002
“It’s just… the situation’s a little awkward, that’s all.”
I looked down at her, debating how to deal with this. Her hands, clasped tightly in front of her skirt, trembled pitifully. Fear made her fingers quiver, those same fingers mottled with tiny cuts and scrapes.
“What’s your name?”
“…Pardon?”
“I asked you. Your name.”
She blinked up at me, startled by the unexpected question. She looked older than me, perhaps, but her face still bore the softness of baby fat. Her cheeks were darkened from the sun, her skin glinting with a sheen that told me all I needed to know—she was one of the lowest-ranking maids.
Even among servants, there was a hierarchy. It could be subdivided endlessly, but broadly, there were two types: those who toiled with laundry and dishes and all manner of drudgery, and those who attended the masters directly.
The latter group, those allowed to serve at a noble’s side, weren’t even called maids. They were called ladies-in-waiting, and they carried themselves as if that distinction made them better than the rest. They often looked down on the labor maids as though they were dirt underfoot.
As if, in the eyes of nobles, they aren’t all equally worthless.
The laborers spent much of their time outdoors—washing clothes, scrubbing floors, hauling water. It was no wonder their skin turned dark and rough.
In contrast, the maids who served their masters directly rarely set foot outside. Their tasks involved grooming their lords, running delicate errands, and being seen—but only when presentable. Their lives were easier, both in terms of time and comfort. They had the luxury to maintain their appearances.
“M-My name is Marie, my lady.”
“Marie. And what are you doing here?”
Her lips were dry and flaking. Her skin, dusky and chapped. Her hands bore the marks of endless work. There was no question—Marie was a labor maid. She wasn’t the type to fetch my washbasin or lace my corset.
In this world, class was everything. The royal family stood above all, followed by nobles, then commoners, and at the very bottom—slaves. The gap between ranks was immense. So much so that a noble could kill a passing commoner without cause and suffer no punishment. At best, they’d be fined—a mere slap on the wrist to prevent wanton bloodshed. But murder? Legally, it didn’t even exist between certain classes.
And for those who considered themselves truly noble, choosing who was allowed near them was a matter of great precision. A servant who dressed their hair or brought them clothes had to be more than presentable—they had to appear intelligent, refined. Almost human.
I was the only legitimate daughter of a powerful marquis. Only the wet nurse who’d fed from the same breast as my mother and the most carefully screened ladies-in-waiting were permitted to attend me. A menial maid like Marie had no business being in my room.
“M-My lady, it was… the nursemaid… I-I’m sorry. Please, forgive me!”
The blood drained from Marie’s face. In an instant, she turned deathly pale. One word from me could cost her life. She dropped to her knees, bowing at my feet, sobbing.
“P-Please, spare me, my lady!”
What would the old me have done?
I stared at her trembling body, curled in submission, and wondered. I didn’t doubt it—I would have screamed, “How dare you, filthy wretch!” and flown into a rage.
Even if I’d been feeling merciful, a beating at the very least. Worst case? Execution.
I was just shy of eleven years old. The age when arrogance blooms unchecked. No longer an innocent babe, not yet a tempered adult. I had no discipline, no kindness. Just pride and power, wielded carelessly.
What did I know? Raised by servants who cowered at my every whim, I’d been pampered into cruelty. If something displeased me, I shattered it. I harassed the staff for sport. Not just maids and footmen—even my ladies-in-waiting were beneath me. I never once saw them as human. Never realized they could feel pain, shed tears.
“What was that? Did the nursemaid send you?”
“I-I… wh-what?”
Marie, dripping with tears and snot, choked on her own sobs. I clicked my tongue.
She’s already in that state and I haven’t even touched her. If I’d acted like the real me, she’d have fainted on the spot.
Her pathetic appearance didn’t make me angry. More than anything, I was curious—why had she been sent here?
She should count herself lucky. One more day and she’d be dead.
“Did the nursemaid send you or not?”
“Y-Yes…! Hic!”
Now she had the hiccups. I sighed again. Her overblown reaction was telling—it showed just what kind of monster I’d been up to now.
I wasn’t planning to suddenly become a saint. But the way things had been couldn’t continue either. Not if I wanted to avoid the future that awaited me—one of suffering and screams.
“Why would she send you, though?”
“Hic… I-I don’t… hic…”
She pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the spasms. Her cheeks flushed red with effort. She looked so pitiful, I almost felt sorry for her.
Anyone who’s had a long bout of hiccups knows—they hurt. That pulling pain deep in your stomach is no joke. I waved my hand.
“Leave.”
“Hic… wh-what?”
“Don’t just sit there like that. Go outside. Breathe. Compose yourself.”
“Hic… b-but…”
“You really think you’re in any shape to serve me like that?”
Marie hunched lower, still on the floor, covering her mouth. Her head drooped, ears glowing crimson through her tangled hair. She must’ve thought I was rejecting her because she was a lowly labor maid.
I didn’t care whether she was a maid or a lady-in-waiting. Not now. But I still didn’t want her serving me. Not because of her status—because she clearly didn’t know what she was doing.
One look at her told me: she’d fumble everything. And the last thing I wanted was a fumbling hand near my hair, my clothes, my bathwater.
“Go drink some water. Calm your hiccups. At this rate, you’ll choke.”
She snapped her head up, eyes glistening like a soaked puppy’s. I threw her one more bone.
“If you bend forward and drink from the far side of the cup, they’ll stop.”
“…”
Judging by her blank stare, I doubted she understood. Oh well—that’s as far as my generosity goes.
“Go fetch another maid. Now!”
