Beyonne Lotza Ellient.
At some point, I realized I was watching the life of a woman unfold before me, as though I were witnessing a grand play upon a stage.
She had been born the legitimate daughter of a marquis household.
With her pretty face and the immense power of her family behind her, it was only natural that she grew arrogant. Wherever she went, she stood at the center of attention. People surrounded her endlessly, praising and admiring her. Even when she ascended to the highest position a woman could attain, she believed it to be only fitting.
That place belonged to her.
No one else could ever dare covet it.
A foolish woman.
It had all been nothing more than her own delusion.
And delusions never lasted long.
As time passed, the life that had risen so effortlessly began its descent. The exalted throne she once occupied transformed into a blade sharp enough to press against her throat. Those who had once worshipped her became a pack of starving wolves, tearing into her as though eager to rip her apart.
Until her very last moment, she screamed in resentment.
Cursing the world, coughing up blood.
A mocking laugh escaped me at her foolishness. Why did she crave their love so desperately? Why did she cling to something that had never truly belonged to her in the first place?
Those who do not love me are worthless. All she had to do was cast them aside.
As though releasing her final breath, her body collapsed, crimson blood scattering across the ground.
The instant I realized this was the end, she slowly lifted her head.
Her deep emerald eyes, shining as brilliantly as jewels, were drenched in madness as they stared directly at me. Her blood-red lips parted ever so slowly.
“Don’t forget. I am you, Lee Ji-ah.”
Pitch-black darkness swallowed me whole.
My hazy consciousness slowly began to clear.
The life of a woman—laughing, crying, screaming in despair—unfolded before me like a grand panorama. Slowly, I opened my eyes.
The dim darkness of dawn had swallowed the room whole.
Still lying down, I raised a hand before my eyes. A small, pale, delicate hand came into view.
“So small.”
I slowly clenched and unclenched my fingers several times. My hand obeyed my will perfectly.
I pushed myself upright and slipped my feet out from beneath the blankets. Just as pale and soft as my hands, my toes wriggled obediently at my command. I opened my palm again, then looked back down at my moving feet.
They felt both familiar and strangely foreign.
I pulled my legs fully from the bed and slipped them into the slippers waiting below. The chill of the early morning and the fluffy warmth inside the slippers sent a sharp shiver through me.
“That wakes me right up.”
I rubbed my feet against the soft fur lining, savoring the ticklish sensation. It felt real—proof that this was not a dream.
After straightening the slippers properly, I rose to my feet. Even in the darkness, my body instinctively found the thick blackout curtains covering the window. I grabbed one side and yanked it open with all my strength.
Instead of sliding away with a crisp swish as I expected, the curtain merely fluttered wildly once before falling back into place and covering the window again.
I froze in confusion.
“Why? How?”
I lifted one edge of the curtain with my hand. Though faint, enough light spilled into the room to illuminate it dimly. Holding the curtain aside, I examined where it was attached.
Instead of the familiar curtain rail, sturdy hooks protruded from the wall, fastening the curtains in place.
That sight, too, was strangely familiar.
I secured both curtains onto the hooks beside the window frame and turned around. Sunlight poured into the room through the enormous window, filling every corner with pale morning light.
Only after confirming the room was fully lit did I search for what I truly wanted.
The mirror remained exactly where I remembered it.
Slowly, I walked toward it and stood before the glass.
Golden-brown hair, gleaming almost blonde beneath the sunlight, cascaded down to my waist in soft waves.
Inside the mirror stood a child with sparkling dark green eyes, blinking back at me. The slightly upturned corners of those eyes made her resemble a proud, temperamental cat.
I lifted a finger and gently poked my cheek. The soft baby fat unique to children compressed under the pressure before springing back into place.
It was a face I recognized, yet didn’t.
I tugged at my cheek. The soft flesh stretched like sticky rice cake, accompanied by a sting of pain. Younger than I remembered—or perhaps exactly as I remembered.
“Vionne Lossa Ellient.”
The unfamiliar-yet-familiar resonance lingered inside my mouth.
Slowly, I looked back into the mirror.
The child with round cheeks vanished, replaced by the face of an adult woman.
Don’t forget. I am you.
Mad green eyes stared directly at me from within the mirror. Her crimson lips slowly parted.
Lee Jia.
In an instant, her figure disappeared, replaced by the exhausted face of another woman.
Different from the one before, yet painfully familiar.
As though watching a play from afar, I witnessed the entirety of her life as a mere observer.
Was I the returned Vionne, who had died filled with hatred for the world?
Was I Lee Jia, who had died after living an ordinary life while yearning for escape from monotonous reality?
Or was I simply a young Vionne who had glimpsed the future?
