In Joan’s younger days, the children and we older kids would gather by the warm, flickering fire crackling at the heart of our village to listen to the traveling minstrels. Usually they’d be in motley, patchwork clothes. Their dirt-encrusted fingers would strum instrument strings, and their hoarse, well-worn throats would cry out the old familiar tales.

  One such tale was that of Peau d'?ne, or funnily enough, Donkey Skin. I always laughed with the others when everyone clamored for that ‘Donkey’ tale.

  It was the tale of a king who had lost his beautiful wife, and she made him promise on her deathbed, not to marry anyone else until he found someone more beautiful than her.

  In his maddened grief, his gaze fell upon his own daughter. And he realized that she could be the only one more beautiful than his wife.

  He tried to possess her and marry her. But the princess, with the help of her fairy godmother, demanded several gifts, one of which was the skin of his prized donkey.

  So obsessed was he that he killed the donkey and gave her its skin. Using this skin, the princess disguised herself, and fled, eventually finding her prince charming.

  I had thought it was a silly tale, one that was so familiar to the modern fairy tales I had known back then. But that was before I ran into the king as Joan in the graveyard, his translucent, ghostly face crying out for his lost daughter to wed him, and offering her the skin of all he held dear.

  As Steve, I had never made the connection, but the name of the side quest in the game was: “Rest the Donkey Master.”

  —

  It was still gray outside when I awoke out of ingrained habit. No chores needed to be done, nothing to clean up, no hens needed to be let out, and yet, my eyes were dragged open by the pale light.

  I slipped away from under Mama’s arm, taking care not to disturb her. I sat and watched her for a while, making sure the image sank in deep. Her luscious, dark-chocolate hair now had streaks of gray, and new lines creased her face.

  My lips gently tapped her cheek.

  Scouting ahead with my [Shadow Fingers], I made sure the hallway was clear before I snuck out for my morning run. Calisthenics was something I did often as Joan. I had thought it was a carry-over from Steve’s gym classes, but thinking back on it now, the real reason might be that I always pumped points into [Strength]. It was a little too convenient that I somehow instinctively knew what exercises to do.

  Way to sour another memory.

  The running, at least, was something I picked up naturally.

  Everyone runs, right?

  My back was still tender, so I skipped the sit-ups, and any routines that required me arching it. A few push-ups and a plank later, I took to running to the woods out back. When I got to where the woods were the thickest and I was sure I was alone, I tried out my new spell. It was too tempting not to.

  The description said any living thing, and so I cast [Drain Touch] and grabbed a tall plant. Its leaves and its stem instantly wilted; the green turned to black before me. But I gained no HP. I chased down a bounding rabbit and grabbed it as well. The furry thing convulsed and then went limp in my hand. Its body shriveled, like it had been dried to the bone. The fur was still intact.

  Not a pretty sight, but I had skinned many rabbits back on the farm. This wasn’t that much worse, though leaving a body around like this might raise questions.

  By the time I buried the body, a sliver of the morning sun was already peeking over the horizon. I ran back, darting through the bushes, and hugging the shadows to avoid being seen. Then I slowly cracked open the door, and tiptoed into the room, hoping not to wake Mama.

  “You enjoyed your morning jaunt, dear?”

  I winced.

  Mama was sitting at her chair by the side table. She had a cup of tea in hand, and snapped shut her book. “You have visitors. They so kindly woke me up, asking why I was alone in your bed.”

  Visitors? Why would anyone want to visit me, in my room no less?

  Thrown off-balance, I did a half-stumbling turn to find The Valiant Fist standing near a corner. Winthrop stood beside them, looking rather fidgety for once.

  “Uhm…” He cleared his throat before stepping forward. “I’m sorry, Josephine, but my former group wishes to see you. I know Leopold would never allow it, so I’d appreciate it if we keep this between us.”

  I glanced back at Mama and after a pause, she nodded.

  Gorian stepped forward, looking strangely nervous as well. It didn’t fit his stature at all. “My Liege, have you heard about the situation at Bloomsil dungeon?”

  “Liege?” Mama leaned forward, frowning.

  “It’s nothing.” I waved her back and then waved Gorian back as well. “That was just a spur of the moment thing. Now, what’s wrong with the dungeon?”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “It’s gotten progressively more dangerous. More and more adventurers have been injured. Some have even been killed on the upper levels,” Gorian said, taking a deep breath. “We think something might have corrupted the dungeon boss. But even our team, the highest-ranked in the region, can’t get to the final level.”

  The sweat sheening my skin grew cold. I knew what they wanted.

  “What does that have to do with my charge?” Meridol said frostily from above me.

  “We think she could help us get down there. Her power. We can use it.”

  “Over my dead body.” Mama’s calm voice held a sharp edge .

  “Listen, lady," Justin interjected, “she can stay in the back, say her thing, and then we can do ours. It’ll be safe, promise!”

  Mama pointed at him. “I know what dungeons are like. It’s never safe.” She shifted her ire toward Winthrop. “You! How could you do this?”

  “The situation is getting dire, Meridol. We are afraid of the danger spilling into the surface. But…” He nodded over at Serina.

