, little of interest happening in my life. Yet, this time, I keenly felt the pressure of choosing what to say, how to say it¡ªnot just now, but in the questions that might follow. ¡°I settled in well and have taken to my studies. There isn¡¯t a club to my liking at this time, the sports only starting in spring. And I have entertained Lord Westmorland¡¯s eldest daughter at the balls.¡±

    Mother perked up at that reveal, her eyes darting to see if father would speak or if she could. After a moment, he said, ¡°That is Lady Beatrice.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    He nodded, and then turned slightly, looking at mother. She asked, ¡°Should we send her an invitation for the festivities?¡±

    ¡°If that is father¡¯s wish. Though it would be far to travel at this time of year, I think she would appreciate the gesture,¡± I said.

    So father had me draft a letter to her, mother finalising it and having a servant send it off. Later, when I went to see Alice, Daisy had a few questions of her own to ask me, but I said little.

    After a week had passed, a reply came from Beatrice, and another week later she paid us a visit for the day while she was south to stay with family. For someone who had paid more attention to her romance books than her brother this holiday, Daisy was rather overprotective, questioning Beatrice on all sorts of things from what she knew about me to what her favourite foods were¡ªand, of course, if she liked cats. Whether Beatrice was good with younger girls or was used to it from her own younger sisters, she took it all in stride, leaving a good impression on Daisy (and the rest of my family, for what little they saw her).

    Once the holiday passed and I was back at school, I didn¡¯t have to wait long for the New Year ball. Almost a routine, Miles and I had our back and forth and a wander around the grounds, and Beatrice caught my eye when we were lined up. By now, I was comfortable dancing with her. She seemed to like dancing with me, asking for a second dance again.

    After the dances, she and I went our separate ways. Miles didn¡¯t ask anything. I appreciated that, still coming to a decision of my own.

    To help with that, I started asking her for books to read, using her suggestions to try and understand her better. And we sometimes talked about our thoughts on the books¡ªwhat we liked and disliked, the style, the characters, the plot. She smiled more these days, but her eyes were never hot, only warm. There was no spark, no romantic chemistry between us, just a friendship that could only exist within the library or the ballroom.

    A couple months later, the Spring ball. It was (quite literally) the same song and two dances as always, no small talk, a nice enough time. Along the way, I¡¯d remembered why I had downloaded The Key To Her Heart all those years ago.

    Beatrice was a beautiful lady. She did little to show it off, maybe even tried to hide it, but, with her hair done up and a good dress and at least a touch of makeup, she would look gorgeous. However, looks only got the first date. I had wanted to know what made her personality attractive. In this world, she was a simple person, honest with me, and yet so incredibly deep were the thoughts she had when it came to books. On Dickens, she had such nuanced opinions, in love with his social commentary while struggling with her own privileged place in a society that didn¡¯t entirely see her as an equal to men¡ªher inability to inherit the earldom just one part of it.

    And I wondered what the men I¡¯d gone on dates with had thought about me. I had been, still often was, called cold. Disinterested. I didn¡¯t make my feelings clear. Thoughtless. I spoke harshly out of practised laziness, unwilling to take a moment to think, to pause and make sure I spoke my thoughts properly. It was no wonder no one had understood me, no one had seen something beautiful in me that could be loved.

    That was in the past. Unfortunate since I felt like I could do a better job with Beatrice as my role model.

    There was one last ball in the academic year. I¡¯d never attended it in the game, the endings all coming the night before. When I thought of that, a little voice of anxiety sat in the back of my head, worrying me day after day. Nothing had really happened like the game besides the forced meetings with the three heroines, maybe the dance at the first ball.

    I couldn¡¯t sleep the night before the Summer ball.

    Sitting at my desk, the night outside barely looked dark. It was the sort of darkness where a tragedy could happen without anyone realising.

    Eventually, I gave in, changing back to the school uniform. After a check for teachers outside, I opened up my window, carefully climbing out and dropping down to the ground, my shins unhappy about it. There was always a teacher at the entrance to the dorms until around midnight, so I wasn¡¯t coming back for a while.

    In the game, the ¡°bad end¡± for Beatrice, it was in the library. I skirted around the pair of teachers patrolling, plenty of places to hide with shrubs and trees dotted all over the place. Looking in from the windows, I couldn¡¯t see anyone in the library, but I couldn¡¯t see all that well, dark inside.

    That didn¡¯t settle me.

    Trying the door to the manor on the one side, it was locked. I crept around to the other side¡ªnearer to the girls¡¯ dorms than the boys¡¯ dorms.

    The door opened.

    My heart beat painfully in my chest. I slipped inside, closing the door behind me. Tiptoeing, I listened out the whole way to the library for teachers, or for trouble.

    The library door opened.

    I slipped inside, the room almost menacing in the dark, an instinct in my head saying that anyone could be hiding under any of the tables, between any of the bookshelves. But, if this was like the game, then it wasn¡¯t a person I had to worry about¡ªas long as I hadn¡¯t crossed over to Beatrice¡¯s ¡°good end¡±.

    That thought didn¡¯t reassure me.

    I stepped forwards, getting a better view of the room, and then took another step, and relief flooded me. Beatrice sat there, reading by moonlight. Walking over to her, I cleared my throat; she looked up from her book, a soft smile coming to her as she saw me.

    ¡°Good evening,¡± I said, bowing to her.

    She bowed her head.

    When she said nothing, I gave in. ¡°May I ask what you¡¯re doing here?¡±

    ¡°Reading. I have¡­ struggled to sleep tonight.¡±

    ¡°And you so happen to have the keys and somehow slipped past the teachers?¡±

    ¡°I am¡­ on good terms with them.¡±

    I softly chuckled, careful to keep the noise down. As unbelievable as that sounded, there was no reason to doubt her. ¡°Since I¡¯m here, let me know if there is any books you would like me to get down for you.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps in a little while¡­ when I have finished this one.¡±

    That solved the bad ending where she would have been crushed by a fallen bookcase. Such simple words were all it took, and I¡¯d nearly not bothered to come here, convinced there was no fate. It almost made me laugh.

    ¡°Did you¡­ have something else to say?¡± she asked, looking at me with her expectant eyes.

    From now on, the future was unknown to me, yet it wouldn¡¯t have to be a lonely future. And there was a voice in the back of my head, telling me that all I¡¯d ever wanted was someone who accepted me for who I was. It wouldn¡¯t ever be a romantic love, and we didn¡¯t have to pretend otherwise. However, it would be comfortable, a comfort that I¡¯d never had in my old life.

    I didn¡¯t have the key to her heart, yet she would offer me her hand; all I had to do now was take it.

