One day, amid such a search, a letter was discovered hidden in the depths of a closet. Upon closer inspection, my father found that it was addressed to a man. It turned out that the letter was proof of my mother’s extramarital affair. When my father went to my uncle for advice, the man flew into a rage. He promptly made the incident his own business and tracked down the man in question. During the interrogation, the suspect admitted to having had a brief affair with my mother.
Naturally, my mother underwent a similar interrogation, and while she did somewhat vaguely admit to the tryst, she still did not know who I was. However, the more they investigated, the more a truth came to light that none wanted very much to even consider. In the end, I was not my father’s child. The timing of my conception and birth didn’t add up, and more to the point, I had inherited all of the physical traits unique to my mother’s partner in crime. It was thus concluded that I was indeed not my father’s child.
And perhaps, you’d think, this is where it ends.
Oh, you hapless fools; the confusion and chaos were so very far from over.
The matter should have ended with my parents, but it spread to the rest of the family, by way of gossipy servants. Gerda, my older sister, was aghast. My relationship with my brothers also grew strained, and our home was thrown into panic. As a result, my father expelled me from the family and pushed me onto my real father. He didn’t really have any other choice. Though he had raised me since birth and he loved me regardless of the fact that we weren’t related, the rest of the family wouldn’t stand for my continued existence.
After all, we were members of the nobility, and relatives to the Dunsts, a most distinguished family. On both my father’s and mother’s sides, our relatives were fastidious and scrupulous about all matters and, unbeknownst to me at the time, my grandparents visited often. My mother’s memories looked unlikely to return, and as such I disturbed the natural order of things by simply existing. My father was at his wits’ end.
And so it happened! A plan to remove that which was stained! She who sullied the family name! The misfortune that befell me yet knew no end!
My real father was the son of a gardener. He was a man who, by that point in his life, was married with children of his own. I was thrust upon him along with a sum of money, but all the same I was unwanted. The man himself was humiliated, and his wife and children were enraged. Oh, how I lamented my circumstances. If only my mother had chosen a nobleman for her tryst; perhaps then I might have found myself in a more favorable situation.
“Well, whatever,” I had thought. “Once you hit rock bottom, the only way left to go is up.”
I knew that, at the very least, things were not so dire that I would have to resort to selling my own body. I was glad then for my thirty years of prior life experience and my passion for life.
My father (the real one) rented me a room in a shared residence. In Japan, you would call it an apartment. My neighbors were, by and large, women. You see, one of the positive aspects of being born in this new nation in this new fantasy world was that the women were afforded the independence to live and work on their own. A great number of the men also showed women a good deal of respect, to boot.
That said, it wasn’t nearly as safe as my previous home of Japan, which I suppose simply goes without saying. As for exactly how unsafe the place was, if a woman went wandering on her own outside of the country, it was all too easy to imagine her being robbed, raped, and ultimately sold off. And if you were murdered for wandering off the beaten path, you wouldn’t get any sympathy; if you weren’t traveling with protection, then you essentially got what you asked for. The cities and towns were safe, of course, but the truth of the matter was that there were a lot of dangerous people about. It paid to protect yourself.
When I’d been reborn, I’d wanted to work out why, but considering the meaning of my life was the very least of my worries once I was living on my own. Matters of the mind and spirit are best addressed when one has a certain stability in their life, and with my constantly being moved here and there, I was constantly left playing catch-up.
That brings us here, to where our story begins. It was spring, and I was sixteen years old. I’d been living on my own for two years, and I now found myself sitting at a table in a classroom, pen gripped tightly in hand as I moaned over what to do. My friend Ernesta peered down at me.
“Karen,” she said. “What’s got you so worried? What’s the point of a pretty face when you’re scrunching it up like that?”
“Will you hear me out, Ern?” I asked. “I can’t decide where to work.”
“Oh, my. Well, with your student record, you could go for anything so long as you don’t aim too high. You’re not in research work like me, so just go where you like.”
“Your honesty is appreciated, Little Miss Honor Roll.”
“Don’t mention it. You’re not too bad yourself, maintaining your position of around 100th in the overall school rankings so consistently.”
“Sarcasm noted, genius.”
Over the last few generations, our nation had been blessed by a number of good and upstanding kings. No despots and no tyranny meant that the standards of life and education were rather high. Schools were open to ordinary citizens and, as long as you could pay the fees, enrollment was allowed at the age of eleven. Any student who studied for two or three years could expect employment upon graduation. And so, a great many parents did their utmost to ensure their children went to school.
Ernesta’s parents were one such couple, and she was studying on behalf of their efforts. She was an adorable girl, big round eyes and braided hair. I called her Ern for short. I watched as she took a seat in front of me and began counting potential jobs on her fingers.
“Well, manners and etiquette aren’t a problem for you, so how about one of the Houses? If research work isn’t your thing, there’s always the front desk.”
“Hmm...” I murmured, thoughtfully. “But there are an awful lot of...important, distinguished people at the Houses.”
By “Houses,” we were referring to the House of Magic and the House of Knights. And while it’s embarrassing for me to write of “knights” and “magic” in a serious discussion, they were both dedicated to the ongoing peace of the nation in which I lived. Many who worked at the Houses came from noble lineage.
“Then, how about snagging a Mr. Moneybags and sticking it to everyone? With a face like yours, it’s very much an option.”
She’s off the rails, this one.
Ern wasn’t speaking from any kind of sarcasm, however. She knew all about me, right down to my past, and it made her mad, hence the implicit suggestion. “Stick it to the fam,” essentially.
“I’ll consider it, if I find a man worth snagging,” I said.