Priscilla carefully combed through the original’s closet, searching for the perfect outfit for her ambush. The closet was filled to the brim with dresses meant for fancy and slightly less fancy occasions with very few practical outfits, save for one set of leather armor stashed in the very back of the closet beneath what seemed to be a pile of clothes the original no longer wanted.
Later she could lament the lack of pants and tailor the few dresses that were almost good enough to wear casually, but right now she pulled out a floor length black dress. It had a trumpet silhouette that always gave one an elegant air and a Queen Anne neckline lined in delicate silver lace only added to that. Wearing this would show just how serious she was and make her look a little more mature and put together.
Priscilla shimmied into the dress quickly. Though she was mostly a designer, she had been asked to sub in for friend’s fashion shows on occasion when they had a model no-show. She was decently tall and knew how to show off the look, so it went well and it earned her the key life skill of getting dressed in complicated outfits quickly.
She stopped in front of the mirror to see how the dress actually fit on her.
Looking into the mirror and seeing forest green eyes instead of dull, metallic blue eyes staring back at her was a little startling. She had accepted mentally that she was Priscilla now, but it was still a little shocking to see what she looked like. There were three beauty marks on her face now, one to the lower right of her lips, one underneath her left eye, and one on the underside of her right eyebrow. It was a detail that had never been mentioned to describe the original when she read the story. Priscilla was fascinated by the differences, and wondered just how different the other characters might look. Illnyea had been very similar to her own description, but she was the protagonist after all.
Her hair was a dark red that she thought couldn’t actually occur in real life, but she supposed she did now have a seventeen year old sister with silver hair, so it probably wasn’t that odd. Priscilla pulled her hair out of the now very messy braid and found a comb and brush to tame it. It was long, reaching to the bottom of her shoulder blade when she let it down, and she still wasn’t sure if she would allow it to remind that way.
In her first life, she never really allowed her hair to touch her shoulders, preferring to keep it around chin length so her hair just barely entered the edges of her vision. Her hair was a dark brown but she liked to dye it, trying out whatever color she felt like. She had never actually tried red but…
The comb went through the last of her hair and Priscilla decided she did quite like the color as her hair fell around her face as she tilted her head to the side.
It’d be a shame to mess with this color or cut the healthy length, she thought decisively, I’ll just have to keep it out of the way.
She found a collection of ribbons and pulled out a silver one to tie up her hair into a high ponytail. Two cheek-length strands fell forward, framing her face along with some bangs, and she knew she had her new signature look, tying the ribbon tight around her hair.
“How will you wear me?” the artifact asked excitedly from the dresser’s surface, back in its original rock form. It had readily agreed to come off so she could figure out how to make sure the artifact’s new form matched her outfit so no one thought anything was amiss. Priscilla didn’t think she needed to have an artifact on her person for this meeting, but she’d be a fool to leave it behind for someone to discover.
Priscilla pulled the top drawer out, pulling out a pair of thin white gloves.
“Copy this,” Priscilla said, laying the right hand glove next to the rock. It quivered for a moment, before stretching into, based on what Priscilla could see, a near perfect replica.
She let out a low whistle as she turned it over in her hands. “Damn.”
“Did I do well?”
“Fuck yeah,” Priscilla said, pulling it on and then donning the real left glove. “No one will be able to tell the difference.”
“I am so happy to hear that,” the artifact chirped. Priscilla could feel how pleased it felt from her words, and though the realization came with another throb of pain, she welcomed it. Though she had tried her best to roll with the punches so far, this was literally a land with magic that defied the rules of logic she had grown up with. Yeah, she had dreamed about living in a place like this, but reality was very different from dreams.
She now lived in a world where people could casually incinerate you with a simple wave of the hand, and, disregarding the fact her soul was from a different dimension, Priscilla was a completely ordinary human without a lick of magic at her disposal.
The bond with this artifact was the first bit of magic that Priscilla actually got to claim as her own and its existence somehow made this all seem a little less daunting. She may be just one person, but she wasn’t useless, not when she had this artifact. Priscilla didn’t have to be the fastest, nor the strongest, but she would try to be the cleverest, with her enemies not knowing what hit them until she had already had a dagger pressed against their throat.
Which is exactly what she hoped to do with her ambush.
“Okay, what are the rules?” Priscilla asked the artifact as she stood and searched for a pair of shoes.
