The sound of the vehicles on the roads, the crowds on the sidelines and as she loses her consciousness, the familiar siren of the ambulances. Lying on the floor, she realised that she was about to go into indefinite sleep, as her eyes grew heavy and her body went numb. The woman felt the weight of someone under her arm and turned her head, only to witness the blood spreading across the floor beneath her as she stopped breathing.
I’m only 19, I promised Grandpa that I’d live even after their deaths. To keep telling myself it wasn’t my fault over all these years, and when I finally felt like I stopped blaming myself, it crumbled all because of an accident like this.
The frustrated woman opened her eyes once again—not giving in to the pain her mind was protecting her from—but when she did, the air felt heavy and the once solid flood turned liquid. It wasn’t the crossroads in Seoul anymore, but a sea, an ocean even – a dark empty space with no air or light.
Struggling to catch her breath as the liquid entered her lungs suddenly making breathing even more difficult. The small lady finally succumbed to the water, feeling her strength ebb away and her thoughts becoming increasingly hazy.
. . .
“What do we do?! Doctor!”
“T-there’s nothing we can do anymore. This type of disease…Marquess, it’s uncurable!”
“Maeri, please…wake up.”
“You are a doctor! There must be something you can do!”
Multiple voices clammer around the sleeping body of a small girl, whose consciousness started slipping back. The noise brought a stinging pain to her head, leaving her no choice but to open up her eyes and see what the ruckus was about, “W-will you all s-shut up?” she said, in a small airy voice.
“Maeri? Mae my dear, are you alright?” a tall woman with long pale-yellow hair drew closer to her face.
The girl felt weak, weaker than she did when the accident had happened. The attempts to make sense of her surroundings all went in vain, as her eyes wouldn’t focus. But when they did, the faces of the individuals became clearer—there were five people in the room—watching over her like a museum artefact.
Did they not know about personal space? and who’s Maeri?
The name wasn’t hers, but she had trouble asking herself what exactly was.
Her back against a pillow, finally sitting upright rather than in the sleeping position, the girl’s eyes still feeling heavy, blinking profusely to keep them from closing. She was still drowsy, not having enough energy to raise her head so it had just hung low, but the sight below made her jerk.
Moving her hands, she reached out and ran her fingers over the surface of her palms, noting their small size and pallid complexion. The surreal quality of the moment made her wonder if she was still dreaming.
Afraid of looking at them even more, her head darts at the other people in the room with her, but the shock doesn’t dissipate. Around the room were people she didn’t know, staring at her with worried expressions—not letting out a single word. All of their attire seemed excessively opulent for the contemporary world, and three out of the five of them were carrying swords sheathed at their sides.
Confusion turned into anxiety in the blink of an eye, and suddenly the young girl found herself looking towards the window — outside, there were no towering buildings or busy streets, but rather small cottage houses with out-of-date architecture nestled among lush greenery. The roads were traversed by carriages and horses instead of the usual cars and trucks. It was like she had been transported to a completely different world, one far removed from the previously fast-paced city of Seoul.
“Where…am I?” she says softly, looking back towards them with a placid look.
The woman who had looked over, the one with the pale yellow hair, neared her, and sat at the edge of the bed with tearful eyes, “Mae…dear, do you not know where you are?”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I knew,” she replied, sounding more hostile than she intended.
The woman blinks looking taken aback but nonetheless answers her questions, “Maeri, you’re in healer Arthur’s hospice. You had gotten severely sick last night and we were afraid to death about what it meant for you, so we brought you here.” she weakly smiled and cupped her cheeks, the contact making the young girl soften her gaze.
All of a sudden, the man standing on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed clicks his tongue giving off a small inaudible tut, breaking the warm, silent atmosphere, “What is this supposed to mean, Chamberlain.” he looked toward the man in brown leathers, as he held what looked like a worn-out book, “Why does she not have any memory of this place?” he bellows.
“I do not know my lord…this illness, it’s not supposed to trigger memory loss, but again it is rare. To experience the very same symptoms from when a daemon bites a human, it’s unprecedented that a human, much less a noble lady was born with it." He explains with swift speed, “If you want me to be honest, sire, she should’ve died last night, considering where her ailment was continuing.”
“My daughter should’ve died last night?” he roars, “Are you hoping to lose your head, Chamberlain!?”
“Father, enough. Arthur is just stating facts, and it’s clear Mae has overcome that. Do not trouble yourself with what could’ve happened, because it didn’t,” A young lady states. Her eyes were fixed on the proud woman, as she donned a majestic army uniform, her hair neatly tied up, matching the colour of the kind woman who had sat in close proximity to her. Is she my age? Or, past age? It almost seemed plausible even if I was born centuries later.
And, Daemons?
The word was foreign for a 21st-century-born child. In an overwhelming barrage, every piece of information came at her all at once, leaving her completely stumped about where to begin processing it – thinking maybe she should start with her current family dilemma and why this old man’s so convinced that she’s his daughter or why the three others in the room look at her with such pitiful yet caring expressions as if they knew the girl, and she knew them?
