A conspicuous lack of a lace canopy was the first thing that she noticed when her eyes opened. This was not her bed. Inside she swore and hoped it wasn’t Auric’s bed. The last thing she wanted was a drunken one night stand with that pompous War God. If she really did sleep with the pompous jerk she’d need to make a special note to never drink eight casks of wine again.

 “Miss Emaliana?” A voice like a gentle lullaby broke her tangled thoughts and scattered them into the ether. Auric’s room this definitely was not. She turned her eyes towards the voice, not wanting to move her head to placate the thundering migraine that radiated down into her neck. Next time she would definitely stop at the seventh cask of wine. The voice’s owner was a young woman with flowing crimson curls that flowed out from a white cloth that was tied on her head and a pale expression like she hadn’t slept in days.

Did she actually make the trip into the Mortal Realm in a drunken stupor? It was a whim to say she was going to go, but it wasn’t one she expected her drunken self to actually do. It was clear that she may want to stop by the sixth cask next time to keep from doing something this stupid again. Her thoughts paused as her forehead smoothed out in realization that she had missed something in her migraine laden thought process.

“What did you call me?” Her throat was dry and hoarse and burned when she spoke, but the traces of a voice that wasn’t her own lay under the disguise of illness.

 The girl almost seemed to fly across the small room in response to the unusual question “Miss Emaliana, are you still with fever?” A cool hand pressed against the bedridden occupant’s forehead, “Ah, you’re still a little warm. Just rest Miss, I’ll fetch you some warm soup to help ease your fever.” Without waiting for a response the young woman was gone, her trailing curls almost looking like a trail of fire that chased her out.

 Her head creased again as she tried to think of how she would know this mortal. It’d been tens of thousands of years since her birth in the Heavens by the creation of medicine as the Goddess Argent, and despite the information that filled her brain on treatments, diagnosis and prevention accumulated over the course of the span of mankind she rarely did anything relevant to her job. It was more common that she’d spend her time drunk passing the time than actually bothering to answer prayers. And there was the fact that she hadn’t actually descended to the Mortal Realm before now, so the chances of her knowing a mortal were even slimmer.

 Could the girl be a reincarnation of someone whose prayer she answered before? But if so, why the unusual name?

 The migraine only got worse the more she tried to think about it. So she stopped thinking and chose to slowly push her way off the bed, her feet slipping out of the wool cover and onto the old wood floor. Ignoring the fact she had a mole on her left shin on what should have been her flawless skin, she chose to notice that she was a fair amount shorter than she remembered. That or mortals were a lot taller than she was.

 The latter possibility made her a little uneasy as if she was so short as a deity that would only mean that any mortal she did meet could literally look down at her. And even if it was only literal and not symbolically, it still annoyed her to consider.

Pushing the idea out of her mind she plodded over to the nearby vanity and took a look into the polished copper mirror. The lack of the grand polished silver and glass mirror cemented her assumption that this was not the Heavenly Realm. With a frown she took a look into the mirror and found it to be a face she’d never seen before. It was round and still bore the hallmarks of childish roundness in the cheeks, though there were some signs of malnourishment in the cheeks. Long black hair, the trade mark of a noble bloodline in the Mortal Realm, hung straight down her back and framed her face. But what caught her the most was that the girl had gold eyes. Eyes of that color were the mark of a divine intervention. Could this girl be someone she’d actually helped at some point?

 If so, why was she now in this girl’s body?

Confusion was only making her head pound worse as she let herself fall onto the stool in front of her vanity. Something was wrong here. She was in the mortal realm with no memory of how and she had somehow managed to end up in a young girl’s body. Just how much did she drink last night to screw up like this? Did she drink nine casks? Ten? Her lips pulled into a deep frown as she tried to remember exactly how much she did drink.

Mulling over everything only lead her in circles, causing her to only regret ever agree to challenge Ferric’s wine cask drinking record. Challenging a God of Alcohol to a drinking contest was an unforgivable foolishness, even for someone who had a divine liver. Sadly it seemed the lesson that was a little late this time.

 In her bout of frustrated concentration she didn’t notice the door behind her open as the girl entered again with a tray and a bowl of steaming soup on it.

 “I apologise Miss, the cooks still won’t give me more than a thin broth with a couple of chicken bones. Ungrateful bastards are truly going too far this time! I really think you need to talk to your father about this Miss. If this keeps up, how will you ever recover from that fever?”

 The small head flicked up in confusion as she tried to settle her thoughts. Not only was she trapped in some girl’s body, but the servants wanted to take advantage of her? The pain in her head was slowly being replaced by a seething anger that pushed it aside. Her mistakes she would tolerate, but by no means was she going to permit someone to just walk over her now that she was stuck like this.

 “Forgive me as I feel the fever has made me a little muddleheaded. What was that about the cooks exactly?” Despite her boiling anger the tone that escaped her lips was colder than even the darkest winter night.

 “Ah, forgive me Miss, I didn’t know that the fever had been so hard on you. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Last night I thought you’d die on me after you fell into that river and I wasn’t sure how I could continue on if you did. We can ignore the matter about the cooks until you’re feeling better.” The girl was quick to back peddle now that she could sense something in her young miss’es tone she’d never heard before: anger.

 The young girl only shook her head as she stood, “No. I had a dream last night. A dream where a woman with golden hair and a silver dress came to visit me. She said she would give me a second chance at life, but I need to live well. I can’t be sure of how I used to live, but I can’t let her gift be squandered.”

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 The young woman’s eyes were almost the same size as the bowl on the tray she held, “Truly Miss? Do you know her name?”

 Putting on an expression of concentration the young miss paused for a moment before hesitantly responding, “I think she said she was Argent.” Needless to say this was a lie as the Argent in question was living in that young girl’s body now, but better a lie about yourself than someone else.

