By midday, the house stirred to life. Servants bustled through the hallways with quiet efficiency, their whispered gossip swirling in her wake like a hidden current. Mary Jane walked slowly through the corridors, trying to memorize the layout of the manor — and ignore the way every conversation seemed to die the moment she passed.
If Bettina was indeed every bit as nasty as those newspapers suggested, then I really couldn't blame these people.
Her thoughts churned as she made her way toward the drawing room. The fragmented dreams, or maybe Bettina's memories mixed in with hers, still hovered just out of reach. Flickering like shadows at the edges of her mind. Faces and voices she couldn't quite place. Words spoken in anger. The faint echo of guilt buried beneath layers of bitterness.
She paused by the corner of a narrow stone corridor she hadn't been before, muffled voices drifting from the unseen passageway.
"I'm surprised she's up and about... given what happened to her last time."
"Indeed. The deities have graced her with the miracle of recovery, something she doesn't deserve."
"Perhaps it is the deity of darkness and chaos who cured her."
"But wait. I heard she helped Nan and Elsie with the windows the other day—taught them some clever trick to make the glass shine without near breaking their backs."
"Hmph. A trick, perhaps, but likely just part of some greater scheme."
"Exactly. She never stays quiet for long."
Mary Jane's heart clenched at their giggles and snickers, but she forced herself to breathe through the rising sting in her chest. Let them talk. They had no idea that the woman they were whispering about was already long gone.
Taking a deep breath, she turned around the corner and indeed found three female servants who were mopping the floor and dusting flower vases, eyes darting toward her before quickly dropping back to their work. None of them spoke. None of them greeted her.
Invisible. Again.
Mary Jane clenched her fists beneath the folds of her gown. The old her would have stayed silent. But something inside her — the spark of the woman who used to dream of becoming stronger, more courageous — flickered to life.
"Good afternoon," she said quietly.
The maids glanced at each other, their hands moving faster.
"Good afternoon... my lady," one muttered without looking up.
It was something. Barely a crack in the wall they'd built around her — but a crack was still a crack.
She hesitated, but with a deep breath, she forged ahead and continued on her exploration, passing by the three maids until she reached the arched doorway framed in ivy at the end of the corridor. Beyond it, she could discern the distant hum of voices and the rhythmic slosh of water, the scent of damp linen, smoke, and strong lye pricking her nose. Curious, she stepped through into a bustling courtyard nestled behind the west wing of the manor—the laundry yard.
There, thick steam curled from copper cauldrons set over open flames, and wooden tubs sat lined against the cobbled edge of the courtyard. Several women were bent over large wooden vats of hot water, their sleeves rolled, arms red from steam and labor. Linen sheets hung from cords strung overhead, and piles of damp clothes sat stacked at the far end of the room. The sharp snap of fabric against the wind startled a few birds from the rooftop above.
"Ugh, these stains won't come out no matter how hard I scrub," grumbled one older maid, slapping a wet linen shirt back into the tub. "It's like his lordship was wrestling in the stables with this one."
"These shirts won't whiten no matter how much ash or lye we toss in. They're cursed, I say," one maid muttered, squinting at a stained linen tunic.
"They'll have our heads if the master finds spots on his collars again," another replied, wringing out a piece of fine white cloth with more frustration than success.
Mary Jane stepped into the doorway, hesitating. Their eyes turned toward her like startled deer. One of them dropped a cloth, gawping at her.
She had no chaperone, no footman. Just herself in a simple day gown, looking—she hoped—nonthreatening.
"I... I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle anyone."
The oldest maid gave a stiff curtsy. "Your ladyship... is lost, perhaps?"
"No. I mean, I suppose I am, a bit. I was... exploring." Her eyes fell on the pile of half-washed white shirts. "Are those Lord Whitman's?"
"Aye, madam," said the younger one. "But the stains remain, no matter what soap we boil."
Mary Jane smiled slightly, attempting a calm tone despite her racing heart. "I noticed you're scrubbing the white linens with soap and boiling water."
"Aye madam."
"I... might know something that could help make your work easier," she offered slowly, not wanting to overstep.
They stared at her.