It was all abnormal, she thought they were mistaken, that maybe they had gotten the wrong person. But all of those uncertainties were soon dejected with bitter evidence, because then again, there she was, sitting in an old timely bed with hands she wasn’t familiar with.
The scene outside appeared incredibly lifelike, making it difficult to believe that it was merely a creation of her imagination. She also couldn't shake the vivid sensation of drowning that had overwhelmed her before she woke up. It all felt real.
The woman in uniform and the old man argued as she gathered these thoughts. Shortly after, a boy who had the physique and face of a fourteen-year-old approached the same side of the bed where the kind lady sat, “Sis, is it true? Do you not remember anything? Do you…not remember me?” the girl looked up at him and then away.
All the things she didn’t want to be true, were. That this wasn’t Seoul, this isn’t the 21st century and this was most definitely not her body. She had reincarnated into someone who should’ve died, or better yet, someone already dead. She took her place and now can’t even hold up a facade to trick the ones closest to her, that she was indeed okay.
And it’s not as if she doesn’t remember. She just doesn’t know who they all were at all.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice, still not looking his way.
She sat there, rooted to the bed, feeling as though time had come to a standstill. After a moment, she finally turns her gaze from the bed to the kind lady, and then to him. His fists were tightly clenched at his sides – his once-deep black hair had turned lustrous golden and appeared to shine even brighter than before, accentuating the determination that gleamed in his eyes.
“Ezekiel, you’re oozing mana again.” the kind lady tenderly reached out and gently grasped his arm to soothe him. At that moment, his bright golden hair turned back to its original colour. Her eyes widened at the scene before her, and upon hearing yet another unfamiliar word, Mana.
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He takes another deep breath and places his hands on his waist, “Don’t worry sis, even if you don’t remember who I am, I’ll just have to make sure I make up for the lost memories.” he states.
Happy that he wasn’t defeated, the girl smiles at him, words not leaving her mouth, as she remains anxious about the situation. Thinking to herself about how it would’ve been better if she had died that night, but to reincarnate to another timeline, much less what could be the past, was the least she expected. What’s more is that this past, their world’s past, had magic.
Wrapping her head around this rush of information exhausted her mind beyond measure. Was this body really that weak? Even mentally?
She was deep into thought, not letting the fatigue get in her way, but also not realising that she had zoned out until a rough voice called out to her. Raising her head and shaking it to identify where the sound had come from, the man in brown leathers approached the right side of the bed, “Lady Maeri, how are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” he questioned, “Do you remember me?”
“Ah…I—“ she stops, not knowing what to say. The girl felt sluggish, but to let him think she was magically cured of all physical pain would be too suspicious. Her eyes involuntarily looked at the kind lady and as soon as she saw her, a sense of relief washed over her. Despite not recognising her, the girl found herself instinctively gravitating towards the woman, as if her body recognised her as a comforting presence.
The young girl gazes at her, uncertain of what response to anticipate, until the woman flashes her a brief smile and nods her head. Almost as if telling him the truth was okay.
She nods back, biting her lip and looks at the man to the right, “I feel…weak but I don’t feel any extreme pain.” blurting out selective truths because she couldn’t trust how suspicious the facts could’ve been.
The old man at the end of the bed let out a big exhale, like a sigh of relief before he spoke, “So that means last night was just another of her episodes?”
“It seems so.” The man with leathers inspected me even more, his hand glowed green as he held her arm and there, veins started becoming visible glowing the same colour, the sight of it making the young girl shiver.
“But last night’s episode was more intense than the others. More powerful, it was like…it was already killing her.” the lady in the uniform blurts out. The old man darts her way and glares at her, “Winifred. Watch your mouth.”
She flinches and rubs her neck, letting out an apologetic smile just as the healer beside me finishes up, “Im—Impossible.” he whispers under his breath.
Everyone in the room including the girl glanced at him as they heard his quiet remark, impatiently waiting for an explanation. “The black virus, it…has shrunk. I mean, it’s—almost as if—”
“What exactly does that entail, Healer? Speak more clearly.” the boy interrupts.
Taking a deep breath he steadies his stumbling words, “It is exactly as I said. The virus that is supposedly running rampant in the lady’s body is slowly retreating to its place of origin, her core. It’s almost as if she’s miraculously cured."
Miraculously cured, huh.
Now she couldn’t tell them the original soul of this body was actually dead, letting out a feeble laugh before concluding that she’d never admit it. The girl looked towards the rest of them, who had also received the news, seeing that their faces were lighter than when she first woke up.
The room’s atmosphere lifted and happy eyes stared back at her. Not used to the attention, the young girl became all flustered until the teenager on her left embraced her in a tight hug. The two at the end of the bed let out a smile and the kind lady—trying to keep the teenager from squeezing her to death—sniffles as small tears gather at the corners of her eyes.
But to think a disease like this retreated because she just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time was too suspicious. It didn’t feel right to her. To feel lucky for this second chance all at the expense of this girl’s life — it was as if god wanted her to add another thing to the list of being guilty of.