    Route B Bad End

 Chapter 3 Route C - Gwendoline Ending

    ¡°I didn¡¯t catch her name,¡± I said, not wanting to say I¡¯d met Princess Gwendoline. ¡°Long blonde hair, brown eyes, a bit shorter than me.¡±

    Miles rubbed his chin. ¡°Blonde¡­. Wait, you remember her eye colour?¡±

    ¡°Where else would I be looking while speaking with her?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer that. ¡°There¡¯s a few girls I know that it could be, though I suppose there¡¯s no point guessing.¡±

    Of the three, she was definitely the most interesting. The princess who would have been queen if not for her father¡¯s (perhaps justified) bout of paranoia. A title that should have garnered respect being neglected, showing how fragile and ethereal this aristocracy truly was. Even Queen Victoria could, if she stepped too far politically, be replaced without any fuss. Nobility in name alone.

    That decision quickly felt like it hadn¡¯t been much of a decision at all, Miles saying nothing more on the matter. I hadn¡¯t exactly hidden my reluctance to choose any of them, so it wasn¡¯t strange for him to pick up on it.

    My school life otherwise carried on like at the boarding school. Lessons weren¡¯t challenging, but they required effort to memorise what I needed to memorise. I did enjoy them more, though, the topics less boring and even some I liked. English literature, Dickens was the only Victorian writer I¡¯d known, so I was happy to find other things to read. It was also the only class boys and girls shared. I didn¡¯t care about that, but it seemed to motivate the other boys to attend and be on their best behaviour.

    It wasn¡¯t just the lessons that were (more or less) the same. Before, the other children had all been nobility, but mostly not all that important and they mostly knew that. These boys now were snobbish. They complained about their rooms, they complained about the food, they complained about having to attend oh so many classes every single weekday. It annoyed me, hearing that whining tone again and again. I quickly tuned them all out.

    Miles felt similarly. Like with the boarding school, he didn¡¯t find anyone here he actually wanted to be friends with (other than me, for some reason). He seemed to value my hard work, how I didn¡¯t gossip, that I spoke my mind, which were all things rather uncommon in this school. These children were all about confidence, putting on a smile, trying to appear clever. Basically politicians, except even less convincing.

    I wasn¡¯t sure, but I thought they had tried to bully me. It was more like the girls in the old life than at the boarding school¡ªtalking about me when I was nearby, looking at me and then laughing, that sort of pathetic stuff. They probably did other things that I missed entirely, naturally ignoring them as I really didn¡¯t care at all about them. That was one nice thing in this time period: very little group work. By now, Miles knew it didn¡¯t bother me at all, so he didn¡¯t let it bother him, even though it still did a little bit. Maybe some of my snark had rubbed off on him, the way he spoke to the other boys when he thought I wasn¡¯t listening.

    Other than not being bullied, I spent my time trying to avoid the three heroines. That was easy enough, only sharing one class and otherwise hardly ever seeing any girls, but I did have to give up the library, no doubt Beatrice often there. Otherwise, none of them sought me out, so that wasn¡¯t a problem at all.

    What was a problem was my dancing. After a month had passed, I was worried¡ªfor a reason. There was to be a debut ball for the first-years and I would be expected to dance with some random girl for half an hour. While I didn¡¯t care about my reputation, I didn¡¯t want to end up ruining her evening. Every night, once I¡¯d finished my homework and revision, I practised, trying to get to the point where I at least wouldn¡¯t step on any toes.

    The day came, a Sunday like for all the balls the school held.

    Three sharp knocks interrupted my afternoon reading. I would have ignored them, but Miles knew how to persist¡ªprobably because I ignored him if he didn¡¯t. After closing my book, I shuffled over to the door.

    ¡°How do I look?¡± he asked.

    ¡°With your eyes.¡±

    He tutted, sliding past me and into my room. ¡°Come on, that joke¡¯s getting old.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a good joke,¡± I said, shutting the door.

    We joked a little more, picked out what I¡¯d wear (black trousers and suit jacket, white shirt, school tie) and I kicked him out while I changed. Suited up, I met him in the hallway, and then we wandered around until it was time.

    The ballroom stood in about the centre of all the buildings, behind the manor. Two smaller rooms jutted out of it, the gendered entrances. Miles and I went in, joining the rest of the first-year boys, waiting for it to start.

    A teacher soon came in, the chaperone-in-charge for the evening. He led us out into the ballroom, a spacious hall with a small orchestra at one end, chairs and tables the other end, a dance floor in the middle. We were lined up beside the dance floor, the girls shortly after led out and lined up opposite us, a few paces away.

    Off to the side of us, the teacher cleared his throat. ¡°Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t imagine anyone did, not so close to the start of the year. Half the point of this school was finding a fianc¨¦ or fianc¨¦e, so it wasn¡¯t like someone would come if they were already engaged. And to walk up to some random girl, that was horrible. In The Key To Her Heart, it gave me the option to have Albert do that, but that was a game. Besides, I was pretty sure it was a trick choice, making the girl I chose dislike me for it.

    Lost in my thoughts, I didn¡¯t pay attention to the light footsteps. There was no way anyone would come and ask me to dance.

    She held out a hand.

    Gwendoline (of house) Hanover.

    She led me to the dance floor, and I couldn¡¯t help but be confused, unable to come up with any possible reason for this to be happening. The chaperone hadn¡¯t paired us up (unless I¡¯d gone deaf). If he had, it was the boy who was supposed to go to the girl. Now lost in these thoughts, at least I didn¡¯t worry about the dancing.

    Soon enough, we were joined by the couples decided at the whim of a pointing finger and the words ¡°You and you¡±. Then the music began, though it wasn¡¯t yet time to dance.

    She looked at me, and I guessed she was desperate to say something, the corner of her mouth twitching, her gaze flickering between my nose and mouth, unable to look me in the eyes.

    ¡°Hullo, ma¡¯am,¡± I said.

    A relieved breath slipped through her lips. ¡°I am sorry for this,¡± she softly said. ¡°When I thought of how I would have to introduce myself to someone, and then I saw you there, my feet moved on their own accord.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lie, is it not?¡±

    She smiled, though it didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°I thought, if I were to put you in such a position, you would again offer me your hand out of pity.¡±

    ¡°How honest of you.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a feeling I have, which says you can see my very thoughts.¡±

    That was fair, having sort of abused my memory of the game to give her directions to the headmaster¡¯s office before she¡¯d asked when we¡¯d last met. Though, this time, it was more that she still couldn¡¯t meet my eye after that apology.

    ¡°My dancing leaves something to be desired, so I hope you don¡¯t come to regret appealing to my kindness,¡± I said.

    ¡°To have some kindness along with the pain is more than I could hope for.¡±

    Her words crawled over my skin, bringing to mind those morbid images from the ¡°good ending¡±. Her smiling face, hand caressing the back of Albert¡¯s head, his blood pooling on the ground. But it passed quickly, and I tried to remember I wasn¡¯t in the game¡ªI was in a real world, with real people.

