There was a knock on the door.

When Daren opened it, he found a mail delivery boy on the other side. After signing for the item, giving a small tip, he took a large package covered in water-proof paper into the house.

Daren was currently suffering from a head cold and had been forced to stay at home. Head colds were exhausting, and of course made a person feel miserable, but they weren’t “at death’s door” kind of illnesses. Unless Daren was so sick he couldn’t function, he got very easily restless.

If it had been up to him, once his fever broke he’d definitely gone back to work. But Cammy had yelled at him ferociously for suggesting the idea. Because he really wasn’t fully recovered, he didn’t have the energy to fight back and had quietly submitted.

But now it was well in the afternoon, he was alone in a big house, and bored out of his mind. When the mail arrived he’d been going stir crazy from the lack of busy work.

All of this to explain why he happily ripped open a package clearly labelled to his wife.

The paper had been wrapped over a thin wood box that contained several journals. The note on the top of them read, “We found these while remodeling the library. - Blake”

All kinds of curious, Daren opened the top journal. It was immediately obvious this journal was both old and written by a little girl. The first few pages were the girl either talking about this new thing she bought, how marvelous she was, or complaining about people she didn’t like.

Daren’s eyebrows furrowed. The brattiness of this little girl very easily showed through her writing. He imagined she was insufferable to be around just from the little he read. To his relief, she seemed to get bored of writing and there were only blank pages.

He was just about to close the journal and grab another, when his fingers fumbled and the pages flipped to the back. There was more writing, but the style of the writing changed. It was so drastic he wondered if someone had nabbed this child’s journal and secretly used it for their own.

The first paragraph went like this:

“Did God curse me because I illegally acquired that game? Or was I cursed by the game’s creators for all the heckling I did while playing it? Come on! The reviews were way more vicious! This isn’t fair!”

Daren stopped reading for a moment. He then reread the lines before stopping once more. He gazed at the far wall, his mind dazed.

What did he just read?

He understood each word individually, but put together he was left clueless.

However he couldn’t deny this was a lot more interesting than the spoilt child’s thoughts and so he kept reading.

“I’ve been trying to go back home for, like, two weeks now. But no matter what I do I can’t go back. First I tried running away. Maybe this is all fake? But even after I hid in a cart, no matter how far that cart went, everything was… well, like this. So then I thought, maybe I’m asleep or in a coma? How do I get out of it? Pain? Scare myself? I tried cutting myself with a knife but you can imagine how that went over. It hurt plenty but I’m still here and now I’ve got a scar. Then I decided jumping from the third floor balcony might work for a scare-pain thing—”

Daren’s eyebrows shot up.

“—but that failed too. Stupid maid caught me by the ankle!”

He nodded, thinking “Good for you maid!” and paused. How could a maid catch an adult by the ankle?

“Even though it failed, falling was pretty scary. Getting yelled at by everyone wasn’t fun either. And I’m still here. I don’t think a simple scare will work. The only thing I can think of next is to try killing myself—”

“Good Lord!” Daren muttered, astonished at how extreme this strange person was being.

“—but I don’t know if I can do it. This place seems so real. The food, the smells, the texture, the sounds. It’s all so real. How can this be in a game? Especially such a stupid, cheesy game like the one I played? So similar but not the same. What if it’s not the same? What if I kill myself and I just… die?”

This person thought they were in a game? Daren clucked his tongue. It seemed he’d stumbled on the journal of a mad person.

Definitely entertaining!

“I dunno what I should do. Just accept it? Just accept I’m stuck here?

In this backward little country where I could die at any time?!

NO.”

The word “no” was written in huge letters, circled and underlined several times.

“I’m not staying here. I’m definitely leaving! I’ve got a family, friends, people who’ll wonder what happened to me! I can’t stay here! I can’t!”

He flipped the page and almost laughed at was written:

“I give up!

It’s been months but I’m still here! I’m really still here!

God, creators, whoever it is that did this to me, YOU WIN. I’ve accepted my lot in life.

I am now Camilla Florentine, happy?”

Daren’s smile froze.

