Episode 1 - You Can't Be Stopped, You Evil Demon
Martha knew when she would die.
In sixty years of serving as a head lady-in-waiting, she had witnessed people dying sixteen times. Her Majesty the Empress, His Majesty the late Emperor, the Duke of Valois, and even a young lady-in-waiting whose name she could not remember. Martha had been there for all of them, and so she knew. She knew the feeling of shortness of breath, cold hands and feet, and the sweat cooling on her forehead. Her body felt exactly that way right now.
'Ah, so it's today.'
Marta thought quietly, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She felt neither surprised nor wronged. Eighty years was enough time to live. Enough, no, more than enough, the autumn sunlight streamed in through the window. It was warm. This was a decent ending, all in all.
Just then, the door opened. The sound was too loud. Martha thought to herself. Hadn't she been taught to open the door slowly and quietly? No, she had been taught. She had taught it more than a hundred times, yet it had never been corrected in a lifetime. The footsteps were loud, too. Not a click-clack, but a thump-thump. With her eyes closed, Martha knew who it was just by listening to the footsteps. They had come.
"Martha."
A voice was heard. Martha slowly opened her eyes. A middle-aged woman stood beside the bed. It was a face that still bore traces of the beauty once marveled at by high society. Even now, past her mid-fifties, her features were still neat and lovely. However, what time had left behind was not wrinkles, but an expression. Those crumpled corners of her eyes, always dissatisfied with something, as if she were the most wronged person in the world.
Serena Valois. The young lady whom Martha has looked after since the day she was born.
"You're still alive?"
That was the first thing she said. Martha did not answer. Not because she had the energy to answer, but because she had no heart to answer.
"How much longer do you plan to stay?"
Serena pulled the chair beside the bed over with her toes and sat down. Without a hint of trying to act elegant, she just plopped down; Martha, who had spent sixty years trying to fix this 'plop' from that young lady, now simply closed her eyes.
"The doctor said it would happen today or tomorrow."
Martha still remained silent.
"...Someone is dying, shouldn't you at least say something?"
Speak? Me? Martha laughed inwardly. She didn't have the energy to laugh outwardly, but she was definitely laughing inside. To be the first to speak to a dying person. This young lady is still like this even after sixty years. Serena tapped the floor with her toes. This was one of the things she hadn't been able to fix. Her inability to stand waiting.
"Is there anything you need? Food or anything."
Marta listened quietly for a moment. To think there are days when the young lady says such things, something—just a tiny bit—rose within her. Yes, that young lady knows how to say such things. It is awkward and brusque, as if she is saying it for the first time in forty years, but still.
“Martha”
"... Yes."
A voice came out. It was quieter than she expected. It sounded like chewing sand.
"Great job."
Martha opened her eyes. Serena was looking elsewhere. It was unclear whether she couldn't see Martha's face outside the window, or simply chose not to. Her profile, with her neat features, was reflected in the sunlight. It struck her anew that she had lived like that with that very face.
“Well, in the meantime.”
She was curt. She remained curt to the very end. 'You've worked hard.' Martha rolled those three words around in her mind. Sixty years. Starting from when she was changing this young lady's diapers, catching her when she took her first steps and fell, cleaning up the kitchen fire she set at twelve, cleaning up the mess after she ran away at fifteen and returned a wreck, debt papers piled up as high as Martha by twenty, a broken engagement, social outcast, and her whole family turning their backs. Martha had cleaned up all of it. And the last thing she said was, 'You've worked hard... You've worked hard?!'
...This bitch.
Martha closed her eyes. She didn't know if she was grateful for those three letters. She might be. Martha knew better than anyone how difficult it was for that young lady to say such things. Even so, having known her for sixty years. Still, she is not even close to this level for her.
"Miss."
"Why?"
"May I say a few words?"
Serena looked at Martha. Their eyes met. Something flustered flashed in her eyes. Martha had probably never said such things before. For sixty years, Martha took a deep breath. She gathered her strength. To pour everything she had suppressed her entire life into this final breath.
“Oh, you idiot.”
Serena's eyes widened.
"I've been cleaning up all your messes for sixty years, sixty years, ever since I started changing your diapers."
"Ma, Martha..."
"I was involved in setting the kitchen on fire, I was the one cleaning up after you ran away and came back a wreck, I was the one paying off the debt papers piled up as high as me, and I cleaned up all that bullshit—the broken engagement, being ostracized in high society—and all that hell!"
"Why suddenly..."
"You still haven't become a human being, you little brat."
Martha's voice rose. It was astonishing that such a sound was coming from the throat of an eighty-year-old dying woman. Serena froze completely, standing half-up from her chair.
"The first thing you said as soon as you arrived was, 'You're still alive,' you bitch! Is that what you say to a dying person? I let you off the hook for sixty years, and that's the only greeting you give me!"
"J-Just now you're calling me a bitch..."
"It's definitely you! You bitch, and you're a burn! This is what I've wanted to say since I was young, hey!"
