MBGS 01

Meowww..

Evangeline Rohanson, the only daughter of Count Rohanson, died.

Officially, it was said that she died of illness. But the servants who worked in the Rohanson estate could never forget the sight of her pale feet swaying in the wind, hanging from a fully bloomed cherry tree branch.

The cherry blossoms that day had been so red and beautiful that their rich scent still seemed to linger in the air.

Or perhaps it was because the coffin had been filled with cherry blossoms instead of white lilies.

Because the cause of death was not something to spread outside, the funeral was held inside the mansion.

After the ceremony in the annex, instead of placing her body in the temple, they planned to set up a gravestone in a corner of the back garden. The temple did not accept those who had taken their own lives, so there was no other choice. Those who did not know the truth simply praised the Count’s love for his daughter and offered their condolences.

The funeral was small.

A noble’s funeral was usually grand and magnificent, but Evangeline’s ceremony looked strangely poor for a young lady of a noble family.

Using the excuse that her illness might spread, they had refused visits from other nobles. So the only people present were the servants of the estate and a few knights.

Perhaps it was because there were so few guests. Or perhaps because no one cried for the deceased. A chilling feeling filled the hall.

Only the priest’s prayer broke the heavy silence.

The priest was not well known. His white uniform and the way he recited the prayer made him look devout. But a truly honorable man would not have come here in exchange for gold coins.

When the priest finished his prayer, the ceremony would almost be over. All that remained was to close the coffin and place the body in the grave that had already been dug.

A few servants had been told in advance to prepare to move the coffin.

Then—

In the silent hall, a rustling sound suddenly echoed loudly.

The priest, who cared deeply about his authority, cleared his throat and tried to continue the prayer. But the noise grew louder.

The sound of grass brushing together. The sound of something ungreased moving and knocking against bone. The creaking of wood.

Small noises gathered together, and just as people began whispering in confusion, the priest finally stopped praying and opened his eyes.

He saw the reason for the disturbance.

White hair, completely pale, fell like a waterfall. It looked soft, yet somehow like strands of spider silk gathered and pulled long.

Her eyelashes trembled. When her eyelids opened, bright red eyes appeared. They were not like ruby gems, but more like the color of a living heart.

Except for those blood-red eyes, she was entirely white. Among all the black mourning clothes, she alone wore a white dress, like something separated from the world. Quiet. Cold. Pale.

The priest finally understood why the first small noise had sounded so loud to him. He had been standing closest to the coffin.

He silently called out to God and resumed his prayer.

Unfortunately, it had no effect.

The revived corpse began to move. It bent its fingers, clenched its fists, blinked, and turned its head. It was as if something that was not human was testing an unfamiliar body.

It looked up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, then slowly scanned the people inside the hall. Those who met its gaze flinched, covered their mouths, and held their breath.

When its eyes finally met the priest’s, he fully understood their reaction.

It was like seeing a famous painting with real human eyes placed inside it. And worse—the eyes were moving and looking at him.

He was caught in the gaze of something that should not exist and should not have risen. It would have been better to bite his tongue or strangle himself just to escape.

It would have felt more natural if a painting had stepped out of its frame, or if a carefully carved statue had begun pretending to be human. Compared to that thing, even a puppet controlled by strings seemed more alive.

“…What is my name?”

At last, it spoke in a human voice.

The being that had taken over Evangeline Rohanson’s body smiled, as if satisfied after adjusting to her new body.

I think I’ve possessed someone.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a very luxurious chandelier. It looked expensive. While guessing its price, I tried to remember how I died.

I had always been healthy, so it wasn’t illness. I didn’t even have a job yet, so it wasn’t overwork. I hadn’t saved a child or an animal and gotten hit by a car. I hadn’t met a god or a suspicious fortune teller.

No matter how I thought about it, it seemed like I just went to sleep and woke up like this.

These days, possession stories are common, but is it okay to choose someone this carelessly? Well. It’s already happened.

There’s no point thinking about my past life now. What matters is this body.

Maybe because the possession was so lazy, I didn’t get any of the original owner’s memories. Judging from my hands, I didn’t seem that young. Would it have been so hard to put me in a younger body?

Since I know nothing about this person, I guess I’ll have to pretend I have amnesia.

My hair is white and my hands are soft, so I’m probably a noble. But I can’t think of any familiar character. Usually you get transported into a novel you were reading, right?

I don’t have a favorite story. Lately I’d been reading a martial arts novel about a demon lord going back in time. That’s the freshest in my memory. But judging from the chandelier, this definitely isn’t a martial arts world. If it were, I’d probably be dead for real.

This won’t work.

I need information. I should ask the middle-aged man sitting next to me something. From his clothes and the thick scripture in his hands, he looks like a priest. If I’ve possessed a sickly character, it wouldn’t be strange for a priest to be nearby. It would also make the amnesia excuse easier.

Wait. Where am I?

I looked around.

I almost screamed.

Why are there so many people? I had felt someone’s presence, but everyone in the room was staring at me. They were all dressed in black, holding their breath. I only noticed now. I must not be thinking clearly.

I was distracted by the unfamiliar ceiling, but this isn’t a bedroom.

The floor is soft—I thought it was a bed. But it’s covered in flowers. Cherry blossoms? Plum blossoms? That explains the sweet scent.

…Wait. This shape feels familiar.

Is this a coffin?

Was I lying in a coffin?

Is this a funeral?

Is that why everyone is wearing black?

My head spun.

Possessing a dead body isn’t rare in stories. Usually, the original body is meant to die anyway. But possessing someone during their funeral? Seriously?

No wonder everyone is looking at me like I’m a ghost!

Couldn’t they at least make it right after death? The laziness is almost consistent.

The priest next to me looks like he’s about to faint.

From his perspective, a corpse just came back to life.

I should say something. What do I even say? “Surprise! Thought I was dead?” No idea. I’ll just say something random. Oh right—there’s one important thing to ask first.

“What is my name?”

Since I’m clearly a noble, I dropped formal speech.

The name of the body I possessed is Evangeline Rohanson.

Yeah. No idea who that is.

It’s been two days since I possessed her. The first day I was questioned by the priest and a doctor. The second day I focused on learning about Evangeline and this world.

My conclusion: this is probably a villainess possession story.

The servants bow whenever they see me. They tremble when I speak. One even fainted during a walk. A young maid begged me to spare her before being dragged away. Just how evil was the original owner? She could have tried being nicer.

Also, Evangeline has red eyes.

In romance fantasy worlds, red eyes usually belong to characters with dark tendencies. They’re seen as unlucky, abused and avoided—until the male lead casually says, “I think they’re pretty,” and they fall in love instantly.

Evangeline is the only daughter of Count Rohanson. Her mother died early. It’s just her and her father. Their relationship must be bad. It’s been two days since I came back to life, and he hasn’t visited me once. In these stories, the villainess’s father is either overprotective or trash. Of course, mine is the latter.

That’s all I know.

No fiancé. Usually the male lead is the crown prince, so I asked about him first. But in this world, the crown prince is already middle-aged with two children. There’s no northern duke, no saintess, no holy knight.

I only learned this much by asking a maid.

I searched the room for a diary, but found nothing. Even if I had, I couldn’t read it.

I’m illiterate.

What kind of lazy possession makes me able to speak but not read?

Since I can’t read, I can’t even gather information in a library.

So now I have to learn a second language for the first time in my life.

When I told the maid I couldn’t read, she looked shocked. Luckily, amnesia is a useful excuse. She said she would buy children’s books for me.

The books will arrive tomorrow.

So today, I’m exploring the house.