I tap my pen against the wooden desk, staring at the parchment before me. I've drawn up the five major events that set the course of the original novel. The first event is the awakening of divine powers in Isamara, marking the start of her journey as the Saintess.
The last, of course, is the grand wedding between Isamara and the Crown Prince. If I want to survive—no, if I want to return to my world—I need to make sure these events play out as smoothly as possible. But not too smoothly, of course, since my goal is to avoid the original Andrelise's catastrophic ending.
The wedding... I chew on the end of my quill thoughtfully. If everything goes according to the original storyline, Isamara will marry the Crown Prince, and the story will end.
Could that be the key to my escape? If the story's over, do I get to return to my world? It's a possibility, but... what if it's not? What if I'm stuck here, even after the end?
I let out a sigh, leaning back in my chair. Overthinking again, aren't I? Still, it's better to overthink than to underprepare. I need to keep my focus on the immediate steps. The first major event—Isamara's divine awakening—isn't for a while, and I have time to prepare. The Royal Ball is the next big milestone, and it's the perfect opportunity for me to position myself strategically. But I have to tread carefully.
In the original novel, Andrelise loathed Isamara. Of course, there was the whole divine Saintess thing, but it wasn't just that. The original Andrelise fancied the Crown Prince—well, fancied might be too generous a term. I think it was less about love and more about using him as a way to escape her wretched household. I frown, feeling a pang of sympathy for the original Andrelise. She was a mess, but who wouldn't be after living under the thumb of the Marquis?
Honestly, I'm not even sure she really liked the Crown Prince. Redheads aren't exactly my type either. And isn't that ironic, considering I'm a redhead myself? But not that kind of redhead—his is more auburn, while mine leans toward a deep, cherry hue. Still, the original Andrelise wanted him, or rather, she wanted what he represented:
Freedom.
She tried so hard to impress him before Isamara showed up, but it was always a losing game. Even if she hadn't been so desperate, the Crown Prince was destined for Isamara from the start.
And then there's the whole half-sibling thing between the original Andrelise and Isamara. The Marquis is their shared father, though he doesn't know it. And if he ever found out? Oh, the man would have exploited Isamara beyond belief. He already used Andrelise like a pawn in his political games—he'd do the same to her if given the chance. That's why I can't let him know.
I need to keep the Saintess's true lineage a secret, even if that means keeping my distance from her for a while, even if it means being suffer at his hands.
With a deep breath, I pick up my quill again and circle the first event. That divine awakening... that's where the story truly starts. I have time, but not much.
As I'm mulling over the sequence of events, there's a sudden, loud creak as my door swings open. My hand twitches, nearly spilling ink all over my precious notes.
Do you know how hard it is to write with a freaking quill?
I whip my head around to see Hannah, my personal maid, standing there, not even bothering to knock.
"Dinner is ready," she says curtly, without even a hint of respect.
I stare at her for a moment, my fingers tightening around the quill. This woman. This insolent woman. In the past, she could treat the original Andrelise however she wanted, and no one would bat an eye. I'm certain my father—the Marquis—wouldn't have cared in the slightest. I'm not letting this behaivour pass. Not forever, anyway.
I push my chair back with a sigh. "Very well," I say sweetly, masking my irritation with a smile. "Lead the way."
As we walk down the hall, I catch sight of some of the other servants. They either scurry away when they see me or avoid eye contact altogether. Ah, yes, the original Andrelise was a feared figure in this household. Wicked, reckless, and prone to anger. Although none of them directly served Andrelise, they are very wary of her probably because both her reputation and the lies Hannah spreads.
I wonder how many of them sincerely believe Hannah's lies.
When we reach the dining hall, I take my seat at the large, cold table. The place is as grand and empty as ever. The Marquis is out, thankfully, so I don't have to endure his oppressive presence tonight. A maid sets a bowl of soup in front of me.
It's lukewarm. Of course, it is. Hannah stands nearby, watching me with an air of superiority, as if she knows I'm not going to do anything about it.
I lift my spoon and taste the soup. Bland. Cold. Tasteless. The perfect metaphor for my life in this household. But instead of reacting, I give her another smile. I know she expects me to just take it as it is and avoid meeting her gaze, as the old Andrelise would have. But I won't give her that satisfaction. Not yet, anyway.
My mind drifts as I slowly stir the soup. The Marquis had chosen the Housekeepr as my maid f after he got rid of my first nanny, the only person who ever showed me real kindness. She was brutally murdered, though I suspect my father was behind it.
Poor Andrelise. I feel a lump in my throat as a wave of sorrow washes over me. She never stood a chance.
Hannah, on the other hand, is a snake. She knows everything about how the Marquis has treated me, and instead of showing pity or compassion, she seems to revel in it. She looks down on me as if she's the one in control. If I try to get rid of her without a solid plan, my father won't believe me. He never did. But if I play my cards right, I can turn the tables. Maybe I'll let her think she has the upper hand... for now.