Martha gasped for breath. She was running out of energy. But she still had something to say.
"What could I have expected when I entered this family? I just did the work assigned to me. After all, that was the job of a head maid. But Miss, you could at least, just a little, act like a human being."
Serena's face crumpled in a complicated way.
"Born with that face into that family, think of all the things you were given. You messed it all up, and in the end, all you say is, 'You worked hard.' Just one word."
“...I am that...”
"I know, I know it's hard. Do you think I don't know how painful those words are for you, Miss? I've known you for sixty years. But that's exactly why I'm even more furious, you idiot!"
Marta laughed. Tears flowed as she laughed. She didn't even know when they had come out.
"Please be born as a human in your next life. You evil spirit."
"..."
"Be warm, treat your family well, and hold onto people before they leave. Since you couldn't do it in this life, do it next time."
Serena didn't say anything.
"...Because I won't be here in the next life."
Serena, who had been keeping her mouth tightly shut, opened her mouth in a low voice.
"I'm sorry, Martha. I'm truly sorry, Martha. If we meet again someday—or rather, if I ever return to the beginning—I promise I won't live like this again. If someday you become my princess and I become your lady-in-waiting, I hope you live this life in my place, filling it with nothing but good things and without regret. Do everything you want to do, be happy with your family and friends, and I will work hard to support you from behind."
Martha closed her eyes. She felt her last breath. Long, thin, and peaceful. She had cursed, she had cried—sixty years' worth had come out. That was enough. She had lived well. Martha breathed her last. And...
My eyes opened.
....That's strange. What is this?!
My eyelids felt so light. Why are they so light?!
Martha stared blankly at the ceiling. It was an unfamiliar ceiling. She knew it was luxurious—the jade-colored silk canopy with vine patterns embroidered in gold thread—but it wasn't the ceiling of the head maid's room where she had lay at the end. Does the ceiling change after death? Or does heaven look like this? Confused, Martha raised her hand. And she froze. There were no wrinkles.
Martha gazed at her hands for a long time. The traces of eighty years of life—the deep wrinkles, bulging veins, and marks left behind by calluses—all of them had vanished. Instead, what stood there was a white, slender hand, like the skin of a clear peach. The fingers were long and thin, too. It was not Martha's hand. Martha slowly raised her upper body.
Nothing hurt.
Nothing.
Martha couldn't accept the fact for a moment. For over thirty years, it had been her daily routine to wake up in the morning and have her lower back, knees, wrists, and shoulders scream in pain in succession. That routine was gone. Her upper body rose vertically, yet not a single part ached... Huh?
Martha carefully raised her knees.
It was fine.
She twisted her back.
It was fine.
She raised her arm and lowered it.
It was fine.
What is this...?
Martha held her breath and lowered her legs out of bed. Her feet touched the floor. She stood. Her knees did not scream. Her back did not arch. She just stood. Like a person standing, as if it were nothing.
...Oh my God.
Martha paused in place, then impulsively jumped slightly. She landed. Her aching knees and ankles didn't hurt at all. Martha quietly lost her words. For the first time in thirty years, she had jumped, and it didn't hurt. There was a full-length mirror across from her. Martha walked slowly toward the mirror. Her gait was different. It was light and long. It was because her legs had grown longer. It was not her own gait. She stood in front of the mirror. And Martha froze. Martha was not in the mirror.
Instead, what is there?
Martha literally stared at the young woman in the mirror for a while. At first, she felt unfamiliar; then, she became accustomed to it; and finally, she felt simply distant. It was a face she knew. A face she had seen from the side for sixty years. It was Serena in her youth. No, she was younger than she had been. The face of Serena at her radiant prime—the time she first entered society at nineteen—was in the mirror.
It was golden hair. Like real gold, it was a color that seemed as though it would burst into flames as the morning sunlight filtered through it. Thick and voluminous, it flowed down to below her shoulders. Even in its disheveled state, it was a work of art. Martha suddenly remembered that Lucy had spent two hours every day styling just that single strand of hair.
Her eyes were blue. The description "blue" was insufficient. It was the color of the single star remaining in the dawn sky, the color of that single moment just before sunrise when the sky is at its darkest. Neither black, nor blue, nor gray, but a peculiar color somewhere on the boundary. Martha had always thought it was an exaggeration that people in high society called them "glacial eyes," but seeing them directly from this angle, she realized they simply had no choice but to call them that.
The bridge of the nose was prominent. It seemed as though it didn't need to be that high, yet it was. The nostrils fell small and neatly—it was the line one had only seen in portraits of the aristocracy. Even though the lips were relaxed and still, they were slightly plump. They had a natural cherry hue. There was not a single artificial element to it. He had just woken up, his hair was disheveled, and his face looked like this despite having done nothing.
