Chapter -08
Juliet Glenwalshire was born on a gentle spring afternoon in the year 1430 of the Spius Calendar, the long-awaited first child of Viscount and Viscountess Forringen.
To the Viscount couple, who had been childless for many years, their daughter was a treasure beyond compare—precious enough that even a speck of dust in her path would have been cleared away for her sake.
If she so much as caught a slight fever, a doctor would be called immediately. If she tripped in the garden, every stone in the area would be removed to prevent it from happening again. “A butterfly among flowers”—that was no exaggeration.
Their overprotectiveness, however excessive, had its roots in fear. When Juliet was only three or four years old, she had suffered a high fever that lasted for days—so high that she had nearly stepped into the realm of death itself.
Yet Juliet was no fragile rose confined to a greenhouse.
By the time she turned ten, her parents’ protectiveness had eased considerably. While continuing her education as a young lady, she also spent her days playing tag with the farmers’ sons on the estate, leading a lively, active childhood.
Her father was a wealthy landowner who managed vast vineyards, fertile pastures, and a prosperous winery. Her mother was the daughter of a former commander of the Royal Knights—brave, strong, and unyielding.
Surrounded by kind parents and warm-hearted servants, Juliet grew up not as a spoiled noble’s daughter, but as a bright, honest, and cheerful young girl.
—At least, that was how things should have gone.
Until that happened—something that came upon Juliet without warning.
A little after her sixteenth birthday, Juliet accompanied her father, Viscount Forringen, on a journey to visit her grandmother, who lived in another province.
Now fifty-six, her grandmother had, since the death of her husband the previous year, developed an aversion to the noise of society. She had purchased a small house in a quiet country town, chosen to live incognito with only a few servants, and seemed to enjoy a peaceful, almost hermit-like life.
Despite her noble birth, the old woman was astonishingly frugal. She had refused to hire a gardener, preferring to tend her own garden—until, one day, she fell from a ladder and sprained her ankle.
Fortunately, when Juliet and her father arrived, they found her grandmother scolding him for overreacting, clearly full of energy.
Seeing her beloved grandmother healthy enough to lecture her father made Juliet feel truly at ease.
The problem arose on their way home.
As their carriage passed a certain spot, Juliet suddenly caught a refreshing scent on the wind—something that drew her attention so strongly that she impulsively opened the window.
When she leaned out to look, her breath caught in her throat.
Before her stood a tall, grey structure of stone—its central keep flanked by several towers and buildings, all enclosed by high walls.
It was a castle.
And though she had never been in this region before, she was certain she had seen it somewhere before.
When? Where? How?
Her heart began to pound painfully. Cold sweat slid down her forehead.
To her father, she must have looked like a girl deeply interested in the scenery, for he spoke with an indulgent smile.
“Oh, that’s the castle of Lord Ashen—the ruling lord of this region. His name, if I recall correctly, is—”
Oscar de Arling.
The moment her father spoke that name, an avalanche of memories flooded Juliet’s mind.
The royal family of Efilante.
Her beautiful brothers and sisters.
A small, sunlit palace.
A girl looking down in silence.
The feel of smooth book covers.
The dust of the jousting field.
The clash of lances. The gleam of silver under sunlight.
A gallant knight of ice.
Wedding vows.
A sword belt hidden in a closet.
Mina.
Ethan.
Charlotte.
Emilia.
Oscar.
A fractured heart. Shouts of rage. A dagger.
A flash of scarlet blood filling her vision.
“Ah… ahh…”
Clutching her head, Juliet shook it desperately.
Pain. Grief. Terror.
The images playing behind her eyes were far too vivid to be illusions.
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as her father’s worried voice faded into the distance.
And then—she heard a whisper, faint and fragile, echoing from somewhere deep within her.
A young woman’s voice.
The discarded princess, Liddell.
Why are you still alive?
The voice of a pitiful bride—one unloved by her husband, who had died with sorrow in her heart.
That was the last thing Juliet heard before her consciousness faded completely.
When she next opened her eyes, the anxious faces of her parents were before her.
“Father… Mother…?”
Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating their faces as both gasped in relief.
“She’s awake! Juliet’s awake!”
“Oh, thank goodness! Juliet, are you all right?”
“What… happened to me?”
Juliet blinked and slowly sat up, pressing a hand to her faintly aching head. The soft creak of the mattress and the smooth texture of the sheets told her she was lying in her own bed.
The room before her was unmistakably her own—familiar and comforting. Yet, somehow, it all felt strangely foreign.
Unaware of her confusion, her parents smiled warmly, overcome with relief.
“You suddenly collapsed in the carriage,” her father explained. “You’ve been asleep for two whole days.”
“Two… days!?”
Juliet’s eyes widened.
As far as she could remember, she had never once slept longer than half a day, no matter how sick she’d been.
Her mother stroked her shoulder soothingly and spoke in a gentle voice.
“Yes, dear. When your father carried you home, I nearly fainted from fright. The doctor said it was probably exhaustion or anemia. Nothing serious—but you did have a bit of a fever, so he recommended rest. We should never have made you travel so far while you were tired.”
Her father’s expression was downcast, as though blaming himself.
“Please don’t look so sad,” Juliet said, forcing a reassuring smile. “I was the one who begged to go see Grandmother. If I collapsed because of that, then it’s my own fault for not taking better care of myself.”
“But Juliet…”
“Oh, Father, don’t be so dramatic. The doctor said there’s nothing wrong, didn’t he? I’m fine.”
She spoke brightly, trying to ease her parents’ worries.
Still unconvinced, they continued to look anxious—so Juliet stretched her arms theatrically and rubbed her stomach.
“Ah, I must’ve gotten stiff from all that sleeping—and I’m starving. I want something delicious to eat.”
Her words finally brought smiles to their faces. Exchanging glances, they hurried from the room, promising to have food brought immediately.
Left alone at last, Juliet quietly slipped out of bed and walked to the mirror.
Her reflection looked back at her:
Straight, chestnut-brown hair.
Round, chocolate-colored eyes.
A complexion slightly sun-kissed from outdoor play.
Not the refined beauty of a noble lady, but a charming, cheerful face full of life.
Juliet lifted her hand, tracing her reflection—her hair, her eyes, her lips. The girl in the mirror mimicked her every move, as she should.
After all, that was her own reflection.
And yet the gaze that met her from within the glass was not her own—it was the look one gives a stranger.
Because Juliet knew exactly why she felt that way.
Those overwhelming memories that had poured into her mind before she collapsed—
Those vivid, lifelike scenes she had seen, heard, and felt—
They were all real.
They were the memories of the person she had been before she became Juliet.
Yes—Juliet remembered everything.
That she had once lived another life.
That her former life had not been a happy one.
That she had taken her own life for the sake of someone dear to her.
And that, by a whim of the goddess, her soul had been granted a new vessel.