“I don’t know why you put me in the body of this stupid, spoiled rotten little brat but since I’m here… I guess I’m making the best of it.”

His hands shook slightly.

“But don’t think because I’ve accepted this stupid, spoiled brat’s body I’m also accepting her future. I’m definitely not gonna end up destitute, married to a grandpa, a prostitute, OR dead.

Hell. No.

I’ll find a way to change my future.

Just you wait.”

Daren took a deep breath. No, no, this person couldn’t actually be his Cammy. This was just the rantings of a crazy person.

He turned the page.

“GODDAMMIT!

That motherfucking bastard actually got me engaged to the Prince behind my back!

I’ll never forgive him! GO TO HELL DUKE FLORENTINE!”

Daren dropped the journal on the floor and felt like he couldn’t breath.

There was no other way to say it: he could feel this was Cammy’s writing.

After several seconds of internal chaos he picked the journal up again and placed it in the box. He took the box to the living room and sat down on the couch. He didn’t move for a long time.

Finally, he opened the journal and found the spot where he’d left off.

“Selfish bastard! Even after I said I didn’t want to, he slapped me! SLAPPED. HIS. DAUGHTER. IN. THE. FACE.

Yeah, he’s never getting called father again. It’s not like he was ever my real Dad to begin with, I was just playing nice since I’m stuck in his daughter’s body. But any man who beats his kids for not getting his way? He doesn’t deserve to be called a Dad!

I’m so mad!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Arg, now what am I supposed to do?! I worked so hard to change everything, improve my chances, but I’m still stuck! I don’t care if Prince Albert is THE Prince Charming, I’m not marrying him! Too many things can go wrong! I don’t wanna! No, no no noooooooooo!

Okay, okay… let’s calm down.

Think, me. THINK!

So the Duke is useless. I’ll just treat him like air unless I don’t have a choice.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Maybe the Prince will be more useful. He’s not like the Duke, an adult and set in his ways. All I’ve got to do is convince him to get me out of this engagement and everything should be fine.

Ah, it’s so satisfying to write in this journal. No one to talk to here, frustrating. I wish I had a… oh, it seems that word doesn’t exist here so I can’t write it down. Well, since I don’t have that square thing that I can put words into, I can at least vent my frustrations here.

Need to hide this though. Good God, what if someone finds it? They’ll think I’m crazy!”

Daren read the last words and himself wondered: Can a crazy person realize they’re crazy? If they know they are, can that really be called insanity?

He turned the page.

“I feel stupid.

For some reason I thought the Prince would dislike me for simply being Camilla Florentine, the Duke’s daughter. But upon further consideration, it’s not that he hated the “duke’s daughter”, it’s that he hated Camilla’s personality.

Spoiled. Mean. Arrogant. Suuuuuper clingy.

Would any boy have a good impression of that kind of person? Naturally his first impression was awful and then she just got worse as she aged, so he disliked her even more. It was only because his Father was pushing for the marriage and he didn’t have anyone else in mind that he accepted her.

But here’s the key thing: I’m not Camilla.

I mean…. I’m not gonna claim I’m an angel or anything, but I’m definitely not as bad as the original. If I had been as bad as she was I think I could have scared him off but I didn’t and was just mean. And by mean, I just told him the truth without being nice about it.

I thought it would work but the boy came back and argued that we could at least be friends.

Well.

I mean, how could I turn down such a cutie?”

Daren gave a deep frown. When he was that age, he was 10, no 100 times cuter than the Crown Prince!

“Anyway, so now I’m friends/engaged with a kid.

This is my life now.

Sigh.

At least there’s hope for breaking things off in the future. He’s hesitant but easy to bully, so I think if I keep pushing for it he’ll eventually give in.

But let’s remember the important point: the game’s storyline can be used as a general guide but that’s all. Because the “new and improved” Camilla is calling the shots, key points are changing along the way. So rather than fight the storyline, let’s use it.

0: Get an education (?), get a job (??). Depending on the Duke means we’re indebted to the Duke.

1: Get the engagement annulled. No matter how nice the Prince, the point is not to become Queen.

2: Get disowned. Who wants the Duke as a father anyway? Bastard.

