#3.
“That crow shows up a lot.”
Ever since the day I possessed this body, I had occasionally heard the ominous cawing of crows. I was about to pass it by without a second thought, but suddenly, a vivid image flashed through my mind.
It was a scene—broad daylight—where a crow flew to the entrance, then abruptly transformed into a person.
Startled, I looked up again, but the crow was still perched on the tree, unmoving.
And this was night.
What the…? Where did that come from? Just my imagination? Am I that tired?
I shook my head and stepped into the building.
Then again, this was a world with magic. Whether a crow turned into a person or a person into a crow, it wouldn’t exactly be outlandish.
—
I was being dragged down—deep, deeper into water.
No matter how much I flailed, kicked, or fought, my body kept sinking lower and lower.
“You vile witch…!”
A voice called out from beyond the surface.
A witch? Who are you calling a witch?
I tried to speak, but no sound escaped me.
In the midst of the struggle, I glimpsed the screen of a waterlogged smartphone. A page from the web novel was displayed.
One particular sentence stood out to me like blood in water:
[Amelia Wentworth drew her last breath beneath the water, branded as a witch. It was the moment Vincent’s revenge reached its end.]
It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it—!
Desperate to live, I reached out blindly with both hands. The moment I grasped something hard and smooth, I yanked it with all my might—my body surged upward, breaking through the surface.
“Puhah! Haaak, gah, cough, cough!”
I spewed water violently, gasping for air.
And in that instant, I saw a curtain of long, trailing strands—purple, shimmering silk.
I pushed them aside, and finally, my vision cleared.
What I had clung to was the edge of a pristine white bathtub.
“Ha… I must’ve fallen asleep.”
The once-warm bathwater had grown lukewarm.
This was the bathroom in the Wentworth ducal estate.
Yesterday, before meeting the Crown Prince, I had been dragged here without warning by the maids and scrubbed raw until I was nearly polished.
Even after returning from the palace, my mind was racing too much for sleep. I must have come in here to soak in hot water and ended up dozing off.
“Of all things… why that dream.”
Still, thanks to it, Amelia’s death scene was now crystal clear in my mind.
She had been ensnared by the Crown Prince’s scheme, framed as a witch, and ultimately drowned.
“Ugh. Gave me goosebumps…”
I hugged my chilled shoulders and rose from the bath, glancing toward the mirror.
Long, tumbling lavender hair. Crimson eyes. Pale skin like porcelain, and delicate, symmetrical features. A slender, shapely figure.
The reflection in the mirror was a beauty beyond anything even TV dramas dared to cast.
“So pretty, and yet…”
I slipped into a robe, wrapped a towel around my wet hair, and stepped out of the bathroom—directly into the bedroom.
Amelia’s room was shockingly plain for the daughter of a duke.
Almost no decoration, sparsely furnished—barely the minimum to live in.
Still, one fortunate thing: over the past few days of living as Amelia, her memories had begun to return to me—bit by bit.
BANG—
“The Duke requests your presence in the study.”
Thanks to that, I had no trouble understanding this unfamiliar language.
“…What did you say?”
The maid’s face immediately crumpled into a frown.
But when I continued to stare at her in silence, she flinched and replied with forced formality:
“His Grace has summoned Lady Amelia to the study.”
Yet, even as she spoke politely, her tone was far from respectful.
She stepped in a little closer.
“Shall I dry your hair for you, my lady?”
“Kate?”
I said her name as it rose to the surface of Amelia’s memories.
Kate startled and looked up at me.
“…Yes?”
“It’s fine. Leave me.”
“But…”
“Are you planning to rip out all my hair again like yesterday? I’m fine. Just go.”
Kate pouted her lips but said nothing. With a sharp turn, she stormed out of the room.
The truth was, Kate had always subtly bullied Amelia.
Each time, Amelia would lash out in fury—screaming, grabbing Kate like she meant to wring her neck, even hitting her.
But Kate endured it all with stubborn persistence, continuing her provocations.
All the while, she cleverly manipulated the perceptions of others—tarnishing Amelia’s reputation and earning herself sympathy.
