“Oh dear,” my dream-mother exhaled in surrender, a hand on her mouth as she, too, directed her vision at the man speaking.

“Well then,” I turned to the judge. He spoke with solemnity. “I suppose there is no exigency for further testimonies.”

“Your Highness!" A middle-aged man with a receding hairline, dressed in a brown gown springs up from his seat behind the defendant’s desk. "I-I mean, your honor," he stammered, drenched in sweat, clutching a damp handkerchief. "Please consider that—” 

“Enough!” The prince howled, his words echoing through the courtroom.

This is so over the top that it's giving me chills. Like, tone it down with the melodrama, won't you?

... It’s not like my sentence will change because the prince is angrier now.

I couldn't help but glare at him, reminded of his upcoming lines.

“I, Kendrick Braveheart," The prince shared my glare as he declared. "With the authority granted by His Majesty the King over this trial, declare it time for the verdict.”

Looking at him from where I stood, I could perceive nothing but a noble-sounding man, passionate about solving this terrible crime and bringing another criminal to justice. 

But I knew what happened behind the scenes. I knew he only acted so noble because his fixation, Estelle Pureheart, was involved. I knew that the jurisdiction he talked about, he was granted after practically begging at his father's feet. All so he could quench his violent and senseless desire to avenge her.

After all, Kendrick Braveheart was not only this kingdom’s crown prince, but a prevalent member of Estelle’s harem, and the obsessive villain she would later need to defeat.

“No…” I could hear my dream-mother muttering lowly. “Please, have mercy…” She repeatedly whispered.

“All rise!” The bailiff ordered, making all attendants bolt up.

I had no clue if this was even accurate court etiquette, but that didn't interest me as much as the recognizable descriptions I spotted once everyone had stood up.

The man standing next to the main victim, Estelle Pureheart, was slightly taller than her, and similarly bruised up. His hair was messy, his under-eye bags clear from a distance and his figure quite slender.

That was him. Trevor Vielle. Penelope Ashdown's fiancé and another male lead in the book.

I would appreciate it if he stopped staring at me so intently, though.

Breaking away from his insistent gaze, I took notice of the other redheads standing behind Estelle – her family, probably – including the witness from earlier, who was standing beside a bald young man clothed in armor.

“Should he not like, discuss the verdict with the jury...?” I asked my dream-family in a quick whisper.

Even my voice was different. It was much more soft-spoken, melodic, even.

“Do not be foolish, Penelope.” Someone I hadn’t taken notice of spoke out in a composed tone. “Prince Kendrick retains His Majesty's highest trust in guiding this trial.” She tucked a lock of her straight blonde hair behind her ear. “Why would he need the jury’s opinion?” She casually asked, throwing me a nonchalant glance through her brown eyes.

“The verdict stands evident if you ask me.” The other sister spoke out. “Imprisonment for a couple of months is the most he can do.” She spoke in a solemn, yet haughty tone. “Though a fool, you remain Marquis Vernon Ashdown’s daughter.”

“Perish the thought!” The mother knocked on her chair (wood). “What do you mean, prison!?” She hissed at her daughter. “My baby cannot go to prison.” She patted her chest, looking up. “She will not. Right, Mr. Ashdown?" She gave her husband a questioning look, receiving no reaction or answer. "She will not, indeed.” The woman answered her own question, continuing to tap on her lower neck.

I let out a bitter chuckle.

“Prison is the least of your worries,” I whispered to myself, turning back to the prince, who was listing her crimes off a long paper.

“—Physical violence against a commoner in plain sight, damage of public property on Mallebou Avenue…”

Now that he mentioned these crimes, I couldn't help but think about the person responsible for them being discovered in the first place.

I would have looked around for him, had I not known that William Westenburg, the main male lead who went around gathering all of the possible victims that could sue Penelope before the trial, had enough pride in him to refuse to attend the trial in the end.

<"My sentence would have remained unchanged, had your lover not bothered to beg around for useless witnesses, Miss Estelle. Death will remain the only verdict that wicked villainous woman could possibly deserve." Kendrick grinned, making Estelle's heart warm up. His hair fluttered against the wind, and his eyes glistened with soft, friendly affection as he watched her carriage set off, leaving him behind.

- Wholeheartedly Yours, chapter 50>

Indeed, William wasted his time. After all, Penelope Ashdown's faith remains the same.