3: Leave the country, find a new country (?). There’s got to be a better place. You know, someplace where girl’s aren’t controlled by their fathers or at least where nobles are NICER.

Oh yeah, future reference:

It’s very important not to be queen. Being queen doesn’t mean you’re the boss, it just means you’re the target of assassinations, getting taken out by coups from competing factions, or the humiliating option of “if you piss off your husband, you could lose your head”. At least commoners can’t do that to their wives, they can only kick them out. It is preferable to live a financially strapped life WITH all limbs firmly attached, m’kay?”

Even if a lot of this didn’t make sense, on this point Daren could agree. Noble life looked glamorous on the outside but was full of hidden traps and sharp knives for the back. The pressure only increased the farther up the status ladder a person climbed.

Being a wealthy businessman was far more preferable. It might not be as pretty and it did require a lot of work, but the benefits were on par with a noble (look great, eat great, live in a great house). There was less risk of assasination and beheadings too.

The next few pages were her talking about how much she hated the Duke or how frustrating it was being in a child’s body. And then:

“It’s been almost a year now. Yesterday I was thinking about my Mom, my real Mom, and I realized I was forgetting her face. I can’t go back, but do I have to forget? I guess… even in my original world, if I’m not around people enough I’ll forget a lot eventually…

I don’t want to forget. So I’ll write down everything I can remember. All of it. My family, my friends, the places I lived and visited. I’ll even write down the histories and inventions too.”

And that’s exactly what she did. The rest of the journal was filled with highly detailed information about people, places and things that didn’t exist. When he was finished, he took out the next journal to find it was the same. And the next and the next.. And so on.

If he had started at a different journal, he’d have thought the person involved had an amazing imagination. They had thought up whole histories for nations that didn’t exist, even down to wars that spanned continents. They described, almost excruciatingly so, strange machines that did amazing things: small boxes that allowed people to talk to each other across the world, machines that washed laundry, ovens that lit from a simple twist of the wrist, boats that propel people across the ocean without sails or oars, carriages that didn’t need horses and some that didn’t need drivers, carriages with wings that flew… some flew right up to the moon…

It was all so fantastical, how could it be real?

But after he read so much, he went back and re-read the original journal entries. He found that there was a certain kind of sense to them that had been missing before: context. Now he knew the world that she came from better, he could also understand her original confusion. In fact he—

The door jangled and Daren realized he’d lost track of time and his wife must be home from work. He stood up as if to hide the evidence of his crime and then stopped. He sat back down again and, as if to remind he was actually sick, had a fit of coughing.

Cammy hurriedly walked into the living room, a slightly worried expression on her face.

“How are you? Feeling any better? I rushed over to—” Her eyes fell on the box and the journals in the box. Her whole face drained of color from shock.

“Did you read...?” The question was left incomplete as she realized he was already holding one open. She licked her lips and began slowly, “I… I can… explain… I had a really active imagination when I was a child...”

Seeing her reaction, Daren instantly knew that not only had she written everything he’d been reading, she believed all of it too.

Daren tilted his head, “Who are you?”

A look of panic rose up in her eyes and her body trembled.

“I’m… I’m… Camilla… obviously!”

He raised the book in his hand, “Not if these books have anything to say about it.”

The panic in her eyes vanished into a look of surprise.

“You… believe them?”

He glanced at the box.

“I suppose it could be a case of overactive imagination." He looked at her with a serious expression, "Is it?”

She examined his face and saw that he wasn’t disgusted or angry or alarmed. Rather, his expression was very tranquil with just a hint of curiosity.

Clasping her hands together she hesitantly ventured, “If I said that everything in there was real, what… um… what would… you… do?”

“Do?” He raised an eyebrow, “What exactly could I do?”

She blinked.

“Let’s just say they’re true. Could I prove it to anyone? At worst people would say you’re delusional and I'm an idiot for believing you.”

“They could say I’m… I’m some kind of… I dunno, wicked body-stealing spirit?”

He burst out in a disbelieving laugh, “Are you?”

“N-no.”

