The Perfect Plan for a Fairy-Tale Ending

Chapter 5

As things began to add up, I got goosebumps.

Is the prince going to look the same as he did in the illustrations? Both Larissa and Marcia were similar to how they appeared in the storybook, but not exactly the same. In Marcia’s case, only her golden hair and fair skin were recognizable. Her illustration in the book could hardly be called an accurate portrait.

“The prince was tall,” I murmured, recalling the image. “He had black hair…”

I wished the genealogy book included more detailed portraits alongside the lists of names, or at least some of their particular characteristics. The family tree only listed names, years of birth and death, and the names of spouses and children.

However, this was still a remarkable find and a promising start to my search. At least I now knew what the fairy tale prince’s name was and which house he belonged to.

I closed the book, satisfied. My path now was clear—I would escape with Larissa, then deliver her safely to House Laurent. Surely, I’d be able to pinpoint a young, handsome man with black hair. Perhaps I’d be able to find a place within the Laurent household as well. If not, I’d leave Larissa in their care and live off of my jewels for the rest of my life.

“Piece of cake,” I assured myself. Of course, the details were not so simple. I would have to carry out the plan with the utmost care. Regardless, anything had to be better than abandoning Larissa and leaving her imprisoned to be beaten for the next three years.

It will take about a week for my leg to heal. And on the seventh day—we run. I put the reference books neatly back in the bookshelf and left the study.

***

“Why do none of my plans work out…?” That had been the case in the life I’d so violently left behind, and it was proving to be the exact same in this fairy tale world as well.

It had been exactly one week since I was reborn in Marcia’s body, and though it had taken some time, our souls were merging into one.

It had been difficult at first. Marcia’s memories and stubborn will often bubbled to the surface when they were triggered, and whenever I wanted to know about the past, I’d have to search through my mind to ask her. But those instances lessened with time. It was now becoming instinctive to remember what happened in the past and how Marcia would have reacted in certain situations.

I found the memories becoming my own. On the third day of my new life, Marcia’s memories were fully subsumed by my consciousness, and her presence grew utterly silent within my body.

It’s like I absorbed her… Just as my soul had taken over her physical body, my brain had gained her memories. I did not know where her soul had gone. Now, no matter how much I call for her, I can’t hear her voice. She must have left her memories behind and disappeared.

On the fourth day, I found out what ability she had inherited from her mother’s fairy blood. Until then, I’d simply thought that Marcia had good hearing, as I could often overhear the maids’ minor complaints as they passed me in the halls. Amazingly, I couldn’t hear their footsteps, but their voices came through loud and clear.

But that day, I heard something more than the maid’s complaints—something that chilled me to the bone.

“Please, I’m sorry, don’t hurt me… It hurts so much… Please, stop…” It was the desperate pleading of a young girl.

I was seated in the second-floor lounge when I heard the voice. I frantically kicked the lounge’s door open to stop whatever was happening in the hall, but no one was there. The room connected to the lounge was the reception room, which was likewise empty.

“Am I hearing things?” I mumbled to myself. Perhaps I had lost my mind after all. But I could still hear that voice. It was so pained and hopeless that it wrung my heart dry.

If Marcia was in control, she would have immediately tried to get away from the noise. She would have run back to her room upstairs or barged out of the house to attend yet another mindless party.

But I was not Marcia, and so I did the opposite. I began to move toward the voice.

There was only one place it could be coming from: the basement. However, there was no logical way to explain how I could hear that quiet voice all the way up on the second floor of this massive mansion. Larissa’s room was even guarded by a double set of iron doors.

Could it be…? I stopped abruptly in front of the first set of doors. It was locked from the inside, and in my haste, I’d left the keys in my room. What do I do? Should I go back and get the keys?

But the door opened before I could take another step. Out emerged Bilain. His eyes widened, and his face cracked into a smirk as soon as our eyes met.

“And who do we have here?” he said, his tone mocking. “What brings the princess down to the lowly dungeon?”

“What are you doing?” I demanded. How I hated the sound of his voice.

If he was in there just now, then that means… I scanned him from head to toe, and sure enough, I could see a few drops of blood splattered on his sleeve.

“What else would I be doing?” he said arrogantly.

I couldn’t hold back my anger. “Didn’t I give you my earrings? Weren’t they enough? They were real emeralds!”