The old maid arched a brow. "A whitening spell, is it?"
"No, nothing like that." She smiled. "But… do you have white vinegar? And lemons?"
The women exchanged glances.
"We've vinegar in the scullery," the youngest said. "But we use it for pickling."
"Fetch some, please? And slice some lemons if you can get them." The words came naturally, her confidence rising.
Soon enough, a bowl of warm water, a generous splash of vinegar, and a few squeezed lemon wedges sat at her disposal. Mary Jane dipped one of the Earl's shirts into the mixture, rubbing it gently, then wringing it and laying it flat across a drying rack near the open window.
"Let it sit under the sun like this for an hour," she explained. "The vinegar loosens the stains, and the lemon helps bleach them out naturally. Then rinse and dry as usual."
The maids watched her with silent suspicion. One even muttered, "This'll never work."
One of the younger maids tested it on another shirt, voicing out her skepticism. "This'll ruin the cloth, won't it?"
"Well, why don't we wait and see the results with these two shirts that we've just tried the method on," Mary Jane replied, stepping back.
The laundry maids looked at each other and slowly nodded back at her.
"If the vinegar and lemon works," she added. "Then you won't need to boil as much water as you need to remove stains from the linens." She smiled.
Before they could respond, a sudden sharp crack came from the other side of the yard. One of the laundry girls gave a sharp cry—the wooden frame holding the boiling cauldron had given way. In a blur of movement, the cauldron teetered and spilled hot water toward the maid's skirts.
"Move!" Mary Jane shouted. Without thinking, her years of watching over and caring for her little brother alone caused her to automatically dash forward to the source of the commotion.
She quickly grabbed a sheet of cloth and yanked the girl backward by the waist, shielding her from most of the scalding water while she stopped the hot cauldron from toppling over completely with her other hand, using the cloth to shield it from the heat. Instead of the maid, the boiling splash hit the edge of Mary Jane's gown and the back of her hand. It stung like fire, but she gritted her teeth as she instructed others to assist her in securing the cauldron once more.
There was a stunned silence.
"You—" the young maid's eyes went wide. "You… you just—" she stared at the torn hem of Mary Jane's dress, now singed and wet.
"Are you burned?" Mary Jane asked, ignoring her own reddened hand as she examined the other's arms.
"N-no, my lady. You saved me," she whispered, disbelief written all over her soot-smeared face.
Mary Jane exhaled. "Please check the others. And someone should prop that boiler properly before it injures anyone else."
For a long beat, none of the women spoke. Then the old maid gave her a look — cautious, but no longer cold.
"You've our thanks, milady. However, methinks we need to have your hand checked immediately before it becomes blistered."
"I'll take care of it," she wiped her hands, turned, and limped slightly toward the manor, leaving behind a group of stunned laundresses who, for the first time, looked after her not with scorn—but with hesitant curiosity.
"I can't believe she stepped in for Annie…"
"She didn't even flinch."
"And that lemon and vinegar thing… look at the shirt she soaked!"
"It's starting to glow like moonlight, it does…"
Back inside the corridor, Mary Jane leaned against the stone wall, closed her eyes, and smiled faintly through the sting on her hand. Maybe she couldn't go home just yet. But maybe… she could start to change the story written about her in this world.
*****Two souls clash, yet share one fire*****
The faint scrape of the heavy dining doors drew the eyes of those within. Lady Whitman stepped inside, her entrance quieter than usual. She carried herself with newly practiced poise — but a careful observer might have noticed the slight limp in her step and how one hand remained still by her side, bandaged lightly, the sleeve of her gown folded back with subtle discretion.
Anthony, The Earl of Whitman, seated at the head of the long table, noticed. He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. She moved as though something in her lower leg pained her, but her face betrayed no weakness.
Jason was already seated beside his father, small legs swinging beneath his chair. At the sight of her, his entire face lit up.
"Good evening, Mother!"
His voice rang out like a bell, filled with delight. He half-rose from his seat, only to sit again as if remembering his table manners — but the boy couldn't stop grinning.
"Good evening, Jason," she greeted, her voice warm. Studiously avoiding eye contact with everyone else, she turned to walk over to her usual seat on the other end of the table.
