The Forgotten Daughter was a popular web novel written by the mysterious X. She was known for her unique works, with The Forgotten Daughter being the most iconic. It was praised for its nuanced characters and its relatable heroine.
The novel took place in a medieval fantasy setting. The heroine was the forgotten illegitimate daughter of an influential duke, the daughter of a lowly prostitute. When the duke's legal wife dies, he takes the ten year old heroine back to his mansion and discovers that she is able to wield light magic and bears a strikingly similar resemblance to himself. He hires the best magic teachers in the kingdom to tutor her in magic and dotes on her; in the process, he begins to neglect his legal daughter who later turns into the villainess.
The heroine often feels guilty for taking what she believes to be her older sister's and attempts to become friends with her. This attempt is met with rejection as the villainess believes that the heroine is doing so out of pity.
The heroine is praised as a genius and is enrolled in the academy two years earlier than her peers. Due to this, she is able to attend with her sister and the crown prince of the kingdom, the male lead. The crown prince pays special attention to the heroine which fuels the villainess' inferiority complex and jealously towards the heroine and she begins to oppress her within the academy.
The male lead and the heroine eventually slay the demon king and the villainess enters the picture for the final time on the eve of their engagement banquet.
She laments the fact that the heroine is in the spotlight while she is in the dark despite having the empty title of the legal daughter. She turns out to be the final boss and unleashes her dark magic, trying to kill both the heroine and male lead. The other male leads and the heroine's friends come to their aid and they defeat the villainess once and for all. The villainess sheds a single tear before taking her last breath while everyone else has a happy ending. The author then questions: Who is the forgotten daughter?
I merely picked up the book in passing but grew obsessed with the characters as time passed by. I related to the villainess, but I yearned to play the role of the heroine. Unexpectedly, my wish came true.
I transmigrated into the book and was praised as a genius; with this title came unabashed power, I could crush my peers underfoot. But one day, the plot of the story began to shift, and by the time I realized, it was too late. I was finally the heroine of my own life, and yet once again, I perished in the dark.
***
"Beep-Beep-Beep" the muffled sounds of a hospital monitor ring in my ears. A wave of confusion hits me and I try opening my eyes, but it feels like a thousand pounds of sand weigh over me. My body feels hot and sticky and waves after waves of nostalgia hit me as I begin to question myself. Where am I? Didn't I die again? I can smell a cheap perfume of death hovering over my supposedly frail and sickly body and I attempt to curl my fingers, but even that proves to be too much for me as my arm falls limply to the side.
I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes at the realization that I'm still in possession of a hand, and I repeatedly tap my forefinger against the bed in confirmation. Held back sobs escape from my lips in a high pitched voice, it's not one I'm used to. It's obviously the voice of a child.
Memories that feel like bricks slam against my head in continuous waves as I remember those memories that I wished so desperately to forget.
"Mom!"
My eyes shoot open and jolts of pain coarse through my body. The heart monitor speeds up as if mirroring my excitement, and I place a trembling hand around the hand bar at the side of the bed. I repeatedly attempt to pull myself up and I am finally capable of sitting up. My legs tremble from the strain but I consciously ignore the occasional pangs of discomfort that travel along my legs and place a shaky leg on the floor. I slowly place my other leg on the ground and cautiously remove the IV from my wrist before breaking out into a staggering run. The artificial hospital lights trace my shadows and the smell of disinfectant that I've grown to hate is almost suffocating. But I disregard my momentary discomfort and push the door open into the hallway.
The ward is eerily quiet a sends a faint chill down my back, but I continue to comb my fingers along the familiar bumps and crevices of the hospital walls until I reach her door.
My limbs are short and scrawny and my arms lack the miniscule amount of muscle that eight year old's usually have. I struggle when reaching towards the door knob and have to prop myself on the tips of my toes in order to reach its edge. I gradually push the remaining strength in my limbs towards the door and I hear the door creaking open, revealing the placid woman in a deep slumber inside.
Her face is gaunt and pale and her dark brown hair flows wildly at her sides. It's unlike the tame blond hair that I've grown used to and resembles my current hairstyle. Many said that I was a mini replica of my mother on many occasions; a vital fact contributing towards my father's loathing of me. Before I know it, I'm running up to her bed in a dreamlike trance because what could this be but a dream. I still remember my mother of the casket, she was so skinny that one could see down to the bone, her lips were arched in an eternal unwillingness; it was proof of her remaining struggle and her remaining regret.
But the mother of now was my mother who was full of life, a woman who was in the prime of her life and ready to divorce her husband. Unfortunately, she never got the chance. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my mother used the excuse of ice-cream in order to escape from her shitty husband. She met misfortune and her attempt was exposed while she was in a coma, my father plotted to take her life and the inheritance she left to me.
My lips quiver and I whisper a name that has grown foreign to my lips. "M-Mom." My breaths are shaky and my feet are hesitant. I feel a strong urge to run away. I can only remember the faces of those who hate me. How would my mother react if she were to know that my hands were stained with blood? I had killed countless, some of their names were only known to me.
I snap out of my momentary daze and console myself. It hasn't happened yet. The most pressing matter was to stop that bastard from killing my mom. But what could I possibly do? I was currently a kid, and my words were unreliable. My father gave off the impression that he was approachable to the public and his coworkers and hid his affair deeply. After my mother's death, his mistress and her daughter moved in almost immediately, but my father waited three years until he married her. He was a person who worshipped his image.
He had only ever gotten visibly angry at my mother once. It was the day of my sixth birthday. He was always indifferent to me as a father. My mother was livid that he had missed my birthday and argued with him as soon as he came back from the club. I still remember that I was in my favorite rainbow patterned pajamas and still smelled of strawberries and cake. I pretended to go to sleep, but as soon as my mother left the room, I waited for my father in anticipation. At that time, I was still the silly little girl who yearned for fatherly love. I was such a fool.
When he came home, he had just come home from the bar and reeked of alcohol. I heard his familiar footsteps and the sound of his jingling keys and opened the door happily, only to see him throwing a beer bottle at my mother's feet. My mother only eyed him coldly and sneered. She probably only stayed with my father for me; she wanted me to have the warmth of a full family, but once she realized that my father was a bastard who couldn't spare a single drop of love for his biological daughter, she decided to leave.
I never told my mother that I saw them that day, I pretended to be ignorant because I didn't want to break what remained of our family apart.
I take one more look at my mother's face and I slowly walk out of the room. I still have time.
Little did I know that I'd regret that decision for the rest of my life.