The pain always comes so much later than the initial injury. 

At least, that was always what Irene was told when someone had gotten hurt. She used to talk to knights a lot who were prone to injuries, but that felt like a lifetime ago—because it was. 

Her wavy red hair had fallen into her face but she could clearly see a rusted blade poking through the center of her chest. Warmth was spreading down towards her stomach on that cold autumn night. 

She knew she was bleeding. She was bleeding a lot.

"N—no," she tried to shout but the gurgle of blood in her throat where it wasn't supposed to be made it awfully hard to speak.

She had a knight guarding her before the carriage fell over and she was tossed out the door. Where was he?

The woman tried to turn her head but she was starting to feel faint. Movements were heavy. She didn't have it in her to panic.

Amidst the noise of the frozen rain falling that night, she heard the croaking sound of a goblin as it kicked her off of her blade. There was no resistance as she fell onto the wet ground.

Was that really the ending to her pathetic life? 

Every decision she made up to that point was always further and further from what she wanted until she was too weak to defend herself. If only she hadn't been forbidden from using a sword by her mother.

To even an average knight, a goblin would have been easy work. Yet there she was, only able to run away until the damned monster caught her. 

Her eyes became heavy and her vision was blurry. 

This is it… she realized.

At least she was able to say goodbye to her mother and father. Would her husband care that she was gone? 

Admittedly, the life she had led for the past few years was not the life she wanted. If she could do it all over again…

She faded too fast to even have a second more of that thought.

Darkness... Yet, consciousness?

Was she good enough to go to heaven?

Heaven smelled like… fresh bread. 

The girl's green eyes opened and she sat up abruptly. Her shoulders were heaving when she realized she was in a familiar environment. 

It was her childhood bedroom from years before. 

Perhaps they had heaven wrong all along. Could heaven be the last place she remembered truly being happy?

She rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in her comfortable pillow. The scent was nostalgic. Her legs kicked around and she felt so energetic. 

Perhaps in heaven, you were never hungry or weighed down by worries.

With newfound vigor, Irene climbed out of bed and went to the washbasin in the corner of her room where a hand mirror lay face down next to it. 

When she lifted it up, she saw her face. 

Freckles she always hated across the bridge of her nose. Vibrant red hair that was a nightmare no matter how old she was. The main difference was that her face was bright with life and underneath her eyes didn't seem hollow as she remembered them. 

It felt all too real. 

Woosh! Thud!

The girl nearly dropped the mirror but she managed to catch it before it could fully fall out of her hands.

At the noise, she rushed to her bedroom window and pushed the curtains aside to reveal the garden her mother painstakingly organized each year. It was small compared to regular noble households since her father insisted on keeping a lot of space for sword fighting practice.

Beside the garden was an expanse of dirt that seemed unattractive in comparison but it was certainly more for use than viewing. 

Men stood in a line in front of her father with their swords raised as they went through drills hitting one another, switching, and blocking. They used practice swords so the noise was the wooden blades smashing against one another. Her father kept the wooden blades oiled and protected from the weather.

Before Irene realized it, she felt wetness on her face and realized tears were falling.

How she had missed watching knights practice. She clenched her fists wanting to go down there herself and join in on the fun. Her mother forbade it.

But wait!

How young am I? she desperately wondered.

The girl scurried, around her bed and practically dove to the floor as she searched for something. 

Ah, a box.

She opened it up to reveal her dark silver sword with a magical stone embedded in the handle. It was such a welcome sight—as if she was reuniting with an old friend. 

Then that meant…

Without thinking, the girl tossed the sword onto her bed and rushed out of the room.

She and her brother's tutor made her practice penmanship before bed each evening. She had to date the papers with the day, month, and year at the top of the page. 

Even though she only wore a night dress, she rushed through the familiar hallway and down the stairs. She zipped past a maid and entered the library. 

Rummaging through a couple of boxes, she found the one with her sheet from the night before. 

"The 21st year of King Alfred," she read out loud. "I'm… eleven."

She was born in the year of the King's first decade. What a strange thing to remember. 

What she remembered before waking up was being twenty but…

Her hands trembled and her reddish eyebrows lowered as she thought of everything. Had what she experienced been a bad dream? 

It all felt too real. 

She gingerly placed the paper back in the box so the tutor wouldn't get upset with her for ruining anything due to her rough nature. 

Feeling a bit out of her mind, Irene placed her hands on her cheeks. She then outstretched her hands and brought both of her hands back down harshly against her face. 

"Ouch!"

She wasn't dreaming, it seemed. In heaven there wouldn't be pain either.

"What on Earth are you doing, my sweet girl?"

Irene turned around and stared at the doorway where her father had just walked through. 

"N—nothing!"

"Your grandmother is here," he said. "Get ready. Midday you will be hunting in the Eastern Forest while your mother is out of the house."

"Yes, father."

Oh, I remember this... she realized. 

Would she make the same decisions she did before?