Francis Rayleigh wandered the halls of the estate. Without any place in mind, he just walked around. He found himself sitting on the steps of the mansion, near the training grounds of the knights. With a stuffed rabbit in hand, he watched on.

“Hm.”

One of the knights spotted him. Sheathing his sword, he approached the young boy. His sparring partner watched.

“Must be lonely huh?” the knight asked.

“You get used to it.”

“How old are you now? You’re here alone?”

“I think I’m 7. I’m not sure. And yeah, Mr Knight.”

“Should I keep you company?”

“If you want.”

He sat down. A thick tunic and padded clothes acted as armour. With a sword by his hip, he looked like the splitting image of a typical adventurer Francis heard so much about.

“Are you bored?” Francis asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Is this place boring? Aren’t you going to go off and kill a dragon?”

“Hah. My Lord, I think you have read too many fairy tales.”

“So you can spend your whole life here?”

“Oh, My Lord. Tell you what, are you busy right now?”

“Not really. Papa’s busy with his work, and so is Mama.”

“Aww. My Lord, would you like to try sparring with us?”

“With the cool swords?”

“Mhm. C’mon. Don’t tell your parents though. It’ll be our secret.”

The knight offered his hand. Through the eyes of Francis, his hands were impossibly big. Comparable to his father, though with more calluses and cuts. After a brief explanation, a nearby woman handed him a small wooden sword.

He gripped it until his knuckles turned white. Despite all his huffing and heaving, he could not get even the tip of the sword off the smoothed dirt of the training grounds. With both hands clutching the handle, he dug his heels into the dirt.

“Dad, what’s that weird boy doing?” a young girl asked.

“Ohh, don’t bother your father at work.” a woman said.

“Honey. And our little princess.” The knight that talked to Francis squatted down to pat the young girl on her head. “My Lord. This is my daughter, Katalina. She wants to become a master just like me.”

“Hrmp. I want to spar with her,” Francis asserted.

“My Lord? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I won’t hurt her. And give me a lighter sword.”

“What’s he saying, mum?”

“He’s saying that he wants to practise with you.”

“Yay! Practice! Mr, are you using that sword?”

“No. You can try your best to lift it up.”

The woman stifled her laugh. She placed her hands on the girl’s shoulder, and whispered words into her ear. The two of them chuckled, and the little girl stepped forward.

“Go easy on him.”

“Okay mum!”

The girl wrapped her hands around the handle of the wooden sword. With a push onto the dirt, she held it in front of her. There was a shallow dent in the ground from where the blade was lifted up.

“Hm. Well.”

With a quick beating done, Francis sat on the dirt. His arms and legs were bruised, but not severely injured. The girl really did go easy on him. Warm tears ran down his face. They burned as they ran over scratches and cuts.

“Gods. The family’s doomed,” someone whispered. Francis managed to hear him over his own crying.

“What do we do?”

“I knew he was bad, but not that bad...”

“Shit, do we have a mage on hand?”

“Yeah, someone patch him up.”

“We’re fucked.”

“His mother will kill us.”

“And he’s just crying like a bitch.”

“Who wants to tell the duke?”

The girl approached him. With an extended hand, she picked him up off the ground. Still, he cried. She looked at him with a face that showed concern, confusion, and other emotions that he didn’t know. The knights crowded around them, forming a sort of barrier from outside eyes.

“Uh. Someone go grab the doctor. If the duke finds out, we’re dead.”

“And someone shut him up. My ears want to commit suicide.”

Their words only made him cry louder. Beyond the circle of panicking men and women, maids chattered. The woman took him in an embrace. The same woman that brought the small child along. Who was she?

“Calm down dear. You’re okay. You’re safe. Breathe,” she whispered into his ears. Her breath tickled.

He followed her slow and careful instructions. One breath in, one breath out. The pain was still there, yes, but he could endure it a little more. His body hurt all over, even deep inside his bones.

“Shh. You’re fine.” She ran her fingers through his hair.