    We had a little longer to wait before the chaperone-in-charge instructed us all to, without further ado, dance. Not exactly settled by her words, I was still anxious as I offered her my hand. She held herself with grace, sliding close to me, closer than she really needed to. The couples moving around us, I began to lead, my worry replaced with concentration.

    Harder than any exam, more challenging than any homework, I moved my feet. Fortunately, she followed my lead well, even though it must have been difficult for her to match my stride when I forgot to shorten it. No words were spoken, we simply looked into each other¡¯s eyes. It didn¡¯t feel like a passionate gaze from her. If anything, it felt¡­ hollow, like she was looking at me and saw nothing there.

    I wasn¡¯t bothered by that. She had a lot going on and didn¡¯t need to bother with me.

    One song (about ten minutes long), a minute break, another song, another break, and a final song. It left me sweating, a suit not the best for exercise, but otherwise I¡¯d managed fine. She seemed to take it all in stride, a touch of a sheen to her and a slight flush to her cheeks, yet her breaths steady, eyes focused.

    We stepped apart. She curtsied, and I bowed, the dancing done for the day. To cool down, I went over to the tables and sat down with a drink¡ªa glass of wine. I didn¡¯t condone underage drinking, but one glass every few months was probably okay, and I was really hot. While some people left right away, others grouped up, chatting, exhausted.

    Before I finished my drink, Miles joined me, and he said nothing. His eyes stared deeply into his wine, something about the maroon colour fascinating. In little sips, he gradually emptied his glass.

    ¡°You do know who that was, do you not?¡± he quietly asked.

    ¡°She didn¡¯t give me her name.¡±

    Wherever I looked, I caught the glances sent my way, and I heard my name whispered on the wind, her name.

    He sighed. ¡°I would be a fool to expect a life without surprises while being your friend.¡±

    ¡°You would be a fool to be my friend,¡± I said, correcting him.

    Chuckling, he put down his glass and stood up. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong.¡±

    He said nothing more on the topic of the princess, not on the way back to the dorms or the days following. In those days, I couldn¡¯t help but listen whenever I heard her name, rare as it was coming from the boys. While some things had changed from the game, from what I overheard, this part of her story seemed the same.

    Come the end of November, it was time for another ball. This one included the upper years as well and only the first dance was mandatory, which was how the rest of the balls would be. Miles and I went through the almost scripted conversation on the day, my joke falling flat like it always did. Then we wandered the grounds for a bit, sat in the cafeteria for a bit longer (the cold sharper than last time).This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    When it was time, we went to wait in the room with the other boys. Surrounded by the older boys, I felt unusually short, me being one of the taller boys in the first year. We first-years had to wait until last to be led out, which was a bit of a bonus really, the poor third-years having been waiting out on the dance floor for nearly ten minutes already.

    Boys lined up one side, the girls lined up opposite right afterwards. I couldn¡¯t help but catch Gwendoline¡¯s eye as she glanced over. Distant.

    ¡°Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.¡±

    Looking at her, I didn¡¯t have to wait long for her to glance at me, our eyes meeting. I wasn¡¯t someone who tried to be cruel, which wasn¡¯t the same as someone who tried to be kind. In a small gesture, I turned my hand out, and she bowed her head the slightest touch.

    With that, I walked over and took her hand, led us to the dance floor, all the older students already there. It was almost definitely my imagination, but the room suddenly seemed quieter, colder. A few other first-years followed us by a noticeable few paces. The rest were then paired up at random.

    Finally, the music began.

    I¡¯d not been all that worried this time, not about myself. However, dancing drained away the tension anyway, my mind focusing on the task at hand. I was better than before thanks to all the practising, still pitiable but I made it easier for her to avoid my clumsy feet.

    And I looked at her. I¡¯d been so focused last time that I hadn¡¯t paid attention to much more than her eyes. Now that I saw her face, she was average looking. It was the modern sort of average, though, where no one who saw her would say she was ugly, and if she dressed up she would be pretty cute¡ªa seven out of ten. That wasn¡¯t too surprising, princesses being the most beautiful women in the kingdom probably old propaganda and to do with access to the best makeup and most skilled attendants.

    I also noticed her hairstyle was something she could¡¯ve done by herself. Most of the other girls, they¡¯d put the extra effort in, probably a friend helping them with their hair. The pale colour of her lipstick, soft blue of her dress¡ªunderstated, not meant to catch the eye. Most of the other girls wore vivid yellows, strong greens, bold blues.

    The song ended. She curtsied and I bowed, and that was it. I walked off to a table in the corner and she disappeared in the crowd. But she didn¡¯t leave my thoughts, not while I drank my (single) glass of wine, not while Miles talked nothings with me, not while I sat in my room and stared at the crescent moon.

    As the next week came to an end, the school broke up for All Hallows¡¯ Tide. Miles and I shared a coach back, dropping him off in Dunstable before me at the Luton manor.

    Just like whenever I¡¯d returned from the boarding school, I was ignored, taken to my room by a servant and left there until supper. At the end of the meal, just as always, father said, ¡°Welcome home, Albert.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, father,¡± I said, bowing my head.

    In a disinterested tone, he asked, ¡°How was your time at the school?¡±

    I¡¯d never felt a need to lie before, no part of me wanting to try and impress him. However, I keenly felt the consequences of what I could say. Even though I knew a lie by omission would come back to bite me eventually, I wanted to try not to be cruel. ¡°I settled in well and have taken to my studies. There isn¡¯t a club to my liking at this time, the sports only starting in spring.¡±

    Mother peered at me, and then her gaze darted to see if father would speak or if she could. After a moment, no sign from him, she asked, ¡°Did you attend a ball?¡±

    I showed nothing, gesturing with my hands as I said, ¡°Nothing to speak of happened. I partnered with a girl I didn¡¯t know and managed to dance without embarrassing myself too much.¡±

    Violet tittered behind a hand, Daisy peered at me much like mother had before. Yet later, when I went to see Alice, Daisy had nothing to ask me, steadily replacing me with romance books¡ªshe was at that age.

    Once the holiday passed and I was back at school, I didn¡¯t have to wait long for the New Year ball. However, I had something I wanted to check first. So, the day before, half an hour until curfew, I left my warm room and ventured out into the cold.

    Near no one was about at this time, dark early in the middle of winter as we were. No one was around the sports field, no reason to be this time of year.

    Someone was by the river, alone.

    I gently coughed as I walked the last steps to the top of the riverbank. Rather than a fence, brambles and such kept us from getting dangerously close to the water. The Thames. I¡¯d seen it so many times in London, hardly ever here in Reading. In a distant memory, I remembered hearing it had often frozen over in olden times, but I wasn¡¯t sure when that stopped being the case. Given this world wasn¡¯t strictly the past of my world, maybe it never did freeze over.

