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—one 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—dining 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—a little more than half standing—I 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—slim and blond and with just the sort of face you’d expect—spoke 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—make 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—”

“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—most us were second or third sons, maybe nephews or cousins of an actual nobleman—and 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—all too well—I 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—more 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—Miles 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.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

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—be kind to everyone and all that—but 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—as 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—the 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—the 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—unless 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—I’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—we 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—they’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—Violet, 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—to 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.