I tried to open my eyes, but they felt unbearably heavy—like something invisible was holding them shut.
After what felt like an eternity of struggling, I finally managed to pry them open… barely.
The last thing I remembered was the blinding light—the one that had swallowed me whole.
But what greeted me now was something entirely different.
My vision blurred and swam as it adjusted to the brightness around me. Slowly, shapes came into focus.
A ceiling.
Vast. Ornate. Laced with golden inlays and elegant carvings—so refined it could rival the royal palace of the Zenithara Kingdom.
It felt… familiar.
A pang shot through me.
No… it can't be.
I gasped.
This is… my room.
The same room I stayed in, back when I was still—
I tried to sit up, but the moment I moved, a stabbing pain exploded in my skull.
"Ugh… what the hell is ha—"
Then it hit me.
The memories.
My past life. All of it crashing back at once—unstoppable, violent.
My stomach churned.
I gagged—and before I could stop it, vomit spilled across the sheets.
Warm. Bitter. Violent.
It was disgusting, but I couldn't help it. I collapsed back, breathing heavily, trembling as wave after wave of nausea passed through me.
After what felt like hours, the storm inside me began to settle. The pain didn't stop, but it dulled—like a fire reduced to smoldering embers.
Shakily, I swung my legs off the bed. My bare feet touched the cold marble floor, grounding me to this unfamiliar moment in a too-familiar place.
I turned my head to the right. There, on the wall, hung the one thing I could never forget.
A portrait.
Framed in aged wood, preserved with care. Not a speck of dust dared settle on its surface.
And in that portrait… stood a woman.
Beautiful. Graceful. Her presence lingered even through the canvas.
Long dark hair flowed like springwater. Her delicate nose, her serene eyes, her quiet strength—
They were mine.
No… hers.
Ours.
I reached up, fingers brushing my own hair—long and soft, just like hers.
"…Mother," I whispered.
I was immersed in her memories—memories that could be called the most beautiful moments of my life. Now that I try to recall it… yes, she died from an illness. I still remember how I cried for a whole month. And until the day I died, she never once left my thoughts.
"Sigh..." I exhaled quietly while gazing at the portrait. Those times felt like a distant dream now. Come to think of it… the year should be around 1250 to 1260, right? I thought to myself while continuing to look at my mother's gentle face.
My clothes were damp and stained, and though they'd dried somewhat, the smell still clung. But more than that, something stirred in me.
She should still be here… right?
"Let's call her," I murmured to myself, feeling a strange blend of nervousness and hope.
"Charlotte... Charlotte..." I called out softly, almost afraid of silence in response.
"Yes, co... coming!" came a voice from beyond the door.
Hearing her reply, a warmth bloomed in my chest. A smile tugged at my lips.
She's still here…
While her footsteps grew closer, the image of a beautiful blonde woman with golden eyes flashed in my mind—graceful and radiant, in her early twenties. A woman whose beauty could leave even royalty in the dust.
Thump.
The door creaked open, and a girl around thirteen stepped into view.
Huh…?
It took me a moment to realize—my memories of her were from ten years later. Of course she looked younger. That made sense. She was still just thirteen or fourteen.
I don't quite remember how she ended up with us, since I was too little at the time. But my mother once told me—she was an orphan my mother found during a hospital inauguration ceremony. Back then, she couldn't even remember her name or where she came from. Since then, she'd grown up with me.
"You okay? Earlier, you collap—eek! What is this?"
She recoiled, frowning at the sight of me covered in dried vomit.
"It's been a whil—" I stopped myself mid-sentence.
"…What time is it?" I asked instead, trying to change the subject.
"It's 6:30… in the evening, I think? Why do you ask?"
"Oh. Could you prepare bathwater… and change the bedsheets?" I said, already unbuttoning my sleepwear.
"Okay, I'll do it. Huh? Now that I think about it—you suddenly collapsed this morning right after waking up. Are you sure you're okay?"
She stepped closer, her eyes filled with concern. "The physician said it was just fatigue, but still…"
"I'm alright. Just fatigue, like he said."
I tried to reassure her, but she still inspected my whole body with hawk-like focus.
"I'm fine now. Go prepare the bath," I repeated.
Maybe she finally noticed the smell, because she backed off immediately.
"Okaay… Oh, and Patrick said you should join everyone for dinner tonight."
Father.
The moment she mentioned him, a surge of anger swept through me.
Father, huh?
Remembering him never brought anything good.
I hated him, yes—but I didn't want revenge. That hate had long turned to apathy.
I'd gotten used to the feeling.
This time... I'll make sure to use every single one of my family members to become a saint.
A saint truly worthy of worship.