    Gwendoline looked out at the water, not even turning to face me.

    ¡°Cold?¡± I asked.

    She stilled for a moment, and then she slowly looked around until she saw me. ¡°A touch.¡±

    Taking off my coat, I offered it to her. She hesitated, not even reaching out, so I draped it over her anyway.

    ¡°It may be unpleasant for you if we were to be seen like this,¡± she said, a whisper little louder than the river.

    ¡°It may surprise you how poorly I am thought of.¡±

    A soft smile showed for a second, and then she hid her face, looking back out at the river.

    ¡°You¡¯re being bullied,¡± I said.

    She went to shake her head before she caught herself. Barely moving, she nodded. ¡°Little things. I hear them talk of my father when they know I can hear. They stop talking if I sit at a table with them. In some classes, I am left without a group and expected to work alone.¡±

    It was similar to what I¡¯d gone through in my original childhood, albeit tamer. These posh girls weren¡¯t going to go around actually insulting her or starting rumours¡ªdefinitely not when they didn¡¯t need to, and it looked like they had already got to her plenty enough. That wasn¡¯t to say her suffering was less than mine had been, that she was weaker, but comparing it to my past helped me to relate.

    ¡°You say you are not well regarded, yet you hold yourself well,¡± she said, having had thoughts of her own while I¡¯d been thinking mine. ¡°Is there a secret?¡±

    Over the years, I had sort of distilled bullying into two sentences: You cannot make people care about someone, and you cannot make a person not care about others. Those were, in my mind at least, the unchangeable reasons why bullying existed, why it couldn¡¯t be ¡°solved¡±. Especially in children, there were always going to be kids who wanted to pick on others. On the other side, it was normal to react to bullying, to cry or lash out, to be frustrated. But it was those reactions that most of my old bullies had wanted to see. If I could have stopped reacting, then I thought they would have left me mostly alone.

    I knew better than to tell her that. Not caring what other people thought wasn¡¯t something learned. It had been almost an epiphany for me, one day realising I didn¡¯t need to let my boss control my mood, that I would rather not hold on to the frustration. And I¡¯d already heard that advice in so many different ways, so many different times, across so many years¡ªuseless to me until the time was right.

    So I thought for a moment, coming up with a way of saying it that might have helped her take a step forward. ¡°I think they do it to gain control over you. It makes them feel powerful to see that they can affect you, and it feels good to feel powerful.¡±

    ¡°Even though I show nothing?¡±

    I smiled, but it was a sad smile. ¡°You are underestimating how good humans are at reading emotions. Not me personally, though. I¡¯m terrible at that stuff.¡±

    She giggled, the sound strange coming from her. ¡°So says the one who can see my thoughts.¡±

    This ¡°event¡± happened in the game too, and I thought this was really where the path between the ¡°bad end¡± and ¡°good end¡± diverged. One of the options had been to promise her that Albert would stop the bullying, but he couldn¡¯t do anything, less than useless.

    I didn¡¯t know what the character thought (what motivations the writer had in mind); however, I could imagine someone (who didn¡¯t know the feelings of being bullied) might have thought that she had felt betrayed by Albert while wanting to keep hold of the one person who had shown her affection. In reality, she wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told her I would stop the bullying. That was the painful truth. Once it reached a point, and it had probably reached that point long ago, she simply wouldn¡¯t be able to trust anyone. She wouldn¡¯t believe anyone who said they wanted to help her. She wouldn¡¯t listen to any advice given to her.

    Even though she¡¯d asked me, she had probably dismissed my help as wrong before I¡¯d finished speaking. After all, her first instinct had been to try and disprove it, attack it, change the subject.

    After a few minutes of silence, she said her goodbye, returning my coat and thanking me for listening to her complain. I said nothing, didn¡¯t watch her walk away, instead staring out at the river lit by moonlight. In my head, her two endings played over and over again, until just looking at the water made me feel nauseous. Then again, Albert had a phobia of open water in the game¡ªprobably because of the incident when I had come to this world, nearly drowning trying to save the kitten. Now that I thought about it, I wasn¡¯t sure if a cat was ever mentioned in the game.

    The walk back, lying in bed unable to sleep, all I could think about was her. Just like four years ago, she¡¯d captured me. No, I wasn¡¯t a kind person, but I didn¡¯t want to be someone who watched and did nothing. That was the problem with bullying, though: there was nothing I could do.

    The New Year ball. Boys lined up opposite the girls.

    ¡°Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.¡±

    I hadn¡¯t caught her eye. She avoided looking at me. I didn¡¯t walk over to her. At my side, it sounded like Miles sighed in relief, but maybe I misheard.

    ¡°You and¡­ you.¡±

    A twist of fate, the teacher paired me up with Isabel Reading. She looked cute, crimson a good colour on her, and we introduced ourselves (even though we knew each other) and swapped a few words like we had on the first day of school. I wondered what it would have been like if, all those months ago, I¡¯d pulled an Albert and walked over to her. She seemed nice, interesting. I wouldn¡¯t have hated talking with her now and then.

    After the first dance finished (without any trodden toes, my dancing on the good side of passable), I met with Miles at a table. He didn¡¯t ask about Gwendoline, I didn¡¯t tell. We didn¡¯t talk much of anything.

    A couple months later, the Spring ball. She ignored me again. Another twist of fate paired me up with Beatrice Westmorland this time. Though she wasn¡¯t dressed to impress, she had good features, and I thought she would look rather gorgeous if done up. I guessed she had her reasons not to. Though I felt she was probably a worse dancer than the other two, I found it easier to dance with her, no accidents happening. Once the first dance finished and we¡¯d done our curtsy and bow, she looked at me with a maybe curious expression, but she didn¡¯t say anything, so I left her in search of a quiet corner to brood.

    Again, I wondered what it would have been like if I¡¯d asked her to dance those many months ago. We seemed to be on the same wavelength (at least when it came to dancing). If she liked reading as much as she did in the game, we probably would have got on well, reading in silence, sharing book suggestions.

    The more I thought of those two, the more I ended up thinking of Gwendoline, despite wanting not to. There was nothing I could do. Powerless. Useless. Helpless. When I thought of why I¡¯d downloaded The Key To Her Heart all those years ago, I added foolish to that list. Even though I had realised the game wasn¡¯t supposed to make sense, was supposed to just frustrate me for wasting my time playing it, I still sympathised with the characters. I still empathised with her.

    In the game, she was¡­ a hypocrite. Strong and weak. Confident and doubtful. Assertive and afraid. A stray cat, begging for attention, but lashing out if given it. I¡¯d been a real sucker for that. Hard to get.

    In real life, she was a sixteen-year-old girl. Lonely. Hurt. Unloved. Abandoned. Excluded.

    Hard to forget.

