Haranaya

Dying because of sleeplessness and hunger is such an embarrassing way of leaving the world. I cannot even imagine how ashamed my family is while holding off my memorial. However, I was lucky enough to get transmigrated to a world I have been hoping for. But out of all the cliches that are happening in my life, I ended up possessing the body of a villainess. So much for transmigration!

How do you do, Sire?

"Chicken… rice… pork… lettuce…" I murmured.

The scent of pure delight and happiness fills the air. What a lovely dream—my mouth is watering.

I must be really hungry if food is haunting me even in my sleep.

But something feels off. Usually, when you dream about food, you actually see it. Better yet, you're eating it. Don't you think it's a crime to dream about all the delicious food in the world without even tasting it? Might as well wake up, right?

I follow the scent, instinctively sniffing and shifting my head toward it. I can feel a slight movement, yet my body feels unbearably heavy, completely unresponsive. And that's when it hits me—this must be a dream within a dream.

Because if this were reality, I'd consider myself incredibly lucky to smell something so heavenly. After all, no one's cooking for me at home.

I fell asleep on an empty stomach, so to satisfy my craving—at least in some way—I tilt my head and continue inhaling the tempting aroma. Just sniffing. Nothing more. And yet, it only makes my drooling worse.

"What an interesting sight."

As much as my curiosity burns, I can't even muster the strength to react, let alone form the right questions in my mind.

"Your Grace, I believe it's best to eat your food while it's hot."

Another voice, more composed, formal—like that of a subordinate. He sounds like someone who speaks only when necessary.

I would have scoffed if I could move.

The situation is almost laughable. It reminds me of the stories I once tried to write—set in eras of monarchy, filled with royals and nobles, servants waiting at their lord's side. A fantasy setting.

It's a good thing my eyes won't open, or I might've laughed out loud.

I let out an internal sigh, growing increasingly irritated by my helpless state. Fully conscious, yet unable to do a thing.

I stay like this for a while, listening to their sparse conversation. The one referred to as Your Grace responds in short, clipped phrases, clearly a man of few words.

The silence in the room is so profound that I can hear everything—

The subtle, almost elegant way he chews.

The soft thump of the glass as he sets it back down.

I'm getting annoyed. I can hear every bite he takes, yet I can't eat a damn thing. How much suffering do I have to endure? Starving in real life is bad enough, but now even my own dream is torturing me? What a joke!

Remember when we were kids and our grandparents used to scare us with stories?

"If you sleep on an empty stomach, your soul will leave your body to search for food. It'll wander into the kitchen, rummaging for something to eat. And if you're unlucky, you might get trapped—inside a fridge, a pot, or even a casserole with the lid shut tight… never able to return to your body again. And that's how you die."

I used to believe that. But as I grew up, I dismissed it as nothing more than a silly superstition.

Now, though… I can't help but wonder if there's some truth to it.

That thought lingers until everything fades, and once again, I feel myself being dragged into the abyss of darkness.

At least this time, I convince myself that sleep will cure both my exhaustion and hunger.

A Starving Soul’s Misfortune