"Father, is it alright for Mother to sit beside me?"
His nanny, who was standing behind him, stiffened.
"Young master—" the woman began in a warning tone.
"It's just dinner," Jason insisted, ignoring the nanny entirely. "Just for today?"
Unable to help herself, Mary Jane's eyes flew to the Earl's to gauge what his decision would be. She found his eyes looking her over, expressionless. With quiet deliberation, he picked up his knife and fork, and proceeded to focus on slicing the meat on his plate before speaking up in measured tones.
"Ask your stepmother."
"Please, Mother?" Jason pleaded. "Like before?"
Mary Jane smiled. "Of course." She turned to head to the seat beside the little boy, and no servant dared stop her. She caught the Earl's glance from the head of the table as she walked — his gaze lingered briefly on her limp and the way her bandaged hand gingerly adjusted her skirts.
He said nothing.
"Mother!" he beamed. "You're walking funny."
Mary Jane nearly tripped on the carpet from how bluntly the boy said it. She managed a small laugh and waved off his concern. "Oh, that. I may have taken a misstep earlier — slipped on a bit of water, that's all."
"Did anyone see? Someone should've helped you!"
She smiled warmly at his protectiveness, easing into the seat beside him with a wince she tried to hide. "Jane helped me, sweetheart. I'm perfectly fine now."
Dinner was laid out: roasted duck with herbs, freshly-baked rolls, glazed carrots, and buttery potatoes. The scent made her stomach tighten — she hadn't realized how hungry she was after everything that happened earlier that day.
As she took her seat beside Jason, he whispered to her, "Your hands, are they okay? I saw the bandage."
"It's nothing to worry about," she said, glancing briefly toward the watchful servants. "Just a small accident. I bumped into something while I was… exploring."
Jason frowned. "Was it the greenhouse again? You got scratched last time."
"No," she chuckled softly. "I promise, no plants attacked me today."
Anthony lifted his goblet, eyes on her over the rim. He didn't speak, but Mary Jane felt the weight of his scrutiny. She refused to meet his gaze and instead busied herself with pouring water into her goblet, no longer able to hide the bandage on her hand. Jane insisted it was needed for the healing salve to be better absorbed through the skin. She also agreed on it since it looked like a 'second-degree burn' to her which, of course, was a term that the maid was unfamiliar with.
Jason was mid-chew when he leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Did you slip near the kitchens? Nanny says the floor's always wet near the ovens."
Mary Jane smiled, appreciating his thoughtfulness. "Something like that. Don't worry, I had someone nearby. It's nothing serious."
"Well," he declared, "I could carry your tea tray next time, if you like. Just so you don't have to walk."
She smiled, deeply touched. "You're quite the gentleman already."
The boy's eyes sparkled.
Anthony watched this quiet exchange from the two, his fingers slowly turning the stem of his wine goblet. Jason, who had never once defied his orders, wheedled him into allowing this new seating arrangement. His boy now leaned easily against the countess, whispering stories of the palace gardens and the stable pups.
Was it all an act? The Earl's eyes narrowed slightly. And if it were — why was Jason so easily taken in?
"Mother," Jason said with a mouthful of duck, "you used the wrong fork again."
She glanced down. "Did I? Oh dear." She picked up the correct one and waved it like a tiny flag. "Better?"
He giggled. "Much."
Yet now… Jason laughed freely again, the Earl observed. The child, who seemingly forgot his orders to stay away from the countess, now leaned into her arm without hesitation, whispering to her about some new horse he'd seen that morning.
And she — the woman who once scolded servants for speaking too loudly — was listening with patience and seemingly genuine warmth.
The Earl stabbed a slice of duck, chewing slowly. Her voice had changed, softer. Her mannerisms, too — even the servants had whispered of it lately. Was she pretending? Some new tactic?
Or was it… something else?
"Eat your vegetables, young lord," Mary Jane said with mock sternness, pointing her fork toward Jason's untouched carrots.
Jason groaned but obeyed.
The Earl took another sip of wine. His eyes flicked briefly to her hand. The bandage was fresh. That wasn't something a servant would've done. It was tightly wrapped — purposeful, skilled.