    There was one last ball in the academic year. I¡¯d never attended it in the game, the endings all coming the night before. When I thought of that, a loud voice of anxiety sat in the back of my head, worrying me day after day. Not much had happened like the game besides the forced meetings with the three heroines and the meeting at the river.

    I couldn¡¯t sleep the night before the Summer ball.

    Sitting at my desk, the night outside barely looked dark. It was the sort of darkness where a tragedy could happen.

    Eventually, I gave in, changing back to the school uniform. After a check for teachers outside, I opened up my window, carefully climbing out and dropping down to the ground, my shins unhappy about it. There was always a teacher at the entrance to the dorms until around midnight, so I wasn¡¯t coming back for a while.

    In the game, the ¡°bad end¡± for Gwendoline, it was by the river. I skirted around the pair of teachers patrolling, plenty of places to hide with shrubs and trees dotted all over the place. My heart beat painfully in my chest, hands shaking. I crept across the grass as best I could, less cover as I moved towards the sports fields, pulse pounding in my ears. Beyond there, I sped up, sure no one would see me from so far away.

    Out by the riverbank, amidst the brambles, I saw someone. It was definitely a lady standing there, the silhouette in the mild darkness matching the girls¡¯ uniform. Long blonde hair.

    I walked, step by step, closer to her. My heart hammered at my ribcage. I felt I could collapse at any moment, body strung too tight. Closer, closer and closer.

    It was Gwendoline.

    If I called out to her, she would hear me. That was all it would take to stop this ¡°bad ending¡±. It didn¡¯t have to be her end. Even if I couldn¡¯t do anything, change anything, stop anything, I could call out to her.

    One word was all it took.

    She stepped out.

    I stopped moving, my heart stilling. She wasn¡¯t there. She wasn¡¯t standing there. She¡¯d gone somewhere. I couldn¡¯t think where. I couldn¡¯t think.

    She¡¯d fallen into the river.

    My legs ran, heart tore itself apart, lungs burned and eyes stung, throat closed impossibly tight as I tried to force breaths through it. Right to the edge of the brambles and bushes, I ran, barely stopping in time, looking out at the water.

    She floated, lifeless.

    Images flashed across my mind¡¯s eye. The scene in front of me, it flickered between night and day. I could feel this crushing guilt, regret. Powerless. Useless. Warm water, cold water. Albert was afraid of open water, but I wasn¡¯t, I hadn¡¯t thought I was, yet I felt paralysed now.

    I had died in water. I¡¯d died in water. And it hadn¡¯t been this river.

    The fear tore at me, pulling me apart into a complete wreck of disjointed thoughts.

    But I wasn¡¯t the sort of person who sat by and watched as something terrible happened. I wasn¡¯t. I tried to remember that until I broke through the paralysis.

    Throwing off my blazer, I took two steps back.

    And I threw myself into the water after her.

 Chapter 4 - Truly Bad Ending

    I woke up in a hospital¡ªa modern hospital. Looking down, I was definitely not Albert.

    I¡¯d returned.

    Dreams slipped away, but these memories still felt so real. Four years, nearly five. I could remember too much too clearly for it all to have been delusions; maybe that was how every delusional person felt. It wasn¡¯t the sort of thing that had made sense to begin with, accepting it because I had to accept reality. Once again, I would have to accept the reality I found myself in.

    It was a little funny to me, because I found myself wanting to go back, even though I¡¯d never felt homesick after being thrown into that strange world. My home¡­.

    My gaze drifted across the curtain cutting me off from the rest of the room, finding a girl sleeping in a chair by my bedside. A teenager, fifteen or so.

    I remembered now. I remembered how I had ended up in Albert¡¯s world. As I¡¯d thought, I had woken up in the morning hungry, fridge mostly empty, had walked to the newsagent and never made it there. On the way, I¡¯d seen a girl standing, looking out at the river. And I¡¯d thought I should call out to her.

    But I hadn¡¯t.

    I¡¯d watched as she climbed over the railing, waded out into the river, and disappeared. And I¡¯d done nothing. I¡¯d walked home, filled the bathtub, drowned myself before the shock wore off.

    Except, I had gone in after her, struggled to swim in my clothes, terrified as I felt the water drag me under but refusing to give up.

    Both memories existed as the truth in my head. Both memories vivid and recent and burned into my mind. And the second memory had to be true, because the girl was sleeping in a chair right in front of me. Not only that, but she looked exactly like Gwendoline. She had her hair cut differently, a little sickly looking, but the features were identical.

    I coughed, breathing too deeply, throat dry. She jerked awake, brown eyes quickly finding mine.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡± she said, blinking, and then she stood up, wiping her eyes. ¡°I should, the nurse.¡±

    She left.

    A doctor soon after came to check on me, shining a light in my eyes and asking questions and all that. Then he also left.

    My phone sat on a table, just in reach. The water hadn¡¯t ruined it. Someone had been nice enough to loan me a charger. A few missed calls from my boss, none from my family. A few messages from my boss, a couple from colleagues, none from my family. Checking the date, I¡¯d been out all of Sunday and Monday, early Tuesday afternoon now.

    I closed my eyes, and I could still see Miles, Daisy¡ªAlice and Chestnut. Even Isabel and Beatrice, the little time dancing I¡¯d spent with them nice enough. A year, I¡¯d had a year and I could have done so much more with it, should have done so much more with it. All I had now were regrets. I¡¯d expected the game to go on forever, but I should have known that it wouldn¡¯t last beyond the ending.

    Wiping my eyes, I tried to remember how long it had been since I last cried. Too long, probably, because the tears had really built up. It was hard, remembering how much I¡¯d lost this time. I wouldn¡¯t have a chance like that again, no matter how hard I tried, how hard I kept trying.

    Rather than a hell, it really had felt more like a heaven. Salvation.

    Eventually, I calmed down. The pain was still there, but it had lost its edge. Eventually, it would go away, or so I tried to believe. I doubted it.

    The curtain rippled, a hand appearing and opening enough of a gap for the girl from earlier to slide through. Her eyes met mine, and she immediately looked away. She sat down on the chair, staring down at her lap, hands on her knees and back hunched over.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± she quietly asked.

    She sounded just like Gwendoline. ¡°I¡¯ll live.¡±

    That made her wince. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m going to, to try and do something with my life. Maybe I can work hard and become a doctor, or a nurse, or I could volunteer in Africa, but I won¡¯t waste¡­. I¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± I said, cutting her off.

    Her mouth stayed open for a second before she closed it, her head sinking lower.