The earrings had been quite costly, and I had not exaggerated when I’d told him that it would cover a month’s worth of gallivanting. For an average household, those earrings would have been enough to buy a small house, but I’d estimated that my brother would burn through it in about a month.

But why was he already down here? Could it be…? I thought.

“Indeed, they were.” he said, sneering. “They fetched quite a fair sum. But the money ran out in only a few short rounds.” He shrugged carelessly.

I was speechless. “You blew it all… gambling? Do you know how much they were worth?”

Bilain took a menacing step forward, and I felt a jolt of intimidation as he loomed over me. He was at least a foot taller than me.

“So what?” he growled. “I came down here to fill my pockets. What are you doing here? Here to gather some tears to replace those earrings, I’m sure.” Bilain prodded my shoulder several times with his index finger. “You think you’re better than us just because you’ve sent someone else to do your dirty work? Everything you eat, everything you wear… It all comes from beyond this door.”

I already knew that, and far too well. That’s why I’m doing my best to put an end to this! I protested internally. Of course, I could not admit this.

I shoved Bilain away from me—or tried to, because he didn’t budge one bit. Instead, he now rudely shoved his finger into my face several times. “Relax. I didn’t slaughter our little golden goose. I won’t let her die until her time comes. So you can wipe that horrible look off your face.”

I grew even stiffer. He was basically saying he would have her locked up forever.

I swatted his hand to the side and glared back, but he only laughed as he stared me down. “Enough with the pretense, Marcia. Stop being such a hypocrite,” he said. With that, he turned and locked the door securely behind him.

Clang.

The iron bolt snapped shut. Bilain grasped the door’s handle, shaking it to ensure that everything was locked. He looked me up and down once more and then strode out of the passage.

I couldn’t hear the weeping voice anymore. There was only silence beyond the door. Now, I could only hear Bilain’s screeching voice from upstairs.“Crazy b*tch!”

At that moment, I realized which ability Marcia had received from her mother. She could hear others’ innermost thoughts, but not just any thoughts—only the negative ones.

I never heard anything joyful or happy. Instead, all I could hear was misery—wailing, complaints, or outright curses. The voices were especially clear when they were directed at Marcia… which is to say, at me.

Now I know why her personality became so twisted. If all she heard since childhood were the deepest, darkest thoughts of those around her, she would be constantly surrounded by noise even while sitting alone in her room. The endless barrage of vitriol would have soured her more and more, and the critiques against her would have increased as she became bothered. None of her detractors knew the truth, of course, but the more she heard, the more bitter she became.

It wasn’t only criticism. She could hear voices that were tormented and in pain, even from afar.

So that was why she insisted on taking the uppermost room… She had not been able to handle Larissa’s screams, and so had situated herself as far away as possible.

On days it became too much to handle, she had left home, eager to attend any party where she could drown her thoughts. Though not as beautiful as Larissa, Marcia was still quite stunning, and most of the party guests only sang her praises. When she officially reached adulthood at age sixteen, she fell into alcoholism. She developed a pattern of getting intoxicated every night and returning home at dawn.

I bit my lip as I recalled Marcia’s tortured memories, the ones she’d been so eager to escape. I thought I could understand because I searched her past, but I was wrong. Now, I truly felt what it was like to be able to hear another person’s worst thoughts. It was a cruel and unusual punishment.

I had fully become Marcia, and she had become me. Her woes were now my woes, as were her concerns.

There’s no need to make things difficult. Instead of avoiding the problem, I need to find a solution. If I heard a miserable voice, then I simply had to get rid of whatever was tormenting them. If Larissa’s tortured thoughts overwhelmed me, then I could either leave the house by myself or rescue her.

The best-case scenario would be to do both. I would escape this place alongside my sister and bring her safely to her future husband.

“Perfect,” I told myself. There were only three days left in the week I’d given myself. For now, I leaned forward against the locked doors, feeling the chill of iron against my skin. “Just a little longer,” I murmured. “Just three more days, Larissa.”

However, I ended up packing my bags far earlier than planned—a mere two hours later. The catalyst was when I heard Larissa’s inner screams as Igor returned home.

No, we leave tonight, I thought, dumping my glittering jewels into a bag.

***

Long after dark, I crept silently downstairs.