“Happy three month birthday, Lady Josephine!” Beatrice cheered brightly as she rocked me in her arms. “Here’s a present for you!”

  She held a spoon to my lips and warm liquid flooded my mouth. It was salty, overly sweet, and just AWFUL. I gagged as the liquid spilled out of the corner of my lips.

  “Aww… I guess you’re still not ready.”

  “I already told you she won’t be. Three months isn’t something to be celebrated.” Meridol said absently from her usual seat at the table, another book in her hand.

  “But she’s already lifting her head and rolling over. I thought maybe she’d be early in this as well.” She wiped my lips with a towel and smiled at me. “It’s fine. But we should get you something to celebrate you growing even more perfect. Is there anything you want?”

  Three months… Has it really been three months since I came to this world? It felt like forever ago.

  I didn’t have any memories of Joan as a baby, or a toddler. I was fully Stephen when I first woke up as Joan. There wasn’t one bit of her memories in me. I didn’t even know any French.

  Maman and Papa were so patient with me, who had turned overnight from their loving, helpful daughter to a complete invalide. They had to teach me the language while guiding me through all the chores that Joan used to do. I stumbled while carrying milk pails, barely cleaning out the barn stalls. I fell asleep while carrying feed to the hens in the morning.

  Papa often covered for me those first days, much to the chagrin of my siblings.

  It got better with my subsequent runs.

  I had often wondered what happened to the real Joan, whether I had overwritten her when my mind took over. But lately, I’d been haunted by a different sort of nightmare: What if her soul had actually been ground to dust by my playthroughs?

  “Maybe, I can teach you your letters!” Beatrice’s perky voice pulled me out of my stupor.

  “She hasn't even started talking yet.” Meridol said between sips of her tea, her eyes never leaving the pages of her book.

  Beatrice pursed her lips as she cradled me closed. “But you read to her from those fancy books of yours all the time. And she seems to enjoy it.”

  “Fair. Do as you will then.”

  Joan was never taught her letters back in the village, or out on the campaign. I only learned once I took up a scribe’s apprentice position in the city after I ran away. I had to cross-dress to get the job, but I usually preferred men’s clothes anyways.

  So I didn’t write much French as Joan, but I did write in English. I remember keeping a journal in the few runs where I got enough money for paper, and then there were those lists I wrote in later lifetimes just to hold on.

  ‘My name is Stephen Tagenet.

  My father is Daniel Tagenet and my mother is Sylvie Tagenet.

  I have an older sister and her name is Allison, nickname Ally.

  She and I used to fight over everything, including this one teddy that I falsely claimed was mine.

  Its name was Donny.

  …’

  “That’s actually not much fun. We can always do letters later…” Beatrice grumbled. Glare from the morning sun struck her face, forcing her to squint. She glanced out the window and her smile broadened. “How about I take you out to the garden? This will be your first time out!”

  A book snapped shut, the crisp sound drawing both of our attention. Meridol rose elegantly from her seat. “You are right, Beatrice. It is past time my Lady be shown the House and grounds. Let’s make her presentable. It’s the first time she’ll be seen by others since the incident.”

  The incident, of course, referred to when I injured myself with a book and Meridol was carrying me frantically down the hall to the healer. She had stripped me of my clothes, and her hair and eyes were wild, so we made quite the sight, drawing shocked looks from all the servants we passed.

  I was sure Meridol wanted to make up for that first impression. But what can you do to make a baby presentable? I was never one for makeup as Joan, and would probably scream if they tried to put that strange white powder I’d seen on me.

  Thankfully, it was nothing more than getting wiped down, having the tuft of hair on my head combed, and having a frilly white outfit pulled over me.

  “You look beautiful, Lady Josephine,” Beatrice gushed giddily as she sat me down in front of a mirror.

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  Meridol was right.

  The doll that stared back at me from the mirror wasn’t human. Its skin was too smooth and white, looking more like the CG renderings from the distant past rather than anything I’d seen up close for real in all my lifetimes. There was a strange luster to it, hints of shimmering metal, as if bits of the sword were peeking through. I hadn’t really noticed it before when looking over my hand, but that glow in combination with my perfectly symmetrical face and features really highlighted the inhumanness of it all.

  My hair, the small amount of it there was, didn’t help either. Unlike my father’s natural looking dark blue hair, mine looked like extruded metal wire of bright blue. The way the sun struck it made it look like super heated flames dancing under the light.

  And then there were those purple eyes, not a subtle shade of blue, but bright, exuberant violet, like a pair of flashy, sparkling gemstones.

  The demons must have really screwed up on the spell for disguising this sword. I didn't blend in at all!

  Did they choose a game rendering by mistake?

  Meridol strolled in now dressed in a formal black long dress with red slits. She took one look at me and sighed, sharing my frustration. “That will have to do.”

  —

  At the exit from my room, Meridol turned to Beatrice, her voice soft but firm. “I will carry her.”