    Even after all these years, I still couldn¡¯t help but be cruel in my thoughtlessness. ¡°I didn¡¯t save you because I believe all life is sacred, or anything. I just don¡¯t want to be someone who sees something like that and does nothing. So you do whatever you want, don¡¯t worry about me. I mean, if you want to go right back there, go ahead, but check that I¡¯m not around first.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    She seemed to pale at my words, her lip quivering for a moment. Barely a whisper, she asked, ¡°You saw?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Her mouth wouldn¡¯t stay still, squirming no matter how tightly she pressed her lips together. She blinked quickly. Her hand kept rubbing her cheek, nose, across her face, and then she just covered her eyes, nose sniffling. Voice wavering, she asked, ¡°You¡¯re not gonna tell me¡­ it¡¯ll get better?¡±

    I shrugged, not that she could see. ¡°It might not. Maybe things will get worse, I don¡¯t know.¡± I let out a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s not as bad for me as it was in school, but it¡¯s not really better, and I¡¯ve been trying for ten years. I don¡¯t have much of a reason to live. You¡¯ve been here, right? No one¡¯s come to see me. My boss called to see why I didn¡¯t come to work¡ªthat¡¯s all the people at my job care about.¡±

    Leaning back, I closed my eyes. The loneliness felt that much keener now. Day after day, I would be alone. Silence. Painful silence.

    ¡°And I¡¯ll keep trying. That¡¯s all I can do, so that¡¯s what I¡¯ll do. I¡¯ll keep reading to keep the loneliness away. I¡¯ll keep going on dates and being rejected. I¡¯ll keep looking for new things to try, pick up hobbies for a few weeks, anything to fill the time.¡±

    Even though I knew they wouldn¡¯t be there, I¡¯d go to Luton, to Dunstable, to Reading.

    I let out a long breath. ¡°I don¡¯t mind dying trying to save someone. Even though I should have left you, I mean, I¡¯m not a great swimmer, and we were wearing clothes¡ªI was almost certainly going to die, we both were. But¡­ I don¡¯t, I¡¯m not a kind person, but I¡¯ve always tried not to be cruel. And I¡¯ve failed, so many times.¡±

    The words kept escaping me, until I opened my eyes and looked at her.

    ¡°There¡¯s just a selfish part of me that wishes someone would reach out to me and hold on, even as I tell them to let go.¡±

    I would miss Miles so much, the tears rolling down my cheek. Every day, I would miss him. My precious friend. In the end, I really hadn¡¯t deserved him.

    ¡°That¡¯s who I am. You don¡¯t owe me anything, so do what you want.¡±

    She looked broken, curled up as she sat there, her shoulders rising and falling to her shaky breaths. Maybe I¡¯d said too much. Maybe, not enough. I wasn¡¯t good at talking, worse at listening. Even now, I didn¡¯t want to hear what she¡¯d gone through, what had brought her to the edge. Me hearing it didn¡¯t matter. Her saying it didn¡¯t matter. If talking was good enough, these sorts of things wouldn¡¯t be as big of a problem as they were.

    Gradually, she seemed to calm down, her breathing settling and posture loosening, until she finally sat up. Her eyes were so puffy, I almost laughed. Poor thing looked just terrible. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispered.

    Leaning over, I reached out and patted her on the head. ¡°Would you rather hear someone say sorry, or thank you?¡±

    She shied away from my touch. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    I was tempted to lean farther, even if it meant I fell out of the bed, but I took back my hand instead. I¡¯d never been good at comforting anyway.

    After a few minutes of silence, she fiddled with her pocket and took out her phone. ¡°If it¡¯s okay, can I have your number?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No.¡±

    She froze, my quick and firm answer surprising her. ¡°Um, I¡­.¡±

    Smiling, I said, ¡°If you have something you want to say to me, then say it now. After today, I never want to see you again¡ªfor both our sakes.¡±

    It took her a long moment to get what she wanted to say in order. Her voice came out soft, rough. ¡°I thought I wanted that, but, when the water pulled me down, I was terrified. I couldn¡¯t breathe, hear, see¡­ like, all that I could do was¡­ panic. Worse than panic. Um, despair.¡±

    She clenched her fists, her face set to a serious expression. Determined.

    ¡°And then you grabbed me, and I wasn¡¯t¡­ alone.¡±

    That was the end of her story. We went back to silence. She slowly settled down, getting some colour back in her cheeks, her eyes returning to normal if a bit red. A weight off her shoulder compared to when I¡¯d first woken up.

    An hour or so later, not keeping track of the time, a nurse came to check on me and tell the girl that her friends were waiting. The curtain opened somewhat, I peered over and saw four kids poking through the door¡ªthree about her age, one younger. Maybe my memories were playing tricks on me, but, just like she looked like Gwendoline, the others looked an awful lot like how I remembered Miles, Isabel, Beatrice and Daisy.

    But, even if they were, I wasn¡¯t Albert.

    She looked at me. I smiled.

    And she left. I would never see her again. I would never see any of them again.

    Nothing all that wrong with me (at least physically), I was let out soon enough. The nurse wasn¡¯t particularly happy no one came to pick me up, but the hospital had already tried calling my parents and been told it was too far to come if there wasn¡¯t anything broken.

    Getting the bus home, it was strange how familiar everything looked when I hadn¡¯t seen it in years. Even my flat, I knew exactly what brand of beer and how many cans I¡¯d left on my desk before I had even opened the door.

    After doing little checks on everything, I sat down at the desk, a shake of the mouse waking up the monitor. Of course, I hadn¡¯t turned the computer off, expecting to come back once I¡¯d bought breakfast.

    The game was still open. The Key To Her Heart. I went to close it, too soon to reminisce, but I stopped.

    Nearly five years ago, or a few days ago, I¡¯d reached Gwendoline¡¯s ¡°good ending¡± and that was when I¡¯d given up and passed out. But on the screen was her ¡°bad ending¡±, where she¡¯d drowned herself in the river as Albert watched and did nothing.

    Except, that wasn¡¯t what the writing on the screen said.

    ¡°Overcoming his past trauma, Albert dove in after her and struggled against the current. Though he managed to get her back to the riverbank, he hadn¡¯t the strength left to pull himself out too, taken away by the murky waters.

    ¡°While Gwendoline made a full recovery and went on to live a long, fulfilling life, she never married. When asked, she simply replied, ¡®I lost the key to my heart a long time ago.¡¯¡±

    I read it again, softly smiling to myself. It wasn¡¯t a happy ending. It probably romanticised recklessness (not that I was one to talk) more than it should have, given it was supposedly a game for teenagers.

    But, to me, it was a beautiful ending. I could live with that.

    Truly Bad Ending

 Chapter 5 - Alice Ending

    Alone with Gwendoline by the riverbank, there was nothing else to say.

    I didn¡¯t know what the character in the game had thought (what motivations the writer had in mind). In reality, she wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told her I would stop the bullying. That was the painful truth. Once it reached a point, and it had probably reached that point long ago, she simply wouldn¡¯t be able to trust anyone. She wouldn¡¯t believe anyone who said they wanted to help her. She wouldn¡¯t listen to any advice given to her.

