CHAPTER 2: TURNING FATES

For a child who had murdered her mother, the beloved Duchess and wife of the renowned Duke, life was a living hell. Hated, condemned, a pariah in her own family. Though she was not deprived of the basic necessities, the absence of love was a constant, agonizing torment.

Astheir, the Duke's daughter, grew up far too quickly. How could she not? Every step she took was met with incomprehensible stares, with whispers that slithered into her ears like venomous snakes. She endured experiences no child should ever have to face.

"I am the Duke's daughter," she'd told herself, clinging to that identity as a life raft in a sea of rejection. "I should be respected, loved."

In the novels she devoured, daughters were cherished, adored not only by their peers but by their parents as well. So why was she ignored by her own father? Why did her brothers seem to harbor such a profound dislike for her?

"Why am I here?"

The question had clawed its way to the surface on her tenth birthday, a chilling realization that echoed in the cavernous silence of her heart. What was the purpose of her existence? Why had her mother brought her into this world, only to be cruelly ripped away? What was her purpose in this desolate existence?

"Miserable and lonely in this shabby library, with only her books to ease the loneliness?"

The thought, once a bitter self-deprecating joke, became a battle cry. She would escape this suffocating prison. They didn't deserve her, and she, in turn, didn't deserve them.

She searched, tirelessly, relentlessly. She devoured every book, every scroll, every dusty tome she could find, seeking a way out of this living hell. And then, she found it: magic.

"May I ask, how is magic obtained?" she'd inquired innocently of the aged librarian, returning a borrowed book. The woman regarded her with weary eyes before sighing, a sound heavy with the weight of centuries.

"Magic, my lady, is an inherited talent, passed down through generations. It's born from imagination, from the very essence of creativity. If you possess talent and a vivid imagination, you will undoubtedly become one of the most powerful beings in the empire."

Astheir's eyes gleamed with a newfound purpose. "Can I do anything with magic?"

The librarian offered a condescending laugh. "Of course, my lady. Magic can achieve wonders, even restoring life that has been claimed by God himself. But such power comes at a terrible price. Why do you ask?"

A chilling smirk played on Astheir's lips. Bringing back the dead was far too audacious, too… messy. She had a far simpler, more personal goal in mind. She would simply traverse to another world.

"It's fascinating," she replied, a hint of malice lacing her voice, plans already swirling in her mind.

"Indeed…" the librarian murmured, her gaze lingering on Astheir for a moment longer than necessary.

The journey was arduous, a grueling test of will and determination for someone as inherently talentless as she was. But she persevered, fueled by the burning desire to escape. Finally, she succeeded, ripping open a shimmering portal—a beacon of light that promised a new beginning. It saved her, offering the life she craved, bringing Mamita and her friends into her life.

So why the hell was she here?

She struggled to rise from the cold, unforgiving snow, her gaze fixed on the imposing mansion before her. It was neither modern nor ancient, but something… unsettlingly familiar. The mansion she'd hated with every fiber of her being when she was eight.

She shook her head, rubbed her eyes, even pinched herself hard, desperate to wake from this nightmarish dream. Why was she back in this forsaken world, staring at the house she had left behind years ago?

A string of curses slipped from her lips as she stumbled to her feet, shivering uncontrollably. If she'd stayed out in the cold much longer, she would have frozen to death.

It didn't matter. If she had to enter that mansion again to survive, so be it. She would make sure she wouldn't die this time. She would escape again. She would create—

"M-Miss…!"

A familiar voice startled her. Lily, her former personal maid, appeared at the gate, carrying a large black bag—a trash bag, Astheir suspected.

"Wow. What perfect timing," Astheir muttered, a wry smile playing on her lips.

She closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on a soft mattress, cocooned in thick blankets, the faces of her family and several unfamiliar individuals staring down at her.

Her father, his face impassive as ever, her brothers with their irritating expressions.

"Can someone at least get me some water?" she sighed, sitting up. A collective gasp echoed around the room as she groaned in pain. She drank the water offered by an unfamiliar maid.

"What happened to me?" she asked again.

"You were found unconscious by a maid… Astheir…" her father, the Duke, spoke, his voice devoid of warmth, yet his eyes held something Astheir couldn't quite decipher. A flicker of longing, perhaps? Impossible.

She nodded. "I see."

"Astheir… is that really you?" Eizen, her eldest brother, strode toward her. "Where have you been?"

"Why would I tell you?" she retorted. "I came from a place far beyond your reach."

"Were you kidnapped?" her second eldest brother asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

"No. Ridiculous."

"Did you leave on your own?" Eizen pressed, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes," she said flatly.

"Why?" The question hung in the air, a challenge.

She turned to her father, a slow, deliberate smirk spreading across her face. A chuckle escaped her lips, morphing into a full-blown laugh.

"Isn't it obvious? I hated it here."