Between his deep breaths, he let out small hiccups. After a while, his breathing stabilized. He began to calm down, and looked up at her. The woman’s brown hair tickled his cheeks.

“I’m okay. I’m alright. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt,” he lied.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Yes, yes. Now stand up and walk away,” a man said, his voice gruff and unfriendly. “We have no need for people like you.”

“He’s still a child!” the woman snapped back.

“And they were children when they had to fight in a war. He either stands up and fights, or he gets up and leaves.”

“Um. I think you should stop,” the little girl said.

“Katalina, good job. You’ll be able to take the position as master soon enough, keep at it. And Marisby, thank you for calming the child down,” a gruff old man spoke.

The crowd parted to let him through. His face was riddled with scars. On his chin, a goatee of grey hair clung. Despite his age, his eyes remained as sharp as his blade.

“As for him, I’ll deal with him. Everyone, return to your training.” The knights gave a brief acknowledgement. “And My Lord. Come with me.”

“Okay...” Francis muttered.

---

He walked around. The room was abstract. A candle gave off warm darkness, whilst the hard floor stayed cold. With no walls, he wandered around. Meanwhile, watching through the thin yet impossibly thick layer of glass, she sat quietly. What was so entertaining? All that happened was a beating, and his parents finding out.

“Wait.” Francis turned around. “Why are you a girl now? And a super cute one at that?”

“Am I? Oh, hm. Interesting. Makes sense, since this place turns us into our ideal selves. Still, don’t you think that’s a little overly muscular? I understand you not wanting to be seen as a woman, but damn. That’s overcompensation.”

“So that’s why you like my body so much? Because you can masquerade as a woman?”

“You dumb child.”

“It’s because of some damn unresolved issues? Is that it? That’s all it is?” he bellowed out, “Is that all it is?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do.”

“No. You have a complex. A complex that makes you lash out to get some attention. Due to your childhood issues, you bully and mistreat people because you’ve been told since young, not to your face, that you’re useless.”

“Stop.”

“And everyone hates you because you seek attention through mischief and violence. But that only ended up in abuse. With a hope to prove yourself, you tried and failed with the knights. That only backfired on you when your parents found out and punished them severely.”

“I defended them! I said that it was my fault!”

“Yes, you did. But even so, your parents had to take action. If they let it go by, they would have taken advantage of you. And they had a reputation to keep up. You are a mixed blood, and a child of the Rayleigh household. If your assailants had gotten off scot free, what might the other noble houses think? They got punished because it's your fault.”

“Shut up. Stop talking.”

“And you lied to me. About everything. Your misdeeds were so much worse. How much did you abuse your servants? So much that all of them quit?”

The candle flame flickered. It casted an inverse shadow, a shape of light within the darkroom. Why were they even in a dark room? And why could they still see? Francis ignored the question.

He looked down. His legs were not his. And neither were his arms, or his entire body for that matter. It was entirely different. The smooth palms were replaced by those that were large and callused. A sword could fit neatly within those hands.

“Still. You are human trash,” she spoke with a curt voice.

“At least I’m not like you.”

“I’ll be the bigger person and let that slide. I don’t need your acceptance or support when you’re gone.”

“Are you actually one of those?”

“Huh? Oh, no. You’re misunderstanding me. Being a man’s alright. But being a woman’s better.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t expect you to.”

“So this is your... Coming out?”

“What? No. We literally are two different souls sharing-”

“Possessing my body.”

“Sharing a body. You have a right to know. That’s why I prefer to wear skirts and dresses.” She sighed.

“Well... I can’t do anything about it. I mean, that’s your choice, as weird and stupid it might be.”

“You accepted that a lot better than I thought.”

“I mean, we’ve been here for so long. If I fight with you, who knows how long that would last.”

“That’s true. When are you gonna die?”

“Die? You’re the one...”

She raised an eyebrow. Francis collapsed down onto the floor. His head. Everything about it hurt.

A red hot meat skewer swirled around inside his brain. The pain spread. His eyes burned, as his exterior got skinned. The large muscles within his idealised body liquified and his bones turned into a fine powder.