“—And for the physical harm of her fiancé, son of Count Vielle, Trevor Marshall Vielle, and daughter of Viscount Pureheart, Estelle Pureheart, using Chaos Energy!”

Once more, the hall erupted into whispers.

“Of all times… Despicable...” The Marquis, my dream-father, whispered behind me, clenching his cane.

“This was proved through the mana found in mister Vielle’s broken ribs and the traces left on Miss Pureheart’s cheek and hairs.”

“This is ridiculous,” I couldn’t help but mutter, a bitter grin on my face. “No matter how long you ramble on…”

“For these reasons, I, with the power granted to me by his majesty King Baldwin Arthur IV, sentence Lady Penelope Ashdown, second daughter of Marquis Vernon Ashdown… TO DEATH!"

“... A death sentence is too fucking much,” I gritted my teeth.

The courtroom fell into chaos as soon as the words left his mouth.

Meanwhile, I was trying not to laugh at the situation, taken aback by the accuracy of the events.

Laughing out loud after that would certify me as a nutcase. 

Marchioness Marceline, Penelope's 'dream-mother', had lost sensation in her knees and simply dropped back onto her seat, pale as a ghost. Her sisters, who had been more comfortable than necessary up until now, were left completely speechless.

But the most affected by the prince’s words had to have been the Marquis.

Marquis Vernon’s pride and dignity felt nonexistent as he was stared down by the pretentious brat that was the crown prince. 

'All because of a useless fucking daughter.' He thought.

While the entire courtroom had been on fire, a woman was gathering her courage to speak her mind at last. Penelope watched the woman with an anticipant glance, her clear blue eyes locked onto the woman's plump and tense lips.

‘Here it comes,’ Penelope thought. ‘That despicable monologue.’

“She is…!” Estelle yelled out, catching the attention of the attendants. “She is but a woman madly in love!!!” She screamed at the top of her lungs.

Penelope chuckled as soon as she had heard that line, shaking her head as she redirected her eyes towards the prince who had been sneering at her just moments ago, to find him surprised at the reddened, angry features drawn on Estelle’s face.

~

One righteous, overly dramatic monologue later, Penelope’s life had been spared.

The logistics of this trial weren’t exactly comprehensible, but the book had never claimed to be accurate on any front whatsoever, whether it be historically, given the rather modern speech mannerisms and hairdos of the characters in contrast with their clothing and the locations, or be it the accuracy of the trial hearing procedures or rules.

This world had been a mess when she read it, and it was still a mess while she dreamt about it.

Thanks to Estelle’s standing up and speaking about morals like Loyalty and Love, Penelope Ashdown was relieved of her death sentence and was now making her way to the bathroom for a pee break she begged for.

It was mesmerizing, watching Estelle crying to the prince, pretending like the reason she got beaten up alongside Trevor in the first place wasn’t because they had betrayed those very values, and went behind her fiancé and his fiancée’s back and attempted to have an affair.

The crown Prince — being a male lead as he was — was moved to tears, drowning in her violet eyes, and decided to forgive the culprit and let her off with a smack on the wrist (His words).

The smack on the wrist being a life sentence, obviously.

“I hereby sentence you to a lifetime of hard labor under the Suttone Lands’ jurisdiction.” Kendrick brought down his hammer with a loud thud. “Case dismissed.” He announced. He then stood up and quietly left the room, followed by a dozen men.

The room exploded with noise as soon as the door had closed.

“Alright, I think I’ve had enough soap opera-level drama for a lifetime.” I sighed, washing my face at the sink.

Once my sentence was spoken, I begged my dream-mother to let me go to the washroom. The marchioness begged her husband and he managed to get the approval. Now here I was, in a closed space, alone, with the chance to finally take a breather.

This dream is way too intense and stressful for no apparent reason. It might as well be a nightmare at this point.

I kept my eyes shut as I washed my face to avoid accidentally looking at the mirror sitting right in front of it; it just didn’t feel right to do so in a dream.

I straightened up, eyes still shut, and led my wrist to my mouth.

“Time to wake up.” I smiled and took a good bite at it.

One could call this a weird solution. I call this a tried-and-true shortcut to waking up from a bad dream.

“My Lady, you have a visitor.” A feminine voice spoke outside the bathroom door.