  Beatrice hesitated, her smile faltering for just a second as she glanced down at the arms she had held out for me. She bit back a protest that was on her lips and instead dipped her head. “Of course. Lady Meridol."

  Meridol held me facing forward in her arms as we walked down the hallway. Her steps were measured, graceful, almost as if we were gliding. Maids dipped at our approach. Footmen bowed. Everyone acknowledged me with a respectful, “My Lady”.

  I looked up. Meridol’s posture was stiff and straight, and her face had stately, noble bearings. For once, I found pride in her eyes as they stared forward. They lowered to meet mine and her arms pulled me in tight against the familiar warmth of her chest.

  The House was more a palatial castle than a home. It was enormous, with multiple stories, large chambers and even the ceilings of the hallways soared high above us. There was a library, a chapel, and even a giant, sweeping dance hall with a glossy mirror-like floor.

  As Joan, I’d been to my share of palaces and castles back in the old world, but those all had a dirty, historic grit to them: the smell of damp and dust, the feel of uneven stone underfoot. Whereas here, things felt more modern and clean. The air itself was different, clear and free of that damp musty scent. The granite walls were made of stones cut with impossible precision, leaving no seams or even cracks. Light gleamed off the polished steel of the grates, which were wrought in patterns so intricate they seemed to flow like liquid metal. The faces in the photographic-like portraits on the walls all held impossibly life-like eyes that followed us as we walked down the hall. It all served to give this place an almost unnervingly advanced and extravagant feel.

  I had already seen glimpses of this.

  After the incident with the book, the two of them had resolved to never leave me alone. This meant that I had to practice with a more subtle version of [Shadow Fingers]. So instead of chasing after bugs with solid fingers, I had to use the less noticeable mist form to look around.

  I got around the limitation of only being able to target shadows within sight through one of the chapters Meridol read me. It discussed the concept of ‘dual casting’, and how one can compartmentalize their mind to cast two spells at once. Through weeks of trial and error, I was finally able to do it, and could cast the spell on a shadow around the corner that I could only observe through shadowy fingers of the first spell.

  I couldn’t do it reliably and it ate up a ton of mana, but the sensation upon pulling it off was exhilarating.

  That was how I got a sneak peek of The House, though in a colorless way. Plus, I also got a few [Intellect] and [Willpower] points as a bonus, though that could also be from my normal growth, or Meridol reading so much to me.

  We reached a well manicured garden and were walking amongst the wafts of floral scents from the colorful spring blossoms when the nostalgic clang of clashing steel echoed in the air.

  My hand thrust out reflexively, waving up and down toward that sound. A tiny giggle escaped my lips.

  The din of battle and exertion called to me. The need for it was ingrained in me now. My small hand reached for a phantom blade.

  Meridol, perhaps sensing my excitement, pulled down my hand. Her gaze down at me was hard and disapproving. But she didn’t deny me either. We walked through the garden toward the source of the commotion.

  A large dirt field appeared before us, with the barracks standing behind it. Soldiers, not just men but some women as well, were lined up swinging their swords in sync. Others were sparring against each other, their blades colliding. Still another group was thrusting spears against straw dummies.

  The sight and sound of it all. The scent of sweat mixed with metal stirred something in my chest.

  How many times had I walked into scenes like this? There was a certain intoxicating feel to one’s entry into a new training field. The dust is different, the way the hollow rings echoed, the movement of the air. Even if it’s the same training field but in a different lifetime, my pulse still quickens.

  My hand jerked up and I giggled again.

  “Oh look, it’s The Duke and Captain Soren!” Beatrice pointed them out amongst the soldiers.

  It wasn’t hard to spot his head of blue hair. He had a billowing white shirt and was wielding a rapier against a similarly dressed and armed man with black hair. They circled each other. An En Garde, and then a fente (lunge), followed by a parry and a riposte. Their blades blurred, glinted and clashed, ringing the air. I was never great with the rapier, but I recognized the movements. My father knew how to fight, and judging by the intensity and caution in his eyes, he had killed before.

  He isn’t one of those nobles who’d parade around the battlefield and run off at the first sign of trouble.

  A low thud sounded, and my attention was drawn to the sight of Winthrop standing beside Ben off on one corner of the field. Winthrop had his open palm pointed at a bullseye drawn on a stack of hay. Waves of magic converged into a ball in his hand and then shot out as a streak of distorted air. It struck the bullseye dead center, sending sprays of hay flying into the air.

  I think I could do that!

  The din of clashing blades ceased. All movement stopped. All eyes converged on me.

  Meridol drew a sharp breath and I turned to find The Duke staring at me. His jaw clenched and there was shock and that rage again in his grey eyes. He was about to walk toward us, but then thought better of it and handed his weapon off to an attendant and walked away.

  “He isn’t ready yet.” Meridol whispered down to me, her fingers pressing against my chest.