Which came first, and which came after?
Before I realized it, the young Vionne was staring at me once more from inside the mirror.
“Perhaps none of these are memories at all. Maybe this is merely a dream.”
Questions flooded my mind, yet strangely, I did not feel confused.
With memories this tangled, I should have been suffering an identity crisis. And yet my thoughts were astonishingly clear, as though someone had already handed me the answer to an impossible question.
I was Vionne Lossa Ellient, who died cursing the world.
I was Lee Jia, who lived a fairly ordinary life before dying.
And I was Vionne Lossa Ellient, now standing before the mirror and gazing at myself.
“Oh my!”
At the short cry, I turned my head toward the sound.
The woman who met my eyes hurriedly covered her mouth and bowed.
“M-My lady, I didn’t realize you were awake. I’ll prepare your washing water immediately.”
Before I could respond, she hurried away in panic. She seemed utterly shocked to see me awake so early.
Ordinarily, my notoriously difficult personality demanded that everything be prepared by the time I rose.
Warm washing water scented with flower petals at the perfect temperature—not too hot, not too cold—was a given. The day’s dress and jewelry also had to be laid out in advance.
If even one thing was out of place, I would spend the entire day in a foul mood.
The servants’ struggle to perfectly accommodate my irregular waking hours had never once been my concern.
At least, not until yesterday.
“I-I’m sorry.”
The maid who returned with the washing water immediately dropped to her knees and lowered her head.
The me from yesterday would have exploded in fury.
But the me now didn’t particularly feel angry.
“The situation is just… awkward.”
Wondering how I should handle this, I looked down at her.
Between the folds of her skirt, her clasped hands trembled pitifully. They shook with fear, covered in tiny cuts and rough scars.
“What is your name?”
“...Pardon?”
“I asked for your name.”
Perhaps she hadn’t expected the question. Her eyes widened as she looked up at me.
Though older than my current body, her face still retained traces of baby fat. Her skin was darkened and roughened by sunlight, marking her as one of the lowest-ranked servants.
Even among maids, there were classes.
To simplify it, they could largely be divided into two groups: those who handled all the dirty work like laundry and dishwashing, and those who personally attended to their masters at close range.
The latter were not called maids, but ladies-in-waiting, and many of them treated the lower servants with contempt, as though proximity to nobility elevated them.
“Though to nobles, all of them looked equally lowborn anyway.”
Servants who handled chores spent most of their time working outdoors. Naturally, their skin darkened beneath the sun.
Meanwhile, attendants who served directly beside their masters rarely had reason to go outside. Their duties were mostly helping with grooming or running errands. They had their own hardships, no doubt, but compared to common servants, they possessed more time and money.
In other words, they could afford to maintain their appearance.
“M-My name is Marie, my lady.”
“I see, Marie. Then why are you here?”
Chapped lips. Darkened skin. Hands scarred from cracking.
Marie was unmistakably a labor maid.
In other words, she was not someone of sufficient rank to prepare my washing water or assist with my appearance.
This society was divided thoroughly by hierarchy.
Below the imperial family stood the nobility. Beneath the nobles were commoners. At the very bottom were slaves.
The gap between classes was enormous. Even if a noble killed a passing commoner for no reason at all, it was not considered murder. At worst, there might be a fine to discourage indiscriminate slaughter.
Nothing more.
Those who considered themselves noble were incredibly particular even about the servants allowed near them. Since these attendants handled their personal affairs directly, nobles demanded not only pleasing appearances but also a certain level of intelligence.
I was the only legitimate daughter of a powerful marquis household.
The only people permitted to attend me were my nurse—who had once served as my mother’s childhood companion—and carefully selected ladies-in-waiting.
A mere labor maid had no business serving at my side.
“T-That is... the head nurse... I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
Marie’s face instantly turned pale.
With a single word from me, she could lose her life where she knelt. Throwing herself to the floor at my feet, she begged desperately.
“P-Please spare me, my lady!”
What would the me from yesterday have done?
I looked down at the trembling girl and wondered.
Most likely, I would have shrieked, How dare a lowborn thing like you! and thrown a tantrum.
“Even if I showed mercy, the minimum punishment would be a whipping. At worst… execution, perhaps.”
At present, I stood just before my eleventh birthday.
An arrogant little tyrant—that description suited me perfectly.
I was no innocent child who knew nothing of the world, nor was I mature enough to possess restraint or compassion.
Raised pampered and indulged by servants who constantly watched my mood, what could I possibly have known?
Anything that displeased me, I destroyed. I tormented people endlessly.
I never regarded maids, servants, or even my attendants as fellow human beings.
Until now, Vionne had never once understood that they, too, felt pain when struck and shed tears when sad.