“A visitor, my ass.” Another feminine voice spoke out.

I could hear the doorknob being turned.

I frowned, shutting my eyes harder as though it would make the pain from my teeth's sharpness against my skin any better.

Why am I not waking up?!

Both my wrist and mouth hurt like a bitch. Yet, I could still feel my feet firmly planted on the ground. I could still smell a lemon scent coming from the marble floor. I was still in this nightmare.

It was when warm liquid droplets were trickling down my wrist that I had to open my eyes. Confused, angry, and panicked.

“Why am I—!?” I yelled out, slamming my hands on both sides of the sink. “Why the fuck am I not waking up!?” I ground my teeth, looking up in a flash of anger.

My eyes had landed on the mirror.

The sight that greeted me sent chills down my spine.

“You must be decent because I shall enter now, sister!” The voice from behind the door spoke, swinging it open.

Through the mirror, I saw a woman’s reflection.

Long, flowy, and curly golden hair locks, curtain bangs against porcelain clear skin, all greasy and untidy, stained in grime. A mole underneath the left side of pale, plump, and chapped lips. A refined pointy nose and a bluish bruise on the right side of the forehead.

My heart shriveled inside my chest, the longer I stared into the set of clear blue eyes staring straight into my soul.

A perished sense of envy towards the reflection in the mirror, projecting the image of a woman whose beauty I had never seen the like of, left behind a pungent, paralyzing sense of loss.

“Sister?” The voice calling me was faint, buried amongst the millions of questions that invaded my head, all at once.

How is this not real? Why can I still feel the injury on my wrist? Why is every sensation I have so clear? Am I never going to wake up from this scene? ... Is this reality?

A panging, screaming sensation had my entire body numbed, leaving my eyes wide and tearful as I stared into my image.

Who is the woman staring back at me?

I reached out to the mirror, immediately horrified at the identical motions of the woman in the mirror.

I could hear it now.

I could feel it in my bones.

The pain from that night coursed back to my mind. The loud honking. The blinding lights. The cold concrete and the warm touch of my blood forming a pond around my corpse.

My chest was on the verge of exploding. My jaw had been clenched as the tears rolled down my cheeks. Nails were digging into the palms of my hands while I tried my hardest not to scream, not to break the mirror in front of me, not to lose my sanity.

I can't deny it any longer.

I... That night, I...

I died.

“... I suppose you do possess a heart, after all.”

Breaking me out of my resentment-fueled stupor, I looked up at the woman who had invited herself into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. It was one of the marquis’s daughters, the blonde one.

The woman approached me with a delighted grin on her face. 

... I have no fucking clue what’s going on. But this isn’t a dream. I can’t deny that anymore. I… I am not in my body at the moment. Instead… I somehow inhabited that of Penelope Ashdown.

“It is quite strange to see you so quiet…” The woman said, holding up the skirt of her beige robe as she walked closer, avoiding the few droplets of unrecognizable crimson liquid on the marble flooring.

And the Penelope Ashdown I know has a set, very clear ending in the book.

“Oh…” She looked around the bathroom. “Nothing seems to be broken either... Perhaps, have you finally lost your marbles?”

Penelope Ashdown is destined to die.

She let go of the dress once she was a couple of feet away from me. “I mean, it isn’t as though you were sentenced to die, sister. It is but a life sentence!" She grinned, feigning optimism. “Anyhow… you must be asking yourself: Why is my dear younger sister here!?” She widened her eyes in performed wonder.

I swallowed, quickly wiping my wet cheeks. 

I can’t let that happen.

“Then, I shall tell you right away.” The woman’s delighted expression dropped dramatically. She stepped closer to me. “I’m here to give you a speech I have waited a long, long time to—”

Disregarding her words, I fell to my knees, letting my shabby and worn-out dress splatter on the ground, encircling me.

“Please,” I hastily and clumsily grabbed the woman’s hand, looking up at her with as pitiful of a look as I could muster, nose runny and tears freshly dripping down. “I… I need your help...”

I'm not exactly sure of what's going on. I have no idea why I'm in someone else’s body or how I'm still alive in the first place. I can't currently comprehend most of the things that are going on. I feel like I'm going insane.

Nevertheless, there was a single, loud thought in my head holding my sanity above loss. Simple and clear:

I won’t fucking die again.