Her face was small and slender. Her jawline was soft and clean. Her cheeks were slightly plump, and her cheekbones were slightly raised, making her look younger than her age while simultaneously exuding dignity. It was fascinating to see both of these features in one face. Her arms were slender and long. Her shoulders were narrow. Overall, she was so imposing that she looked like she might collapse at any moment, yet there was something about her that was hard to hide. Martha stared at her for a long time. Then, she quietly muttered.
“I’m shocked.”
The woman in the mirror muttered like Martha.
"Born with a face like this, with a face like this, why do you have that damn brain disease..."
Martha slowly reached for her bread. Her fingers touched it. It was soft. The calluses on Martha's hands brushed against this cheek, but the cheek was much softer than those calluses. The contrast felt strange.
"With this face, with this face, you pulled that stunt."
Martha let out a sigh. A long, deep sigh escaped her. The young woman in the mirror let out the exact same sigh.
"Social outcast, light of 80,000 gold, broken engagement, whole family turned their backs on me."
As she muttered one by one, Martha’s brow furrowed.
"With a face like that, born into such a prominent family, how can you end up like that? How?"
A soft sound came out naturally.
"Fresh, young people these days."
And Martha paused. Through Serena's face in the mirror, the face of a nineteen-year-old, the words 'young people these days' came out. Martha looked at the mirror for a moment, then closed her eyes. Let's sort it out. I am dead. I am definitely dead. I felt my breath catching in my throat. But then my eyes opened. My body is different. There are no wrinkles, it doesn't hurt, and right in the mirror is Miss Serena's face, but it moves just like my own face.
'So, the same me has entered Miss Serena's body.' Martha accepted this fact very slowly and very calmly. It was not that she wasn't surprised. However, for an eighty-year-old, it was a waste of energy to make a fuss all by herself. Martha looked in the mirror again. Serena's face struck Martha... 'Miss,' Martha said quietly to that face.
"I didn't die and come here just to do this."
The face in the mirror did not answer.
"But well, since you've come, it can't be helped."
Martha thought as she looked in the mirror. For sixty years, I lived an upright life as a head lady-in-waiting, keeping my distance, never wavering, and doing exactly what I was allowed in my position. But now I'm a noble Princess. Must I live uprightly again? This time, however, while the nobles tighten their grip on me even more? Martha frowned. No. Absolutely not!
'I've lived like that for sixty years; it would be too unfair to live like that again in my second life. No, I will live uprightly. I will live righteously. But this time, I'm going to live as I please. I'm going to live recklessly. But righteously, since it's my second life.' Martha smiled softly as she looked at herself in the mirror. Then, she slowly raised her head. She looked around the room. It was familiar.
The Princess’s chambers at Valois Manor—it was the very room Martha had spent her entire life cleaning and organizing. A light dust settling by the window caught her eye. Lucy had left out the corner. That boisterous Lucy, I had taught her to wipe every nook and cranny so meticulously... Martha reached out unconsciously, then stopped. No, wait. I shouldn't be the one wiping it. I am a Princess now. The moment she thought that, she let out another tsk tsk. And to herself, quietly... very quietly, Martha made a resolution.
First, let's clean up this mess. The things Miss Serena couldn't clean up while she was alive. The debt, the broken engagement, the social outcast, the family discord—Martha’s whole life had ended up cleaning up after that young lady, but now, borrowing her body, she ended up doing it herself. She told her to be born as a human in her next life, so what a turn of events. Martha sighed once more. At that moment, the door burst open.
"My Lady! Are you awake? The regular family assembly this morning..."
Lucy, who had run in, stopped. Martha was standing in front of a full-length mirror, staring at her face. Her expression was stiff, her brow furrowed, and she was making slurring sounds to herself.
"...Princess?"
Martha looked at Lucy. Seventeen-year-old Lucy, the Lucy she had heard news of later marrying, having three children, and living happily; the Lucy who was now terribly loyal and easily swayed. Martha naturally asked.
"Miss, have you had your meal?"
Lucy's expression hardened.
“Huh? Miss?”
"Ah... breakfast! I asked if you had breakfast!!!"
Lucy paused for a moment, unable to process the words, then answered cautiously.
"Um, I was planning to give it to you when the Princess wakes up, so I haven't yet..."
"Didn't you even eat your own? Go eat right now."
"..."
Lucy looked at Martha for a while. Her eyes were filled with confusion. Martha turned her gaze back to the mirror. Serena's face in the mirror was looking back at her just as calmly as Martha's. Family chronology inquiry, documents of light, broken engagement, social outcast, family discord. Martha mentally sorted out the list. There was a lot to do. She had to think about where to start.
Oh my, there is a mountain of work to do.
[Lucy's Secret Shock Journal Episode 1]
The Princess was acting strangely today.
Strange Thing No. 1: She was making tsk tsk sounds to herself in front of the full-length mirror.
Strange Thing No. 2: The first thing she said was, "Have you eaten?" The Princess asked about my meal.
Strange Thing No. 3: She told me to go ahead and eat.
I was a little scared right now.
Princess, are you alright?
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