From the day I learned how to walk, I thought my life was heaven.
I had loving parents, annoying but sweet siblings, and a house always full of laughter and the smell of fried chicken. I was five when it all vanished. One bus ride to my grandmother's village—one crash—and everything burned to ashes except me.
Grandma took me in. She raised me in the old-fashioned way: discipline, herbal tea, and lectures about "how modern girls are too lazy to make their own rice cakes." She loved me in her quiet, wrinkly way. I studied hard, graduated, and then—poof—she left me too.
By twenty-three, my life was a treadmill of misery.
Work. Home. Work. Home. Repeat.
My only escape? My favorite online novel—about a brooding duke, an unlucky heroine, with demons, monsters and the kind of slow-burn romance that makes you throw your phone across the bed.
That night, it was raining cats, dogs, and probably frogs too.
I was in a taxi, eyes glued to my screen, squealing when the male lead finally said, "You're mine, even if the heavens burn."
Then—boom.
The driver swerved.
Water. Screams. A flash of light.
Silence.
I died.
Or, at least, I thought I did.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in heaven.
I was in a dusty, half-dead medieval bedroom that smelled like wet wood, dry urine and despair.
The curtains looked older than my grandma.
The bed creaked like a dying horse every time I moved.
The cushion? Let's just say, it felt like sleeping on regret.
And the mirror—what was left of it—showed me something horrifying.
Silver hair.
Silver eyes.
And cheeks so round I could store winter food in them.
I gasped. Loudly.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF INSTANT NOODLES IS THIS?!"
I touched my face.
Nope. Not mine.
I was pretty in my old life—okay, average pretty—but this? This was like someone poured the soul of a K-drama extra into the body of a disgruntled marshmallow.
My arms jiggled. My thighs protested when I moved. And my dress—oh god, the dress—was so tight it screamed for mercy.
I stumbled to the cracked window and peeked outside.
Beyond the crumbling walls, the world was straight out of a fantasy novel.
Cobbled streets. Men in armor. A horse neighing like it was personally offended by life.
Magic orbs floating above lamps. Merchants shouting prices of something called "mana fruit."
It hit me.
I transmigrated.
Into one of those novels I used to read before dying.
The problem? I didn't remember this place being part of any story I'd read.
"Milady?"
A voice came from the door—a soft, uncertain one.
I turned, and a young girl in a ragged maid uniform peeked in.
Her eyes widened. "You're awake! The Duke will want to see you immediately!"
The Duke?
Wait. Wait, WAIT.
Did she just say Duke? As in tall, brooding, jawline-sharp-enough-to-cut-glass Duke?
My heart skipped. Or maybe I smirked because, who would not want some Duke in the picture, yeah?
Maybe—just maybe—this was one of those transmigration tropes where the fat, forgotten lady turns out to be secretly powerful. Or engaged to a dangerously hot nobleman who hates her for existing.
Perfect. My type.
"Uh, yeah," I said, trying to sound cool while tugging the bedsheet around my obviously-not-small frame. "Tell the Duke I'll come… after I stop looking like a squashed dumpling."
The maid blinked. "Milady… you look the same as always."
Excuse me—the same?!
This wasn't a "same" worth keeping! I frowned at the maid, she bowed her head and smiled, "I will fix the bath—".
"No need, I can handle myself."
"Are you sure, milady?"
I almost rolled my eyes. Of course, I know what she meant, I was too big and I think the previous owner of this body needs help to even take a bath. Pathetic.
I noted to not eat anything until I lose some weight or whatever.
Ten dreadful minutes, with-unscented-unleather-soap-so-pathetic later, to say I was disappointed was an understatement. I took a bath so quickly. Wore an old towel that smells like soy sauce. I stared into the cracked mirror again, something flickered across my reflection—just for a second.
A faint, glowing mark on my collarbone, shaped like a crescent moon.
And when I touched it, warmth spread through my body, like a spark waking something ancient.
Maybe this world wasn't random. Maybe this body wasn't ordinary.
And maybe… the Duke wasn't just any Duke.
Somewhere in the mansion, a deep voice echoed through the corridor.
Cold, commanding, and smooth as sin.
"Tell Lady Seraphine to come to the hall. Now."
Seraphine. So that's my name now.
And judging by that voice? Old, not prince charming kind of Duke. I was more dissapointed.
When I dragged my tired self toward the wardrobe, expecting silk gowns and glittering jewelry like any proper noble lady should have—
I found nothing.
And by "nothing," I mean three sad dresses, two of which looked like they'd lost a wrestling match with a moth, and one that smelled suspiciously like wet hay.
There were a few old slippers, one missing a sole, and a half-broken comb that might've seen better centuries.
So… this was my new life?
Fantastic. From overworked corporate slave to medieval beggar noblewoman.
I glanced around the room again.
It was big—mansion-sized—but felt more like an abandoned relic than a home. The walls were cracked, the paint peeled away to reveal damp stone. The curtains drooped like they'd given up on life. And the floorboards creaked like they were whispering "leave before the roof falls."
Judging by the size of the estate, it must have once belonged to a wealthy house. Now it looked like the ghost of its former glory.
And yet… a Duke lived here?
"Great," I muttered to myself. "A broken Duke. What's next, a kingdom on sale?"
I waited for memories to flood in—like in every transmigration story ever—but my mind was blank. Nothing. Nada.
No tragic backstory. No hidden diary. Not even a name beyond Seraphine.
So maybe she really did die, and I was just… a squatter in her body.
Awesome.
Still, I couldn't just run around acting like a confused raccoon. I needed a cover story.
And the best I could think of?
Memory loss.
Classic. Safe. Foolproof.
"Okay," I said to my reflection, straightening the wrinkled dress. "You had a fever, lost some memories, but you're totally fine now. Totally. Fine."
When I opened the door, an elderly maid was waiting for me.
She bowed stiffly, her uniform faded, hands trembling with age. "Milady, the Duke requests your presence. Your father is waiting."
Father.
So the Duke was my dad.
Great—so I wasn't going to be romancing him. That's… reassuring.
We walked through the long, echoing corridor of what was once a mansion. The air was heavy with the scent of vinegar, dust and mold. Windows were cracked, and the chandeliers above us hung on rusty chains, their crystals clouded with grime.
Through one broken window, I could see the world outside—and it wasn't any better.
The land stretched out in shades of gray and brown. No green fields, no flowers. Just barren soil and thin, crooked trees.
People moved sluggishly on the distant road—thin, pale, and ragged.
I could see them from here—villagers with hollow eyes and ribs showing through their clothes. Children carrying buckets of muddy water. Smoke rose in the far distance, maybe from burning fields or—God forbid—mass graves.
This place was dying.
No. It was already half-dead.
The old maid sighed. "The famine's been cruel this year, milady. The rivers dried early. The merchants stopped coming. The fever spreads faster now…"
Her voice broke. "We've lost many."
Fever. Famine. Sickness.
It all clicked.
The opening of that novel I was reading—the one about the princess and the knight—started with a kingdom plagued by drought and disease. Where betrayal, war, dark magic and demons were all over the place.
So I had transmigrated into that timeline.
But this house? The Duke? Seraphine?
I didn't remember them at all.
And why was I fat when there was literally nothing to eat in this entire goddess-forsaken territory?
Like—be for real.
The house was one brick away from collapsing, the pantry echoed when I breathed in its direction, and the whole land was in famine so tragic even the crows left.