 “Oh thank the Gods! I never thought the Maiden of Healing would visit you a second time Miss! You truly are blessed by the gods!” It was a good thing that the young girl couldn’t smile any wider, or the top of her head would fall off.

 A second time? So she truly had helped this girl before. This was a mystery that kept getting deeper it seemed.

 “Well let’s go to the kitchen. I am not wasting a single minute of this life being mocked by someone who can’t understand their place in life.”

 The girl’s excitement faded, “Like that Miss? You’re not decent.”

 The gold eyes rolled in their sockets as she walked past the maid, “And wait for those lazy bastards to get a chance to try and say you stole some of the food and watered the soup down to blame them? No, the sooner we go the better.”

 “Yes Miss.”

 The trip from the small building that the pair were in to the main building of the manor wasn’t far, but almost immediately Argent was regretting not putting on a pair of boots at least. She could care less about the wind, but the snow was numbing her legs up to her knees and only drove her mood down further. She didn’t know why she was living in what appeared to be servant’s quarters behind the family manor, but that matter could come later. Right now she wanted to deal with some servants who wanted to lord over someone they were rightfully under.

 The scene told later by the servants was as if a small, angry god exploded through the rear door of the kitchen, the bang of the wooden door against the wall causing many of them to start and all of them to stop what they were doing as the Eighth Daughter stormed in like the War God himself.

 “Which of you sent my her over with a bowl of amber colored piss water and a couple of chicken bones?” The voice was still hoarse, but it was not soft. As the girl spoke, she padded through the kitchen in her night dress, reddened feet silently crossing the brickwork that made up the floor of the room.

There was some confusion amongst everyone present now. Was this truly the Eighth Daughter who was known for never raising her voice, never getting angry and never daring to confront the servants?

 The girl paused and picked up one of the large carving knives from a counter as she looked about the room where four pairs of shocked eyes looked at her. Casually she waved the knife around as if she were gesturing more with a stick than a blade, “Well? Who among you thinks they have the guts to take advantage of a sick person, much less a sick person who is part of the family that you all serve?” The knife was gesturing harder now as she pointed the tip at each of them in grand sweeping arches.

 None of the cooks dared speak in face of the young girl’s anger and dangerous knife play, only causing her ire to grow. With a slam she drove the tip into the wood slab that served as a counter, burying the blade nearly three finger widths deep.

 “Next time it happens I’ll be sure to show you how servants who try and kill a sick noble are treated.” With that promise she was gone, leaving her maid standing in the entryway holding the ruined bowl of soup she’d been given earlier. After she left there was a collective gasping for air as the four men, each at least more than twice that young girl’s age, found they could breathe again. Not even the Baron had that kind of pressure when he was angry with them. Was it truly the young miss they knew, or had some angry demon taken over her body to punish them?

None of them were sure, but almost immediately the maid’s bowl was replaced with a proper bowl of chicken soup with a whole chicken breast in the thick broth and a cover was provided to keep the soup warm. Better to give the young miss more than what she wanted than risk her making good on that promise. Despite their advanced age the men were still servants at heart and knew that even lifting a finger to try and defend themselves against anything she did would only end in death, so it was better to placate the fiery temper than risk the outcome.

Sometime after the young miss had eaten and been forced back to bed in her small room a knock occurred on the Baron’s study door.

“Enter,” the voice had the bass of a bear’s growl with a humor to match.

 Pushing open the door the young misses’ maid entered, bowing to the graying man who sat at his desk, “My Lord, I’ve come to report to you about the Eighth Miss.”

 He paused and put his pen down, taking a good look at the woman, “Ah, Amelia, good to see you. If you’re here than she really must be feeling better.”

 She raised her body a little and nodded, while not raising her head high enough to actually look at the man behind the desk, “She awoke earlier and her fever has gone down but it seems that her memory might be damaged. She didn’t recall the bullying she’s been getting from the servants and her personality was a lot less timid than before.”

 “Oh?” His bearded face drooped a little as his arms folded across his body, one hand cupping his chin as he considered something, “I shouldn’t be too surprised I suppose, she did stop breathing last night. It’s frankly amazing that she’s still alive after falling through the ice. In comparison to that, a little extra boldness isn’t really a problem.”

 Amelia pursed her lips before continuing her report, “She says she say Lady Argent in her dream last night as well.”

 The frown changed to shock as his palms slapped the desk, knocking some of the papers off, “The Lady of Healing personally visited her last night?”

 “That’s what the young miss said. She described a woman who looks like the Healing Maiden and said the woman claimed her name was Argent and that the woman was giving her a second chance to live a good life.” She paused for a moment, “She also used that as justification on why she wasn’t going to let the kitchen slide anymore.”

“Interesting. Very interesting. For the Lady of Healing to cure someone from a life threatening fever twice in their life is truly remarkable. This child of mine must have been a saint in her last life to get this kind of favoritism.” He forced himself to calm a little, but the excitement didn’t leave his eyes, “Do we know anything about the other matter she has?”

 Amelia shook her head, “Nay Lord. Without a doctor I couldn’t determine if her body can cultivate Martial Force. I’ll try and see if I can approach it with her when she’s completely well though.”

 Nodding he waved to dismiss her, “Very good. Keep me informed of her movements. Perhaps the promised destiny she was born with hasn’t been lost. If that really is the case I can rest easier, even if it angers the other children.” His face was fairly pleased as he cleaned up the mess he made moments before.

 “Indeed my Lord.” And she was gone, almost as if she hadn’t been there. Not even the sound of the door closing could be heard in study.

 Turning towards the window the Baron couldn’t help but smile. If his daughter was truly given a second chance then there family would be set to rise the ranks of the nobles as it should have been able to years ago.