“O-oi! You alright?” She rushed over to him.

---

Francis blinked. Where was he? Ms Anne approached him. His entire body ached.

“Pardon me My Lord...”

She walked towards him and wiped his face with a white tower. It soaked up his sweat. He shivered, and pulled the blanket closer.

“Fever?” he whispered.

His tongue was dry. He tried to sit up. All of his muscles from his neck to his feet were sore.

“My Lord, you shouldn’t be sitting up.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Please, lie down.”

“Besides. Who would even care? Pretty convenient if you ask me. The worthless, bastard child dies of sickness? Just tell the public that he was frail and weak. No questions about murder.”

“B-bastard child? My Lord, you are a legitimate member of His Grace’s family.”

“Yeah right. My parents, if they really are my parents, had two amazing daughters. The third child should be amazing too. It makes more sense if one of them fucked another person. So who is it? Who’s his mistress?”

“There is no such person to speak of, My Lord. I can attest to that myself. If I may tell a story, when I worked under Lord Andersen, the harassment I got was absolutely horrendous! Without a care, he would just walk around and grope a passing maid! But your father, he is not that type of person. In fact, when he found out, he invited me to work for him!”

“But there’s no evidence that he isn’t a cheater. And that I’m a bastard child. After all, you can’t find out my heritage or anything.”

Ms Anne nodded her head. With a gentle touch, she pushed his head back onto the soft bed. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes hurt.

The birds sang their song outside. Morning, then? He turned his head. Outside, sitting atop a tree branch, a crow looked directly at him. For a split second, their eyes were locked. The crow let out a caw and flew away, its wings launching itself high up.

“Just go to sleep My Lord. I’ll be here for you.”

Francis nodded. Closing his eyes, he drifted through the sea of his mind. How long was he out? Was he dead? He didn’t know. All he saw was a dark room. He overheard some echoes from far away. Far too distorted to make out any sensible information.

He stood up. No longer was his body dragged down by the dark hands of fatigue. Left, right, centre, even behind him. It was the same sight over and over again. But he was used to that. There were only so many new things within the mansion, and he had rarely been out. On the rare occasion, his parents kept him close. He walked. Through the oily floor and inky walls, he reached an end. A pillar of see-through glass.

“What is this place? Hell?”

Once he touched it, the glass seemed to hum as it glowed. As if they were parts of the same instrument, more glowed with white light. Far too many to count. And they formed a circle, spanning an unknown diameter. But as the one note song finished, the pillars moved. They shoved the ground out from beneath them, and dug deep trenches in their wake. The pillar he was near pushed him along, and set him on a collision course with the other pillars. Were they all approaching the same centre point? He tried to leave, just sidestep it, but his legs were stuck. Thigh deep in thick, viscous oil, he struggled to move.

There was no escape. The pillars were close enough for their lights to overlap. A brilliant show of radiance. But they stopped. With barely enough space for him in the middle.

“You’re awake, Young Master,” someone said from far away.

“Ms Anne,” someone replied. He recognised that voice. It was him.

But that’s impossible. He never said that sentence. What happened? What was happening? Who was that? The first speaker was obviously Anne. But what about the second one? Or, who was using his body? Who was possessing him?

He slammed his fist against the glass pillar. The entire world shook. The oil drained away, and he was left on solid ground. The pillars of gold. A birdcage. He shouted out for help. But no one came. He shouted again. No one heard him. Stepping back, he readied himself and crashed into the wall. Nothing. Not even a dent. The world of white greeted him. His voice echoed throughout the empty world. And though that may be his voice, that was not him. There was someone else. A demon. A cursed devil possessing his body.

His head hurt again. Images of his life flashed by. Was the invader trying to view his memories? No, not that easily. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and fought back. Kicking through the pain, he saw it. A library larger than anything he had seen before. And with impossible speed, he took everything out. Books thrown off the shelves, and a feather pen with infinite ink. Despite the days spent rewriting, his arms did not hurt one bit. If the invader took his body by force, then there was no way he would let them have their way with it.