Abruptly releasing his hold on the small girl, the man in the leathers asked to speak more privately with the old man about the disease. They excused themselves while the other three in the space started to get comfortable, asking her questions about what she’d forgotten and things she remembered; which frankly, is not a lot. The small girl also had zero idea about what kind of attitude the previous owner put on either, so she never answered in full sentences in case her English was too ‘modern’ or too ‘odd’.
In the end, when the old man came back, she’d already gotten the gist of who they all were. The kind lady is her mother, Lucinda Finnehart. The young boy is named Ezekiel, her older brother; the lady in uniform is Winifred; her older sister, and the scary old man is her father, Benedict.
She also learned that she’s the youngest of all three. They came from nobility and this disease has been with her—or this body—since birth, and the healer, Arthur Chamberlain, was the one who treated her all these years.
She later discovered that they were in the kingdom of Miraevalor, and this small hospice was a place she often went to to get her treatments. This was due to her father's lack of trust in the simple-minded noble or royal doctors, all of whom had given the same grim diagnosis: that she wouldn't survive into adulthood. It was funny to her, the original noble-girl didn't and neither did she.
. . .
Both the older men came back and her gaze followed Arthur.
“Lady Maeri, now that I’ve thoroughly inspected you, and that you have given your statement about not feeling any severe physical pain. It’s safe to say you can be discharged and return to the Manor.” Arthur states as he pulls out a small notebook, “I will send someone I trust to monitor your health and stay within the premises in case anything were to happen.” He continues scribbling in the notebook and then looks towards my father.
“This will be her routine,” ripping off the page and handing it over, “Since the day she developed this disease, I suspected that the virus, which has spread all across her body over the years, has suppressed most if not all of her mana power."
Pointing towards the extra points on the bottom of the page, Arthur continued, "I added a list of herbs you can include in her meals that could help to increase or kick start her magic. The others I marked are to make sure the virus stays concentrated in her core, maybe even completely dispel it.”
Benedict closely reads it while the man explains, nodding with each point. As the healer finishes, he lets us have some space before her father stops him–taking both of his hands and shaking them–thanking him for all he’s done for his daughter over the years.
But, it was too early to say for sure that this rare magic disease wouldn’t consume this body again, and maybe remove her this time, but she didn’t plan to live long in this life either, not without two certain people.
Eventually taking his leave, and letting them have some personal alone time with their youngest, they discussed her coming back. They even talked about holding a banquet to celebrate her health. It seemed too much at the moment, but she guessed that this was what nobles did back in the day.
After their conversation, the father and Ezekiel made their way downstairs to retrieve the carriages. Meanwhile, the women directed their attention to the girl, who needed more suitable attire. It became apparent that she was only wearing undergarments, prompting the women to assist her in finding proper clothing.
Luckily, her mother had prepared for this, and before she could stand up from the bed, they handed her the apparel she was to wear. The dress was made of a smooth, silky fabric that felt cool to the touch. Its length stopped just under my knees, and the colour gradient transitioned from a pure white base to a light blue hue, creating a soft and elegant visual. In the centre of the dress was a beautifully crafted indigo bow with delicate white linings, adding a touch of charm. The edges of the dress were embellished with intricate white stitches, giving it a unique and sophisticated look. Finally, the top of the dress featured dainty lace straps, enhancing its overall allure.
The combination of these details made the dress pleasing to the eye and truly special. Modern clothes wouldn't hold a candle to this.
The two insisted on helping the frail girl get ready because they were afraid that she couldn't do it alone, given that she had just recovered. They even used her own words against her, citing her previous comment about "feeling weak." Yet, her persistence prevailed, and she successfully pushed them away.
She closes and locks the door, before leaning on it, and sinking until she sits on the floor. The small girl stared at her childlike hands, trying to decipher what her age could be. With how the previous interactions went, she’d say seven to nine, give or take.
Scanning the room for any clue that might help her, she caught sight of another door. Acting swiftly, she stood up and walked over to it. Upon opening the door, she discovered it led to a bathroom and just to her right, noticed a long mirror affixed to the wall.
She slowly steps into view and sees that she is indeed as small as her hands—taking a step back and assessing herself. In front of her was a small pale girl, most definitely not seven or eight, probably older. She had eccentric pale blue eyes that made her look soft but deeply complemented her round face. Her lips were dry and chapped, hinting at days spent suffering with the disease, and yet the most remarkable feature was her short, pure white hair, with delicate hints of faded gold at the very tips. It was a stark contrast to her mother's blonde locks and her father's dark raven hair. Was it because of the illness?
A sudden rush of understanding enveloped her as a spark of realization ignited brightly within her mind.
Marquess, the Finnehart family, daemons, and magic.
Maeri.
The girl hadn’t noticed because she was too focused on how reincarnation was even possible, but to think she overlooked such an important point. Finnehart, the name was far too familiar to be a coincidence. Nervous laughter echoed through the room, thinking that this kingdom might not just be another timeline in the past — way back to unwritten history. That it might just actually be an entirely separate different world perhaps even existing within another dimension.
It was a world built on her story, her novel. And she just happens to be in the body of one of her characters.
The youngest daughter of Marquess Finnehart, Maeri. The liability and weakest child of a military-powered family like this just so happens to also be a noble girl with no magic.