What on earth is happening?
How the hell did I wake up in the 1940s?
I died.
…Is this the afterlife, then?
But… why in the past?
And why is it in the body of this girl? Seriously—why would heaven put me in the body of an infamous brat?!
It doesn't make sense at all.
I lived as humbly as I could in 2025—because that's what someone poor as dirt is supposed to do. Quietly live, quietly strive. Bow to power and money.
That was me. A nobody.
Well… on the bright side, at least I can eat extravagant food here.
I stared at the golden spoon in my hand, realizing this was the first time I had ever held one. Maybe… maybe this life isn't so bad? A wealthy family and a pretty face.
Sigh.
But this girl's nasty personality is killing me. Her wrongdoings are flooding into my head like a dam breaking.
"S-Señorita, is the food not to your liking?"
A trembling voice pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see an old woman, maybe in her late fifties. Aside from my pounding head, the atmosphere here gave me a whole new kind of headache.
Why do the servants look at me like I'm their worst nightmare?
And then it hit me—memories flashing like lightning. Isabelle, flipping a table in a fit of rage… grabbing a whip… bringing it down hard on the old woman's back.
Screams.
Blood.
A mess.
And Isabelle, standing there.
Ah… so she did that.
"S-Señorita…" The poor woman folded her hands, knees hitting the floor as she begged like her life depended on it.
How traumatizing must her life have been because of this girl?
This stupid girl.
I bit my lower lip and looked away, unable to meet the old lady's eyes. Isabelle didn't even know her name. She didn't know any of the servants' names.
I hate this.
The more I saw of her memories, the more I felt the ache of losing my own grandma.
Lola, are you doing well? I'm sorry… I'm sorry that I died and left you all alone. Sorry, La.
The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free, spilling into loud, ugly sobs. My voice cracked as I kept saying sorry over and over again. The old woman quickly got to her feet, her worried eyes softening as she wrapped her arms around me. I clung to her, burying my face into her shoulder, returning the warmth she gave me.
The other servants circled nervously, exchanging confused glances—probably trying to figure out why the hell their cruel señorita was crying like a lost child.
I couldn't blame them. This girl had done all kinds of horrible things as far as they remember. If they thought something bizarre must have happened to her, I wouldn't even mind.
"Did she… eat shit?" a naïve young maid whispered.
After my not-so-pretty entrance, I stayed inside Isabelle's room. I cried until my eyes burned, trying to collect my thoughts.
My life in 2025… is that my past? Or my future?
No. I died.
So, me—as Isabelle in 1940—is my present?
But this stupid girl… she also awaits her tragic fate. I know because I've heard this story before. Isabelle will be put into a coma at 21—five years from now. Her marriage to Ryuji Takano will crumble within months. Her loving parents will marry her off again to an American soldier. She will bear him two children… one of whom becomes my grandma's old friend—Aunt Cecille Hammington's mother.
And that is exactly where my hate comes from.
Because she… she spawned the devils that made my Lola dependent on medical pills.
When I was a kid, my Lola used to take me to our "family friends'" house—before they threw us away like garbage. When my parents were alive, they were close. But afterward, they treated us like disposable pests. And according to them, they were "helping" my Lola out of kindness.
Kindness?
If that's kindness, then hell must be made of gold.
They had her clean their damn house for a piece of bread. Do laundry for a kilo of rice. Mow a hectare of garden for three cans of food.
And the worst? Humiliate her in front of her old friends, accusing her of stealing a necklace. They even filed a criminal record under her name—only to later discover the necklace had been mistakenly placed in her bedside drawer.
Thankfully, they didn't want another mouth to feed, so even as a child, I was left alone in our slum shack. Maybe it was a blessing—Iola could have suffered worse if I had stayed.
The day before my Lola finally left that horrible mansion, she asked me to help her pack her things. Before we walked away, she showed me a painting she had always admired.
And there I saw it—the most beautiful face I had ever seen. Pale skin, black hair, ethereal beauty that time couldn't touch.
And now… here I am, wearing that face and that damn necklace.
This year—this era—is not my favorite. Neither is this girl nor her family. My high school teacher used to gush about this time in history—an era of massive transformation for my country. A time of heroes, revolutions, war, and death.
And though I've already died once, I don't want to feel that pain again.
I don't want to die… again.
But is there a way to go back to where I belong?
And if I could… would I?
…Hah. Damn it, Chiarra! Of course you'd go back.
Wait.
If I died in 2025, how am I here? Is that even possible?
Arggghhh!
I buried my face into the pillow to release some of my rage.
Then—a thought.
Am I really dead there?
What if I'm not?
Maybe the 2025 me is still alive—clinging to life. Because if I truly died, why would I be sent to the past? Why not some random worlds like in those generic novels I've read? Or somewhere completely unrecognizable?
But no. This feels real. Familiar. Like my ancestors' lives. Like the stories Lola used to tell me—these old houses, the way people dress, the war that was looming around.
For some reason, I can't remember everything about Isabelle—it's like a broken record. I know she's the villain, and I know she's engaged to Takano Ryuji… but beyond that? Nothing.
Is this her secret?
If I'm her now, shouldn't I know?
Or is there more to her than meets the eye?
I pushed the thought away; my head already hurt enough.
I opened the wide window, letting the breeze hit my face.
"What fresh air… is this premium H2O?" I muttered, snorting hard until my nostrils flared like coins.
"Did she really eat shit? Just look at her."
"Shh! She might hear you."
"She's lost it."
Sigh.
I shot them Isabelle's signature death glare, and they scattered like bullets.
No wonder they think I ate shit—this brat is a certified witch in their eyes.
Anyway… Isabelle is only sixteen right now. That means I have five years. Five years to make sure she doesn't spawn that devil family, doesn't get married, and doesn't end up in a coma at twenty-one.
Because what if I can't go back?
Survival has to come first—even if it means living as Isabelle.
And one thing's certain: I know what's coming. Three years from now, war will break out. And with it… the tragic fate this girl is supposed to meet.
Not anymore.
I've made up my mind.
I will survive this.
And I will change the future.