What a draining character…
Of course, there were reasons why a maid like Kate felt emboldened enough to disregard a duke’s daughter.
The first: Amelia was an illegitimate child.
The second: Kate was rumored to have a “certain” relationship with Aiden Wentworth, the duke’s eldest son.
Granted, those reasons alone didn’t fully explain the depth of her hostility… but I hadn’t yet discovered more than that.
“Humph.”
With a snort, Kate slammed the door behind her as she left.
I rubbed at my damp hair with a towel, then picked up a wide brush from the vanity and began to comb.
Oh, that’s fascinating.
It was a magic brush—the kind that dries your hair as it detangles. I’d seen the maids using it yesterday after they’d scrubbed me raw.
My soft, glossy hair smoothed out effortlessly as the lingering moisture quickly vanished.
A world of magic, huh…
Aside from these little conveniences, I still hadn’t truly felt it yet.
Anyway, that’s not the issue right now. I need to come up with an excuse to avoid moving into the Crown Prince’s palace. What happens next in the story again?
After drying my hair, I chose a decent outfit and stepped outside.
As I walked slowly down the corridors—both unfamiliar and somehow familiar—I organized my thoughts.
Should I just run away?
I immediately shook my head.
If I tried to flee, at least two people would hunt me down. And I wasn’t nearly adapted enough to this world to survive something like that.
“Come to think of it… is the other me dead now?”
After several days of all-nighters, I had come home and collapsed straight into bed.
Even though I was bone-tired, I stubbornly opened one last time to read a bit before sleeping.
Then everything went dark.
And when I woke up, I was in this body.
Right after the Crown Prince’s regression, no less.
After meeting him in person, there’s no room for doubt.
There were clear reasons why I was convinced this was post-regression.
Before regressing, the Crown Prince kept his distance from Amelia. When they did interact, he was polite, but cool.
Then he died—poisoned by her hand.
But after regression? He acted in the exact opposite way.
He summoned Amelia to the palace. Kept her close. Showered her with affection and seduction—yet would also humiliate her by ignoring or dismissing her in public.
He toyed with her feelings, leading her in circles, until she broke and committed a crime with her own hands.
Then he used that crime as justification to destroy her.
And the ending? Death.
In the novel, watching the Crown Prince succeed in his revenge had felt cathartic.
But now that it was happening to me, it was nothing short of terrifying.
He really is scary…
Of course, from his perspective, he’d been betrayed and murdered—he had every right to seek vengeance.
I understood. I really did.
But I’m still innocent. I didn’t do anything.
These tangled thoughts spun in my mind until I found myself standing before the study.
Before knocking, I pulled at Amelia’s memories—trying to recall what kind of relationship she had with the Duke.
A sigh slipped out.
“…Pathetic.”
With that short evaluation, I knocked and opened the door.
“Father, you called for me?”
I asked carefully as I stepped inside.
Duke Phillips Wentworth.
He had the same lavender hair and red eyes as Amelia.
In terms of appearance, Amelia resembled him even more than the two legitimate sons born of the duchess.
The original Amelia was notoriously headstrong in public.
That’s why she had a reputation as a villainess.
But in front of her father, Duke Wentworth, she never dared utter a word.
The duke had his eyes glued to some documents and didn’t even glance in my direction.
Didn’t he call for me first?
Equal parts annoyed and bored, I stared at him until I finally broke the silence.
“If you have nothing to say, then I’ll be on my way—”
That’s when his voice finally came.
“I heard you went to the Crown Prince’s palace yesterday. Did he say anything to you directly?”
So the message from the palace hadn’t reached him yet—about the Crown Prince planning to move me into the palace.
If that’s the case… maybe there was still a window of opportunity.
“No, it was the same as always.
Actually, if anything… he seemed more indifferent than before.”
In other words: the Crown Prince looked at Amelia like a cow looks at a chicken.
If he were any colder, it’d be like a cow staring at a rock.
Since I wanted the engagement broken off, I deliberately lied.