Odd. Dr. Stein was not due back from his vacation for another sennight.
Still, he said nothing. But the slight tightening in his jaw and the crease at his brow betrayed a crack in his apathy.
As Jason finished his meal, he wiped his mouth with a flourish and leaned closer.
"I'm glad you're better, Mother," he whispered. "You're smiling more now."
She brushed a strand of hair from his face and kissed his crown lightly. "I'm glad too."
A few servants exchanged glances.
Anthony didn't move. But his gaze never left the woman beside his son. He took another sip of wine, his brows drawing together ever so slightly.
He still didn't trust her.
But for the first time in a long while… he was beginning to watch her again.
*****Bound by grief, by justice dire*****
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the golden glow casting long shadows across the vast library shelves, made fainter by the dimly lit little lamps placed at strategic parts of the room. Mary Jane entered quietly; the faint echo of her footsteps muffled by the rich carpets beneath her shoes. A warm shawl was draped around her shoulders, her limp was faint but still present, the memory of the scalding cauldron in the laundry room lingering in her gait.
After Jason and the Earl left her in the dining hall, she had retreated into the one place that seemed to calm her nerves: the Whitman Manor Library.
In her old life, owning even just one, small paperback was a luxury she could not afford. Now, she could just enter this room and be surrounded by hundreds of books that she could read at any time. For free.
She wandered between the towering shelves of books, trailing her fingers across aged spines. The scent of old paper, wax, and cedar welcomed her, and she found it oddly comforting. Her thoughts swirled around the same questions that plagued her since the first day she found herself here. How had she ended up in this world? Was there any hope of returning home? Were there others like her? The answers had to be hidden in these books.
After a few minutes of skimming through titles, her eyes landed on a leather-bound tome with a bronze-embossed spine: "On the Arcane: A Study of Magic and its Emergence in the Empire".
Her pulse quickened.
If there's one thing that could explain her impossible presence in this world, far away from the one she was originally from, then it's magic. Her first thought was divine intervention, but magic definitely came as a second explanation. Pulling the book from the shelf, she carried it to one of the smaller reading tables nestled beneath the stained-glass window. The candlelight flickered over the yellowed pages as she opened the book, releasing a faint scent of parchment and ink.
She began to read.
-----000-----
"Magic, once believed to be a myth born of folklore and tavern tales, became an undeniable reality with the discovery of mana—a natural, invisible force that exists in the very air we breathe, the ground we tread, and the water that nourishes us.
"A little over one hundred years ago, the phenomenon known as 'mana' was first discovered in the highlands of the eastern provinces. At first considered an invisible current within the air and soil, this energy source was later identified as a manipulatable force, now commonly referred to as 'magic.'
"The Mage Tower was founded shortly after the first documented 'awakening' of a citizen whose body naturally aligned with the mana flows of the land. As more individuals showed signs of 'mana compatibility,' the Empire formed the Arcanum Registry, ensuring that all wielders were known and trained."
-----000-----
She blinked. "Mana? So, this world really does run on fantasy logic," she muttered to herself, trying to take it seriously. So magic was a relatively new discovery. That explains the inconsistent use of it. There was still much development underway.
-----000-----
"Since its discovery, progress in magical study has grown under the leadership of the Mage Tower—an independent institution governed by a council of archmages, presided over by the Grandmaster of Magic.
"The Mage Tower stands in the capital, a tall spire laced with protective runes and known to be neutral ground for scholars and researchers alike. Led by the current Grandmaster of the Arcanum, whose name and personage are hidden from public knowledge, the Tower cooperates with the Imperial Court to supply magical support to the military and advise on matters of arcane law."
-----000-----
That got her attention. She paused. "Grandmaster, huh… mysterious title." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. The name wasn't familiar to her, but the term gave her a strange sense of déjà vu.
She was about to turn the page when a soft knock sounded followed by the opening of the library doors. It was Jane and she executed a curtsy before walking over to her with a friendly smile.
"My lady, it is getting late. Would your ladyship care to continue your reading a while longer, or would you prefer I help you settle in for the night?"