“Number one: Do not speak unless we are alone together,” the artifact said solemnly. “Number two: Keep an eye out for any hostile mortals.”
“And what do we do if you sense any hostile mortals?” Priscilla asked, just barely keeping her laughter out of her voice. She had told the artifact to just keep an eye out for potential enemies, but the artifact insisted on the phrasing of hostile mortals and Priscilla didn’t feel like fighting because they were on the same page.
“Squeeze two times.”
“And rule number three?”
“Be fashionable as fuck,” the artifact said, sounding proud of itself.
“Hell fucking yeah,” Priscilla said, slipping on a low pair of black heels. “Stick with me, and you’ll be known as the most fashionable artifact in the whole fucking world.”
“Yipee!”
Laughter escaped Priscilla as she felt the artifact’s excitement twining with her own, the feeling sticking with her as she gathered up both copies of the contract into a slim folder and left her room. There was no one in the halls and the first person she caught a glance of was by the stairs.
It was the butler from last night, who Priscilla was now realizing she didn’t know the name of so she couldn’t call for him.
Luckily, he noticed Priscilla.
“Ah, Miss Thornewood,” he said, coming to attention. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes, actually,” she said, smiling and ignoring the shocked look flit over the butler’s face. “Please take me to where my parents are, as I have something I need to discuss with them.”
His eyes flickered to the folder tucked beneath her arm before he nodded.
“As you wish. I believe they are in their shared study.”
Priscilla took in the mansion’s interior as they walked down the stairs. It looked less ominous in the light of the day, the floor turning out to be hardwood that had likely been stained to achieve the warm, dark brown color. With the sun up, natural light poured in through the large windows near the high vaulted ceiling, softening the rich edges of the home into something more lived in.
“Do you know if we have any spare spatial bags around?” Priscilla asked as they reached the bottom floor.
The butler’s steady pace faltered for just a moment. “Last I checked, I believe we do have a few in storage. However, they have a limited capacity.”
“That’ll work,” Priscilla said, earning herself a confused glance from the butler. She allowed the rest of the walk to be silent so the poor butler stopped being surprised by her new personality.
The butler led her down a hallway to a pair of ornate oak doors. Dragons had been carved into the surface, hissing and snapping at each other as they fought each other to reach the rose at the center of the doors. The rose was the symbol of the Thornewood family, and Priscilla wondered just what message the parents had wanted to give guests. Probably just trying to make themselves seem more important than they actually were.
“Will you enter with me?” Priscilla asked, glancing at the butler.
He stared back at her with a slight frown, eyes darting between her and the door.
“You don’t have to do much,” Priscilla said, sensing he was about to decline, “I just want a witness to what’s about to happen, that’s all.”
His frown deepened but after a moment, he let out a small sigh and nodded. Priscilla gave him a bright smile before schooling her face into practiced neutrality.
She pushed the doors open before she could second guess herself, Priscilla’s head held high and her gaze cuttingly cool as she gazed at her new, unwanted set of parents.
The father’s hair was the same shade as Illnyea’s, with hooded, watery blue eyes and high cheekbones that were hidden behind a full, silver beard. He was round in the middle, straining his long-sleeved cream shirt, like he had partaken in too much booze after his body stopped being so forgiving, but seemed to be decently in shape otherwise.
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The mother had auburn hair swept up into a tidy bun held in place with a glittering hair pin. Her gold eyes matched her smart blouse, going well with the long, dark brown skirt that hid her legs from view. She was tall and willowy, probably being the one that Illnyea inherited her height from.
Priscilla couldn’t see any of her new features reflected in them and she was selfishly glad to have that distance.
The parents looked up from their work at her sudden entrance and Priscilla didn’t miss how they both tensed in displeasure when they saw just who was disturbing their peace. The mother’s shoulders went tight as she pursed her lips and the father had a thunderous frown.
That type of face was one that she had seen a thousand times before on her original parents – the face that told her plainly that they didn’t like acknowledging her existence and the fact she needed them to be parents rather than just bank accounts. Lucky for them, she was here to rectify that fact for them.
“Let us all be candid,” Priscilla said as the butler closed the door behind her, “as there is no reason to beat around the bush or prolong this conversation beyond what’s necessary.”
She stalked forward but chose not to sit in the chair in front of their desk to not give them the power to look down on her. She rested her free hand on the back of the chair instead, giving the parents a passionless smile.
“I am here to give you an opportunity to make a deal that will benefit both of us.”