    Even though she¡¯d asked me, she had probably dismissed my help as wrong before I¡¯d finished speaking. Her first instinct had been to try and disprove it, attack it, change the subject.

    After a few minutes of silence, she said her goodbye, returning my coat and thanking me for listening to her complain.

    I wasn¡¯t going to even watch her walk away, looking out at the water instead. But all I could see was her lifeless body floating there¡ªher ¡°bad ending¡±. I didn¡¯t want to be someone who saw something like that and did nothing. I didn¡¯t want to be someone who just watched as something cruel happened.

    All those years ago, oh how I¡¯d wished someone would reach out to me and refuse to let go.

    I turned around. She wasn¡¯t far away, not yet. I took one step, then another. And there was a voice in the back of my head, telling me that I already knew there was no point, that fate would run its course, that I couldn¡¯t change anything.

    And I told that voice that I wasn¡¯t so weak, not any more.

    ¡°Gwen!¡±

    She stopped, but didn¡¯t turn around.

    ¡°I know I can¡¯t do anything, but I can try, and I¡¯m really good at trying and failing.¡±

    She started walking again, disappearing into the darkness of the night. Checking my watch, I waited as long as I could without missing curfew before I walked back, deep in thought. Sleep didn¡¯t come easily.

    The next day, I spent the morning thinking too, Miles leaving me to it. When the afternoon came and it was time to get ready for the ball, I got changed quickly, leaving my room and knocking on his door.

    ¡°Who is it?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Me.¡±

    It sounded like he fell over, and then he raced over, taking a couple of tries to unlock the door. Door finally open, he asked. ¡°Is everything okay?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    He let out a long sigh, hand resting on his heart. ¡°You gave me such a fright.¡± I said nothing to that, and his expression grew worried. ¡°Al?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll always be my friend, even if I do something incredibly stupid, right?¡±

    ¡°Well, as long as it¡¯s not criminal, or, I mean, there are certainly some limits,¡± he said, rubbing his chin. ¡°I¡¯m sure stupid is fine.¡±

    ¡°You promise?¡± I asked.

    He saw the seriousness in my eyes, and returned it. ¡°I do.¡± After a second, he asked, ¡°Is this about the princess?¡±

    I smiled, wry. ¡°Am I that easy to read?¡±

    His gaze slipped to the side. ¡°I¡­ felt I should have warned you away from her¡ªat first. The more I thought of it, though, the more I knew I¡¯d fallen for the gossip, and the more I sympathised with her.¡±

    ¡°You should get changed,¡± I said, patting his shoulder.

    ¡°Right.¡±

    I went back to my room, and he joined me there when he was ready, the two of us spending the time until the ball talking. Unusual for us, there weren¡¯t any jokes.

    The New Year ball. Boys lined up opposite the girls.

    ¡°Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.¡±

    I hadn¡¯t caught her eye. She avoided looking at me. I didn¡¯t walk over to her.

    ¡°You and¡­ you.¡±

    A twist of fate, the teacher paired me up with Isabel Reading. She looked cute, crimson a good colour on her, and I led her to the dance floor. Once there, we introduced ourselves (even though we knew each other).

    Then I said, ¡°May I ask you for a favour?¡±

    ¡°Have you no shame? We barely know each other,¡± she said, her tone light.

    I smiled. ¡°Would you check on Princess Gwendoline after the ball?¡±

    Her expression froze. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say I am particularly close to her, and it is quite rude to speak of another woman when we are dancing, do you not think?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think badly of you for watching and doing nothing, I really don¡¯t. I know how scary it is to risk being ostracised. However, speaking a few words with her would be fine.¡±

    She bowed her head, hiding her eyes from me. ¡°You¡¯re cruel,¡± she said, a whisper.

    ¡°I know.¡±

    We danced in an awkward silence. I kept my gaze high, hoping to spare her that little bit of discomfort. When the first song finished, I bowed to her, she didn¡¯t curtsy.

    Before she left, I said, ¡°I think you¡¯d get on with Miles¡ªhe¡¯s a much better man than I am.¡±

    I didn¡¯t even know if she heard, walking away from me at a brisk pace. That helped to settle me. All I knew about her came from The Key To Her Heart, but she¡¯d seemed like a good person, and I had meant what I said¡ªI didn¡¯t think badly of her. I wouldn¡¯t have entrusted Gwen to her if I did.

    Next, I looked for the only other person I (indirectly) knew. It wasn¡¯t hard, since she sat by herself in a table off to the side much like I usually would. Beatrice Westmorland. Coming to her, she seemed to not want to look at me, but I stayed there until she did.

    When she saw my face, she had no problem meeting my gaze. I offered her my hand and she took it, letting me lead her to the dance floor, and we danced.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°May I ask you for a favour?¡± I asked.

    ¡°That would¡­ depend on what it is.¡±

    ¡°Would you check on Princess Gwendoline after the ball?¡±

    Though she showed little of her emotions, there was a touch of sourness, and she didn¡¯t quite look me in the eye. ¡°That is¡­ difficult for me to agree to.¡±

    ¡°If she were a character in a book, you would wish with all your heart for some kind soul to help her, would you not?¡±

    She gave no reply. At the end of the song, like Isabel she didn¡¯t curtsy, leaving in a rush.

    I hated myself for saying the words, and yet I hated myself more because I had meant them. Even if I didn¡¯t think badly of them for doing nothing, I was still disappointed. They were only fifteen or sixteen. The more I remembered that, the more I let that disappointment fade away.

    Besides, there was something more important for me to do than think right now.

    Scanning the tables, I didn¡¯t see Gwen there. On the dance floor, I stepped between the dancing couples, skirted the groups huddled up to chat, searching.

    Finally, I found her. She stood by herself, an empty glass of wine in one hand, her gaze set to the night sky through the window. Moonlight shone upon her face, giving her a pale glow better than any makeup. Pained. Lonely.

    I walked over to her slowly, and cleared my throat when I came close. She didn¡¯t turn around.

    ¡°You look beautiful, Gwen.¡±

    She slowly turned around.

    ¡°Are you ready to turn me down?¡± I asked.

    The blank expression on her face spoke to how well she hid her emotions, no doubt confused by my question, and yet I could feel the irritation, the frustration. Not just from me, but from the other girls, from her ¡°family¡±, from the world. More than I had ever been, she truly was alone.

    Getting down on one knee, I held out my hand and loudly asked, ¡°Would you marry me?¡±

    She couldn¡¯t hide the surprise and, honestly, it was adorable, a cute disconnect between her usual composure and this unguarded expression. But it passed quickly. Already, the people nearby looked over, excited whispers spreading like wildfire. If she took much longer, we would be the centre of attention.