"I'll be fine here for a while. You've had a long day too, haven't you? Go on and get some sleep," she smiled back at the maid who has been showing her more kindness lately.
"Very well, my lady. Should you need anything, simply ring the bell, and I shall come at once." Jane curtsied once more before leaving her and closing the library doors gently.
She went back to her reading with a small smile.:
-----000-----
"There are five basic types of magic currently known and taught at the Tower: Elementalism (control over fire, water, air, and earth), Elemental Support (control over lightning, ice, wood, and metal), Healing Arts (restoration of wounds and ailments), Arcane Enchantment (infusing objects with magical properties), and Forbidden Magic.
"Since its discovery, magic was only ever used in recent history as military support for the empire and in healing the infirm. Sadly, it has also been discovered that people who can manipulate mana are limited to one in a hundred thousand. Forbidden Magic, on the other hand, was ruled to only be studied in theory, and only by those approved by the Grandmaster, due to the heretofore unknown and potentially deadly consequences of using this type of magic.
"Meanwhile, the type of magic that people are more interested in is Arcane Enchantment. Also known as Arcanocrafting, this type of magic allows for a practical application of magic in tools and devices, still rare but gaining traction in urban centers for its lucrative possibilities.
"Although magic remains inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, thanks to the Grandmaster's discovery of Arcanocrafting, magic's presence is slowly and increasingly seen in the lives of the Empire's citizens as it allows even non-magic humans to be able to activate carved or embedded magical sigils depending on the magician's magical and crafting skills: from lamps enchanted to glow without oil, fireplaces that can be lit with a simple incantation, to medicine augmented by mana-infused ingredients. Most recently, the Grandmaster has just introduced the most revolutionary Arcane Enchantment the world has yet seen—one that transcended their invention of the teleportation pads—a secure banking and payment system that protects the Empire's coins more effectively than mithril safes."
-----000-----
Mary Jane leaned back. Her eyes were wide. "This is insane… It's like I'm in the middle of an RPG game."
She leaned back in her chair, absorbing every word. Magic was real. Organized. Institutionalized.
And perhaps…the key to everything.
Why? Because, she could not solely consider 'divine intervention' as the possible explanation for her possession of the countess's body—why would God, or any other deities, if any, spend their precious time and power on someone like me, a nobody who might have already died in my own body, and be given another chance at life? It would be more believable for God to just let my soul move on naturally just like every other soul in the history of man.
So yes, magic. That's it. Of course, she might also want to try and check out this empire's religious situation. Let's not completely rule out divine intervention.
She sat there for a while longer, rereading passages, her heart no longer filled only with fear or confusion but something else entirely: possibility.
A gentle breeze suddenly stirred through the library.
She looked around. The windows were closed. No doors had opened.
A single table lamp, the one closest to her, flickered unnaturally, turning off entirely—and then, after a while, it turned on by itself again.
She frowned, uneasy. Her eyes returned to the book.
At the very bottom of the page was a line she hadn't seen before.
You are not alone.
Her heart skipped a beat. "What?" She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.
The words were gone.
"…Must be the fatigue…" she whispered.
But a shiver crept up her spine as she reached for the next page, her heartbeat unsteady. And somewhere, deep in the shadows between the shelves, a presence lingered—a flicker of magic, unseen, yet unmistakably there.
--End of Chapter--
***Author's Note***
Hi everyone! I'm releasing 2 more chapters today (up to chapter 8) to help you all catch up to my Wattpad readers who are a little ahead. Hope you enjoy the read! 💜
✨ P.S. I'm also updating my Ko-fi page with sneak peeks of Chapters 9 and 10 for everyone to enjoy — and if you're a member, you can already read the full chapters in advance! 💫 You will also see additional tidbits there such as the crest of the Whitman earldom, the map of the empire, and more!
If you've been enjoying the story so far, I'd be truly grateful if you considered supporting me with a coffee or joining as a member on Ko-fi. Every bit helps me get one step closer to my dream of becoming a published author — something I've been chasing since I was in 6th grade, scribbling stories in the margins of my notebooks! 💖
Let's keep this journey going together! 🌟📚 https://ko-fi.com/villainessnerireyes