Priscilla’s words made the mother’s eyes widen and the father’s frown deepen.
“What are you up to?” he growled, his voice husky. “What sort of trick are you trying to play?”
To have accusations be his first response when she had barely even spoken hardened Priscilla’s resolve, her heart aching for the original. But she didn’t have time to feel melancholy for a woman who no longer existed, so she continued.
“I would like to be formally disinherited,” Priscilla said casually, making the other three occupants in the room stare at her with disbelief, “in exchange for complete financial support and freedom from any familial obligations you might think to force me into.”
The mother’s mouth was hanging open but it was the father who Priscilla watched, his eyes narrowing.
“Why would we even consider such a foolish motion?” he snapped, crossing his hands over his chest and glaring at her.
Priscilla couldn’t help, she laughed a little.
“Oh, we all know you hate me,” Priscilla said meanly, covering the side of her mouth with the hand with the artifact, “and you’ve just been waiting to wipe your hands clean of me for years. That’s why I’m here to give you a perfect opportunity to only have to focus on the daughter you actually wanted.”
The mother flinched but the father just seemed to get angrier at his faults being thrown back in his face. Priscilla felt little sympathy for either of them and this was an ambush after all.
“Here,” Priscilla said, tossing the folder onto their desk carelessly, ruffling their carefully organized paperwork. “I don’t feel like having to explain this to you when you’ll just interrupt me at every step, so just read this and it’ll answer your questions.”
The father glared but snatched the folder up, flipping it open as the mother settled by his shoulder to read it as well.
The first major thing that Priscilla outlined in the contract was the most important condition for her willingly accepting disinheritance. The Thornewood parents would establish a new bank account with a starting balance of 1,000 gold and deposit 200 more gold every two weeks. As long as she did her calculations correctly, that should be a total of 16,600 gold. This arrangement would continue until Priscilla’s twenty-third birthday, which was three years from now, and then the parents could gleefully cut off their financial contribution.
The account would be calibrated to a spatial bag for Priscilla to have easy access to her money at all times, and she had written into the contract that should the family have no spatial bags available, she would purchase one. But she had just confirmed with the butler they did have some available, so that clause wasn’t needed.
The second point provided the exact details of the disinheritance. Priscilla willingly agreed to give up any rights to the Thornewood inheritance and promised to not contest anything in the local count’s courts once the parents passed away.
The parents and Priscilla would agree to a pact of non-interaction. They would ignore each other when they had to share the same household and not interfere with each other’s business, providing another layer that ensured both that Priscilla wouldn’t bother their merchant deals and that the parents wouldn’t bog her down when she was off to save the world.
The third point was one that Priscilla included mainly because she was a squishy human and because she needed a point to concede upon that wouldn’t affect her plans too greatly. The agreement would be that the parents provided a guard and horse from the household’s current rotation whenever Priscilla went on an outing. She planned on stashing the guard at an inn when she went about her business, but a woman traveling alone tended to be a bandit’s favorite type of victim.
There were a few more nitty gritty clauses that were there to make it harder for the parents to try and declare the contract invalid.
The room was silent as the parents read through the contract carefully, like she expected them to as they were merchants after all. If they signed it without reading it, they’d be imbeciles.
“This second clause,” the father said, stabbing his finger at the paper, “does it mean that you will no longer be using the Thornewood name, as ostensibly, you will no longer be a part of this family?”
“I can become Priscilla No-Name if that’s truly what you desire,” Priscilla said, “as long as you don’t mind the shame of sharing a house with a No-Name, as clause 1.6 details how my claiming this house as my residence is not negotiable until the end of the payment period on my twenty-third birthday.”
Names were important in this world, as they told others of your heritage and affiliation, and they were an intrinsic part of who you are. To be a No-Name meant that someone had been forcefully excommunicated from their family, stricken from the family tree to make the rejection fully complete.
To have a No-Name come from your lineage was a sign of extreme shame because it meant that you shared blood with someone whose existence was so objectionable you shunned them. To live with a No-Name was an even bigger embarrassment, as their shame would affect your reputation.
“There’s no need for you to be a No-Name,” the mother said, speaking for the first time. “You can just be referred to as Priscilla.”
Priscilla just stared at the woman for a long second because that was not how names worked in this world’s society. Outside of rare and obscure settlements of naiads, everyone in the world had a family name, except for the No-Names.