  The elf stepped up to me and knelt down, holding a crystal orb. “This was a recording from one of the adventurers who made it near the bottom. Can you tell me what this thing said?”

  At first, the orb was clear and empty, but then a figure appeared: a warrior clad in heavy plate armor, advancing cautiously into an immense cavern. Out of nowhere, a giant claw tore through the frame, obscuring the entire orb. The image shook, and the sound of crushed metal was followed by a sharp scream that echoed against the high stone ceiling. The claw pulled away, revealing a ghostly, crowned figure drifting forward.

  No, it can’t be. It’s him!

  My body swayed. And the Donkey Master King wailed. “épouse-moi, ma fille… La peau... ne suffisait-elle pas?”

  Marry me, my daughter… the skin… was it not enough?

  I shook my head.

  What is he doing here?!

  Mama moved, stepping in front of me, as if that could shield me from the ghost in the orb.

  Peeking around her, I saw Serina pointing. “She knows. Do you know when trouble was first reported at that dungeon?” She paused to let the question sink in. “It was three years ago.”

  “Like I said, over my dead body.” Mama’s voice was unfaltering.

  I tugged at her arm.

  “No, Jo. I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous.”

  She knows me too well.

  “I have to Mama. It could…” I tried to say “break the curse”, but the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t even say “free” or “Demon” or “Evil” right at this moment. I realized that it was the child who had admitted I was evil.

  Frustrated, I could only finish with a stuttering, “make… me… a… good… daughter.”

  Mama’s eyes widened, her eyelashes wavered. Shock and uncertainty warred within her eyes. She knows… She knows me well.

  During my first lifetime. I had gone to the “Rest the Donkey Master” side quest with hope in my heart. Because the reward of putting the king to rest was the Tiara of Solace.

  It gave…

  Solace from malady.

  Solace from despair.

  Solace from fear.

  Solace from compulsion.

  I’d naively thought it’d give me solace from the voice, when all that was, was fate.

  This time, I held on to the hope that these bindings weren't just an extension of my penance.

  —

  For a few lifetimes, I had tried to get ahead of me joining the war by telling my parents before I set out.

  Maman was full of tears, hugging me and fussing, reminding me to take care of myself, to eat right, not to be too stubborn and pick fights.

  But it was Papa who made me stop. Each lifetime, he’d grab onto me with those old, farmer’s hands, gripping with the strength that tilled the fields.

  “No, they’ll hurt you out there. I just know it!” he would scream. “They’ll take you away from me!”

  “Je ne te reverrai jamais.” His words kept on echoing on repeat, broken and accusing.

  I’ll never see you again.

  “Here, you’ll need these.” Mama handed me the two vials, one filled with clear red liquid and the other blue—the health and mana potions I had gotten as my beginner items. “I kept them safe for you. I thought… you’d need them much later.”

  I held the vials near my bracelet, and they vanished into my inventory. An array of items was laid out on my bed: knife, waterskin, cloth bandages… Her face was glum and downcast.

  “Don’t worry, Mama, I will be careful. And I have this…” I tapped at my bracelet.

  “That’s not what I’m worried about, Jo. Being down there, it changes you.”

  I thought back to the cycles: each run I would be lulled by the idyllic rhythm of peacetime and then be rocked by the first pitch of battle.

  The bone-jarring crunch of the fronts colliding would remind me of how soft I’d gotten.

  “I have to help them. It’s my fault the dungeon is corrupted. People could be dying. I can defeat that thing… maybe.”

  Meridol sat down and pulled me in front of her. “Do you remember when I found you on the ground in the storage room? Your foot was twisted and you were in pain, but you were trying so hard to grin and bear it. You had that blank face you sometimes get, like a little child soldier.”

  I bobbed my head, staring at the ground.

  Her finger pushed against my chest. “But that’s not you. Do you know why the maids adore you so? It’s not the poise that’s beyond your years, your knowing eyes, or your too intelligent words.”

  Hands cupped my face, bringing me closer to her. “It’s because your face is like an open book. When you let yourself go, your true self shines through. You have the warmest smile when it’s real. That mischievous laughter echoing down the hallway, or when you chase after Beatrice and her kite… That is you.”

  I wanted to refute her. That wasn’t me at all. I was too serious for that. I’d been through too many lifetimes. That was the child. But it wasn’t her dragging Ben into the dance. It wasn’t her laughing and running wildly about at the festivals with her brothers. It wasn’t her splashing about in the stream trying to catch fish with their bare hands.

  Even as Steve, I had been a bit wild, roughhousing in the playground as a kid, and laughing and messing around online with my gaming friends.

  A part of me enjoys being young and carefree again.

  “I’m selfish,” I blurted out.

  “You are my little girl. A happy, joyful three-year-old, if we let you. Let me cherish you for a while longer.”

  I stared back at her. She was always there for me, always shielding me. She deserved this.

  Perhaps I deserve this as well.

  “But…”

  “I will talk to Winthrop. They can hold off a while longer. This is definitely no fault of yours.”