I set the spoon down, about to grab a grape from the fruit plate when a sudden memory hits me like a punch to the gut. It's from the original Andrelise's life—a memory of her begging Hannah not to tell anyone about the way her father had treated her. "Please, Hannah," she had pleaded, her voice quivering with desperation. "You can't let anyone know... Please." And Hannah had smirked, relishing the moment. "It's your own fault, you know. If you weren't such a bad woman, you wouldn't have to worry about anyone finding out," she had sneered, her eyes glinting with malice.
The memory shifts, showing me the bruises on the original Andrelise's back. I feel a surge of rage at the thought of Hannah refusing to apply the ointment, claiming she had too many other tasks to do. I can almost hear the maid's dismissive tone as she turned her back on Andrelise's pain. "I don't have time for this. You're just going to have to deal with it," she had said, her voice dripping with disdain.
Another flash—this time, Original Andrelise's back, covered in diffrent bruises and Hannah to apply ointment, but the maid to press harder into the wounds, making them bleed more. The pain, both physical and emotional, was unbearable.
As I snap back to reality, I find myself still sitting at the table, the cold soup before me. The lump in my throat has returned, thickening with each passing second. I look up at Hannah, who is smirking as she watches me. She thinks I'm going to tolerate this. I realize now that I can't keep playing the part of the meek and miserable Andrelise in her eyes. I am going to have to take an action.
"Hannah," I called out, my voice steady but sharp.
She stepped forward, her eyes flicking to the bowl.
"Come here," I said sweetly, smiling at her like I was the kindest person in the world. I could see the confusion on her face. Good.
I pushed the bowl aside, then with one swift motion, grabbed her by the back of the neck and shoved her face down into the cold soup. Her gasp of shock was muffled by the broth as she struggled against my grip.
"Drink it," I whispered, my tone calm but dripping with menace.
My initial fear disappearing.
"How could you—" she sputtered, trying to lift her head.
I released her, and she stumbled back, wiping soup from her face, eyes wide with disbelief.
"I won't tolerate your rudeness anymore," I said, standing. I circled
around the table, every step measured. "The next time you bring me a meal, it better be warm, or I'll tell the Marquis that you've been stealing from him."
Her eyes darts to mine, fear of the Marquis flashing across her face.
"Stealing? I've never—"
"Heirlooms, perhaps, or maybe that expensive ring he cherishes so much?" I mused, tapping my chin in thought. "Do you think he would believe you over me?"
Hannah stiffens. We both know the answer to that question. The Marquis didn't care how I was treated, but his reputation? That was something he guarded fiercely. If word got out that his precious maid had been stealing from him, it wouldn't matter if it was true or not. He would have her thrown out to save face.
"I…" she stammers.
"I'll give you one chance, Hannah," I say, leaning in close enough that she could feel my breath on her skin. "One chance to fix your attitude. You're loyal to my father, aren't you? You wouldn't want to disappoint him by causing a scandal, would you?"
She shakes her head, eyes wide, lips trembling with hidden rage.
"You are going to regret it, My lady," The absolute audacity to threaten me like she isn't afraid is truly amusing and annoying.
I smile at her, though it doesn't reach my eyes. "You think I'll regret it? No, my dear maid, I'm just getting started." I stand, brushing off my dress as if the entire encounter hadn't just occurred. "Now, clean yourself up. I don't want to see you like this again."
As I turn to leave, a mixture of triumph and anger bubbles within me. I wanted to slap her at first, but I know that would be reckless. I won't be a pushover this time. I'm not going to let her manipulate me anymore.
Stepping back into my room, I close the door behind me, my heart racing. I did it. I actually stood up to her. But a part of me feels hollow. I glance around my lavish but cold chamber, the ornate furniture and drapes a stark reminder of my situation. The weight of the original Andrelise's suffering lingers in the air, suffocating me.
I miss modern food. I long for the simple comfort of a hot meal, the warmth of genuine affection. Instead, I'm surrounded by walls that echo with the past, and a maid who relishes my pain.
Oh god do I miss French fries.
But I have to keep moving forward. I have a plan, and it's beginning to take shape. I will replace Hannah. I will find someone I can trust—someone who can help me navigate this treacherous world without falling into the same traps that ensnared the original Andrelise.
I sit back down at my desk, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment. My hands are steady as I begin parts of the note where the ink spilled earlier and thinking about finding a new maid.
I really have a lot on my damn plate and I need to deal with it. Fast.
I start mentally making a list of qualities I need a new maid ; Kindness, loyalty, intelligence, discretion... and most importantly, someone who understands that I will not tolerate cruelty.
Another thought flashs through my mind making me stop. I have forgotten a very basic but crucial thing.
I don't know how to act like a proper noble or tend to high society.
And winging it is definitely not an option