“No, I can’t,” Priscilla said firmly. “I will either be Priscilla Thornewood, or I will be Priscilla No-Name, there are no other options.”
“Not necessarily,” the mother said, making the father give her a side-eye, though he remained silent.
“You could assume my maiden name, Sunscarre.”
Priscilla just kept staring, baffled by the sudden offer and the sudden lore drop, as the mother’s last name had never been mentioned in the narrative. The part of Priscilla that kept all her TDE lore in check begged to know more, as the name of Sunscarre was unusual even in this world, but Priscilla pushed the instinct back.
“If that is what you prefer,” Priscilla said slowly, “then I will be Priscilla Sunscarre.”
The father looked pleased with the resolution, but the mother had a more stoic face. Priscilla couldn’t get a read on what she was thinking, and to be entirely honest, she didn’t care to learn. The mother had plenty of time to actually be a mom before this, and if she was feeling regret now that Priscilla was permanently cutting ties, well, too little, too late bitch.
“Any other questions?” Priscilla asked, hoping they’d shake their head and sign the damn thing already. She was starting to feel antsy the longer she spoke to the parents and had to face the reality that once again, she was dealt a shitty hand when it came to her parents.
“Are there any rules or conditions for the personal guard appointment?” the mother asked. It seemed now that she had spoken once, she was now taking point in the negotiations. It didn’t matter much to Priscilla who was talking, as she hated them both equally.
“They have to be physically competent in battle and know how to keep their mouth shut.”
The father gave her a suspicious glance, but the mother nodded after a moment.
“I will pick out a suitable escort for your travels,” the mother said. “When do you plan to leave?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Priscilla said and though the mother’s eyebrows raised, she didn’t do anything but nod.
“Anything else?” Priscilla asked.
The parents give each other one last look before both shaking their heads.
“Fantastic,” Priscilla said, walking forward to pluck a pen off the parent’s desk and resting it on the contract. “Sign here please, as you can see I’ve already done you the courtesy of signing my own name.”
They signed both copies and Priscilla took one for herself, slipping it back into the folder.
“I had plans to visit the bank this afternoon,” the mother said as she laid the pen down, “so I will have the spatial bag ready by this evening. I will also have the contract notarized.”
Priscilla didn’t know why the mother wanted to be helpful now but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she just nodded.
“I’d say it’s been a pleasure,” Priscilla said as she turned, “but we all know that’d be a lie.”
The butler, who had been standing silently in the background during the whole exchange, opened the doors as Priscilla neared them, following her out.
“Are you truly serious about this contract?” the butler asked before Priscilla could walk away.
She paused mid-step and then turned towards him. Nothing in his voice implied judgment, except maybe a hint of worry.
“I realized I have to change my life’s trajectory,” Priscilla said, “because I was deeply unhappy with myself. I want to make something of my life, and this is just the first step of many to achieve my goals.”
The butler looked visibly conflicted, something almost like pride flashed across his face before he regained his professionalism.
“And what is your goal for life?” he said, coming forward so they could begin walking together.
Priscilla laughed. “Honestly, I have no idea what I’ll do besides trying to be a good person. All I know is that my future is one that I shaped with my own two hands rather than just letting life happen to me.”
“It is better to live freely as a bird,” he said, “than to live with regret keeping you trapped on the ground.”
She gave this still nameless man a look, because that almost sounded like approval in his voice.
“What should I call you now?” Priscilla asked casually. “You technically work for the Thornewoods, and I’m not a Thornewood now, so…”
The butler gave her an amused glance.
“You may call me Hans if you’d like, or continue with calling me Mr. Odran. Either is fine with me.”
“Hans,” Priscilla tried out and then snickered when she saw Hans’s face twitch. “Fine, fine, I’ll just just call you Mr. Ordan, and you can just drop the miss and call me Priscilla in return.”
“If that’s what you desire, Priscilla,” Hans said.
“It is,” Priscilla sniffed haughtily. Hans let out something halfway between a sigh and a laugh, which Priscilla counted as an absolute win.
“Lunch will be served soon,” Hans said. “Are you hungry?”
Something warm curled in Priscilla’s stomach at that small question.
“Starving,” she said, “but can I eat in my room today? I promise to not make a mess.”
“I will bring it to you when the food is ready,” Hans said with a small bow of his head. “Is there anything else you’d need from me?”
Priscilla thought about it for a moment.
“Well, if you’re offering to help, there are a few things I need…”