My voice sharpened, and Marie finally scrambled to her feet and bolted out of the room. She didn’t even bow. Just vanished without a word.
“Maybe she’s a little slow.”
In any case, she should thank the heavens she met today’s me—and not the one from yesterday.
Not long after, two maids entered the room.
Unlike the frantic, trembling Marie, these two moved with grace and quiet efficiency, their manner polished and their posture impeccable. I recognized one of them; she’d attended to me before. Though none of the maids assigned to me—aside from my nursemaid—were permanent, a few familiar faces did reappear from time to time. The nursemaid would hand-pick whichever attendants she thought suitable whenever the need arose.
I’d always thought of the people who served me as little more than furniture—useful, necessary, interchangeable. So it had never struck me as strange before. But now… wasn’t it typical to have at least one or two fixed attendants? Or maybe not?
I didn’t really know. I hadn’t paid much attention to what others did. And frankly, even now, I didn’t care enough to investigate.
The maids needed no instructions. They set about dressing me, brushing my hair, adjusting my bodice—all without prompting. If Marie had been left to do this, I would’ve had to direct every single step or simply dress myself. The thought alone was exhausting.
And it told me something. My nursemaid, who knew better than anyone just how temperamental I could be, would never have sent a common labor maid to my chambers in her right mind. Which meant something must’ve happened. Something urgent enough to override even her better judgment. Something so pressing, she hadn’t even noticed—or hadn’t cared—that Marie wasn’t fit for the task.
“Where’s the nursemaid?” I asked.
“She’s with the madam,” one of the maids replied without missing a beat, her voice smooth and composed. There was no hesitation, no confusion. Unlike Marie, this one knew how to answer quickly and carefully. And she made sure to watch my face as she spoke—no doubt anticipating that her answer might upset me.
In this house, the madam meant one person only: the Marchioness.
My nursemaid had been raised with the Marchioness, practically like a sister. Her own mother had nursed the madam, and the two girls had grown up side by side. Even while raising me, she had never neglected the Marchioness. She came to me when needed, yes—but still made time to visit the madam’s chambers.
And the old Beonne? She hated it.
The idea that her nursemaid—her person—might care for someone else was intolerable to her. Every time the nursemaid slipped away to the Marchioness’s side, Beonne would take it out on the maids, sometimes even on the steward.
But the nursemaid wasn’t a fool. She’d always been careful to avoid notice. A visit like today’s—so open, so obvious—was rare. Too rare. Which could only mean one thing: whatever had called her away, it was serious.
When I stood up, the maids stiffened. Trained as they were to maintain calm faces, they still couldn’t hide the flicker of fear in their eyes.
They were probably bracing themselves for the worst. And they weren’t wrong to be. Beonne’s temper was legendary. Her temper, and her hands—both quick to lash out. There was no telling when she might yank someone’s hair or slap them across the face.
I was still that Beonne. But I wasn’t. Not entirely.
If I had been angry, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would have let my displeasure fly and not cared who it landed on. But the truth was—I wasn’t angry. Not even a little.
The nursemaid had always been someone special to Beonne. Unlike the Marquess or Marchioness, who merely provided the title of parent, the nursemaid had actually raised me. However clumsily, she was the only one who’d ever shown anything resembling care.
So Beonne’s attachment made sense. And so did her bitterness. The nursemaid had always prioritized the Marchioness, not Beonne. She’d indulged me, yes—spoiled me to the point of ruin—but she had never truly belonged to me. And whenever she chose the Marchioness over me, I’d fly into a rage.
But today? I felt nothing.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care at all—it was just that her actions no longer touched my emotions. Whether she put the Marchioness first or not, it didn’t sting like it used to.
Maybe it was because I now knew what the future held. Maybe it was because I had Lee Jia’s memories. I didn’t know. All I could say for certain was that my emotions were… muted. Less reactive than I would’ve expected.
“My lady?” one of the maids asked, tentative.
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t interested in explaining myself. Instead, I brushed past them and stepped out into the corridor.
They scrambled after me, clearly thrown off by my silence.
“M-my lady! Where are you going?”
I didn’t bother replying. I waved a hand dismissively behind me—go about your business—but they continued to trail me like anxious ducklings. I didn’t mind enough to stop them, so I let them follow, setting my sights on where I already knew I needed to go.
“Aaah—!”
CRASH.
“Madam!”
The hallway echoed with shouts and the sound of something shattering violently against the floor. I hadn’t even seen it yet, but the pieces were already falling into place.
Of course. The only reason my nursemaid would risk angering me—risk leaving me unsupervised—was if something had happened. Something serious enough to demand her presence at the Marchioness’s side.
By the time I reached the madam’s chambers, the maids outside looked like they’d seen a ghost. Their faces drained of color when they spotted me.
I could guess what they were thinking. I understood their fear. But the way their expressions twisted so blatantly—it grated.
I’ve said it before: I don’t have a pleasant personality. This isn’t one of those feel-good stories where someone gets a glimpse of their grim future and decides to live virtuously to change it. I’ve never once thought like that, and I never will. It’s not in me.
Even if I tried, I doubt anything would change.
Best-case scenario, I make it through without developing a stomach ulcer.
Throwing myself into something hopeless just for the sake of goodness? That’s for fools. And now that I’ve done it once already, death doesn’t scare me the way it used to.
All I want—if it’s even possible—is to live a plain, uneventful life. Like Lee Jia did. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
“Open the door.”
I didn’t raise my voice, but the order was clear.
The maids only glanced at one another nervously, fidgeting, avoiding my eyes. Not one of them moved to obey.