    The mask she wore slipping, the rising anger bled through. I couldn¡¯t blame her. In this moment, she must have hated me more than anyone else. I was making fun of her in just the most brutal way. Any second now, everyone would start laughing, goading her, telling her to accept because no one else would ever ask her. There was no way for her to escape without being entirely humiliated.

    That was what she believed, and it boiled over, the slap echoing through the hushed hall. Her footsteps trailed away, fast and light taps, whispers left in her wake.

    I stayed as I was for a long moment, and then slowly stood back up.

    Moths to a flame, a gaggle of girls drew near, barely suppressed smiles on their lips. ¡°Oh you poor thing,¡± one said¡ªLady Stamford.

    ¡°How could she, not even giving you an answer,¡± another said¡ªLady Wisbech.

    ¡°What did you even see in her?¡± a third asked¡ªMiss Huntingdon.

    There were a few more in their group, all of them standing nice and close so I could clearly look at them all at the same time. Smiling sadly, I loudly said, ¡°I¡¯ve yet to know her well, but I feel she is a kind person. After all, despite what you ladies have put her through, she has never so much as uttered a bad word about you, has she?¡±

    If looks could kill, well, I would¡¯ve died that first night at the boarding school. They did their best anyway.

    Miss Huntingdon stepped forward, raising her hand and saying, ¡°How dare you.¡±

    I looked her in the eye. ¡°Am I wrong?¡±

    She hesitated, glancing at the crowd. Before she could say or do anything, a chaperone pushed through, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me forward, dragging me away.

    It was a fun few hours later that I was returned to my room, door locked. Falling into the chair by my desk, I looked out the window. All those years ago, everything had been so much simpler, boys being boys. These kids were all important sons and daughters, with parents who may well act on their children¡¯s whines, and there was the reputation of the school, and a whole lot more blah that didn¡¯t matter to me. At least, not any more.

    I wasn¡¯t surprised when there was a knock. Pushing myself up, I shuffled over and sat down on the floor, back to the door. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m not allowed to come out and play.¡±

    ¡°That bad, huh?¡± Miles quietly asked.

    ¡°Yes. They¡¯ve sent a letter to my father, which I imagine simply says: Come and pick up your son before we throw him out.¡±

    He chuckled lightly. ¡°You knew that would happen.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°What do you think your father will do?¡±

    I sighed, rubbing some of the drowsiness from my face. ¡°Don¡¯t know. He has businesses that do business with the royals, so probably send me off to a distant uncle.¡±

    ¡°But you knew that would happen.¡±

    I chuckled this time. ¡°While I know I ignore you a lot, weren¡¯t you listening earlier?¡±

    ¡°Just making sure you remember how stupid you are.¡± I gave him that. After a few seconds, he asked, ¡°You know, one thing you didn¡¯t say, what would you have done if she¡¯d said yes?¡±

    That sent me for a loop, something I hadn¡¯t considered at all. Obviously, there was no way she would have, so I hadn¡¯t even thought to think about it. Now that he¡¯d asked, I entertained him.

    ¡°Well, I do know I barely know her, but I do think she¡¯s a good person. Kind, patient, earnest. I feel she¡¯s someone special. While I may not be in love with her now, of course I would try my best to treat her well, and I think I would come to love her in time.¡±

    ¡°Do you truly mean that?¡±

    My heart skipped a beat¡ªMiles hadn¡¯t said that.

    ¡°Gwen?¡±

    ¡°Do you truly mean that?¡± she asked again.

    ¡°I do,¡± I said.

    It was a long moment of silence. Then she spoke, soft, a roughness to her voice. ¡°Why, why would you¡­ throw everything away? For me?¡±

    Smiling, I wished I could have given her something romantic, but the truth would have to do. ¡°I¡¯ve spent my life trying not to be cruel. However, it turns out being cruel is the only thing I¡¯m good at, so I thought I¡¯d try to be kind for a change.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Right now, do you feel like you¡¯re alone?¡± I asked. The seconds trickled by, and she didn¡¯t reply. ¡°I¡¯ll pick myself up somehow, and I still have Miles so I haven¡¯t lost anything I value. This memory is more than enough for me to think it was worth it.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    Feeling a little childish, I asked, ¡°What are you saying that to?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll marry you.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± exclaimed, well, seemingly everyone¡ªI did, Miles did, and I was sure I heard Isabel as well, which made me think Beatrice was probably also there and probably just as shocked, albeit quiet about it.

    Once they¡¯d suitably shushed each other, not wanting to draw attention to the numerous rules being broken, Gwen said it again. ¡°If you would still have me, then I accept your proposal.¡±

    To cut a long story short, we eloped, heading down to London and living a modest life under aliases. It took a while for the newspapers to start printing that the princess was missing, and even then they didn¡¯t include a photograph, not really a thing newspapers did yet. Miles had also played a part, though, confessing that I¡¯d mentioned wanting to live in Edinburgh and had often spoke highly of Scotland. A rumour also started that she was pregnant, which was helpful since she wasn¡¯t.

    A few years down the line, Miles moved to London, bringing along a certain Isabel as his wife, Beatrice also coming as a close friend of theirs. While they lived off family money at first, we started to make a living off of writing and some small business ventures. Not the most extravagant life, but we lived alongside the new money¡ªnouveau riche¡ªand contributed to charities and social work, especially Beatrice.

    I soon after managed to reconnect with Daisy. She visited London to attend an event hosted by her new favourite author, surprised to find me sitting beside Beatrice (the author in question). Though a worrying moment at first, she kept the secret. I was glad to know Alice and Chestnut were well.

    True to my word, I did my best to make Gwen happy. I really did. At first, we were just kids playing house, especially with how conscious I was of the mental age gap between us. It wasn¡¯t a perfect marriage by any stretch. We had our fair share and a half of arguments, stressed by money and culture shock. But it was a marriage built on apologies, trying to understand each other, and believing we both wanted each other to be happy. As long as we remembered that, our tempers and pride couldn¡¯t break us apart.

    Over the years, we slowly grew closer, and I came to love her as a person, and as a woman. It might have never been the sort of passionate lust that books were written about, but I loved her entirely, and I felt so incredibly loved by her. I couldn¡¯t have asked for anything more. We had two children together, a boy and a girl. By the time they were teenagers, we were often scolded for being too affectionate in front of them.

    In Gwen, I found my own happiness. There was a comfort in coming home and having someone else there, a comfort I¡¯d never known as Alice, and it meant the world to me. My tongue had always been cruel, but she helped me learn to show kindness through my actions. There was finally someone who understood me.

    Regardless of when I was born or who I was born as, this was who I was meant to be, where I was meant to be, these people¡ªGwen, Miles, Isabel, Beatrice, and Daisy¡ªwere who I was meant to be with. My precious family.

    This was my ¡°good ending¡±.

    True End