“There’s no one who knows you that would say you’re some kind of evil spirit and those that don’t know you will think you were either delusional as a child or, as you said, had an overactive imagination.”

“But then…”

“Cammy.”

He gave a slight smile.

“If it’s real, then aren’t you a victim?”

“Ah?”

“You are like a person who was kidnapped and then abandoned in the middle of a foreign country. Without understanding much, you muddled your way through as best as you knew how, and you did so alone.”

Camilla’s eyes watered and her chest started to heave.

“My darling, my darling…” He stood up and hugged her, “It must have been hard for you.”

She burst into tears, sobs racking her body and embracing him so fiercely it almost hurt. Her crying was so intense she couldn't speak, only gulping in great bursts of air to keep herself breathing.

They remained like that for a long time.

At some point he guided them to the couch and, despite his best efforts, he coughed and sneezed at the same time, almost choking himself to death. Camilla finally let him go, both laughing and concerned at remembering he was, in fact, a sick man.

After blowing his nose, he asked, “I asked this before, but once again, who are you?”

She looked at him puzzled.

“This was the one thing you never mentioned. You wrote about everyone and everything else, but as to yourself… to that person before coming here… you never even said your name.”

Her eyes watered again and her lip quivered.

“I thought it didn’t matter anymore.”

“Of course it matters. That is also you.” He thought for a moment and added gently, “And the person I want to know is all of you, not just the one that is easy for me to understand.”

***

An old man was sitting on a bench, waiting for a trolly to pull up. Another man joined him. The old man turned to the man who'd just taken a seat and asked:

“I say, have you read that new novel released by J. Lawrence?”

“Oh yes! That one about sending a man to the moon, right?”

“I really can’t get that quote out of my mind, from that one character, er, Ar.. Arm.."

"Armstrong?"

"Yes, yes, that's the one. He said, ‘That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.’”

“Hm… Sometimes I read Mr. Lawrence’s works and think we really could do all the fantastical things he writes about…”

“I heard someone actually replicated the flying machine from his fourth novel.”

“What?!”

“It flew for 5 minutes!”

“How on earth did I miss that kind of news!”

“It’s not been reported yet by the papers. I read about it exclusively because I’m part of the Fantastical Lawrence Newsletter. It’s like a newspaper, but shorter and only about things related to J. Lawrence's books.”

“...there is such a thing?”

“Mm hm, but you can only sign up at the WallGoods store.”

“Ah, weren’t they the ones who sold Mr. Lawrence's first novel?”

“That’s right. And, before you think this is just some silly piece of scrap, it’s endorsed by the Duke of Florentine.”

“Duke of… wait, from Ailendale?!”

“The very one.”

“Then I must get a membership!”

“There’s a WallGoods just down the street, if you’ve the time to stop by right now. You can apply for membership in less than 5 minutes as long as there's no line.”

“You know… I think I shall do that! Thanks for the tip.” The man stood up and scurried away.

A short while later a little girl with black hair and shockingly blue eyes ran up to the man sitting on the bench.

“Grandpa, what are you doing? Mom and Grandma have been looking all over for you!”

The old man smiled at the little girl, “Hello to you too Joanna.”

“Don’t give me that,” Joanna grabbed her grandfather's hand and started pulling, “Grandma is going to scold you to death again for wandering away without telling anyone!”

The grandfather chuckled as he was pulled out of his seat and back home, “Ah, not to worry, I’ve the power of infinite resurrection when it comes to dying by scolding.”

The little girl squinted at him, “This is why Mom says you’re weasley.”

“How did I raise a daughter like that, I wonder…” He pouted and looked forlorn, as if suffering a major grievance.

Joanna wasn’t moved at all and rolled her eyes, “Grandpa, that’s even MORE weasley!”

This time the old man didn’t deny it, instead laughed heartily.

“Anyway, what were you doing out here by yourself?”

“Oh, just talking to whoever would listen.”

“Uh hu.” She grinned, “I bet you were selling something.”

“Ho oh, such an astute child!”

“Of course!” Joanna swung their clasping hands widely and giggled, “I’m a Wallsby daughter after all!”

THE END