St. Clarence Academy, the most prestigious, the most renowned educational institute of Triciella, was the melting pot of cultures and lineages all across the kingdom. Children from all over the land, as well as from the neighbouring kingdoms, came to study in the academy when they turned fifteen years of age. It was one of the oldest institutes that had kept its glory since the founding days of Triciella, and staying true to the spirit of education, it accepted students from all stratums of society, from peasants to traders to nobles and royals. As long as you were a student of St. Clarence, your social status didn’t matter within the walls of the institution.

 

Most nobles seemed to despise the idea, but still privately agreed that St, Clarence was the most prestigious academy anyway. It was common for the noble families to send their children to study there when they came of age. The royal family had also been attending the same academy for generations, so despite whatever reservations any blue-blooded prick would have about the education system, St. Clarence Academy still stood proud and strong throughout the history of Triciella.

 

It was understood that Lady Joanna Winsten would also, without fail, attend St. Clarence when she turned fifteen.   

  

And Joe remembered it because that was where the plot of the game actually starts unfolding.

 

“I don’t see how that will be a problem.” Lord Winsten shot her words down with a casual wave of hands. “The engagement shall proceed as planned. You will be attending St. Clarence with prince Emmanuel as his fiancée. And you will be married once the both of you have graduated from the academy.”

 

‘Crap crappity crap!’ Joe thought, as she tried to scramble up with another futile excuse. “F-Father, what if I want to postpone the engagement f-for a while?”

 

Lord Winsten now turned to stare at her, and Joe almost flinched back at the sight of those sharp, cold eyes. “Is there some kind of problem with the engagement?” he asked drily.

 

“NO SIR! None sir—ahem, I mean father! No problem at all!”

 

Joe was now almost certain that she’d blown her cover with that undignified outburst, but neither the Master nor the Mistress of the Winsten manor paid her any heed. They picked up their knives and forks and calmly proceeded with the dinner as if nothing had happened at all.

 

Joe deflated in her seat, having run out of ideas, and turned her miserable attention to the Honey Roast Duck. The aroma was delicious, but her appetite was gone, along with any semblance of hope that was left inside her. The duck looked like it was mocking her for having any hope in the first place, and the fucker was already dead, dammit! She decided to pick up whatever was left of her dignity and chewed the meat in silence.

 

Lord Johan never said another word to her throughout dinner, and Joe couldn’t decide between feeling relieved and feeling peeved. She secretly tried giving him a stink eye from her seat, but Lady Patricia was watching her movements like a hawk, and honestly, Joe was too much of a certified coward to dare.

 

“I have heard from your dance tutor, Mrs Prattwell.” Lady Patricia started after a few minutes of the agonizing silence. “You seemed to have fallen behind on your schedule, and your dance has become atrocious. And all of this only a few months before your social debut.”  

 

Joe kept chewing quietly, and valiantly tried to concentrate on the flavor of the duck meat, but failed.

 

“Do you intend to drag the Winsten family name through the mud?”

 

‘Well gee; I would drag it through hydrochloric acid, if I could.’ Joe thought bitterly. She flashed at the older woman, the most innocent smile that she could muster, and swayed like a melodramatic maiden.

 

“I was not feeling quite well for the past few days, mother. It is a bit dreary being cooped up inside the house for so long. And having all these private lessons are a bit… overwhelming.”

 

Joe hoped that she was looking as frail and delicate as she was trying to sound.

 

“I shall have Mirian send for a doctor,” said Lady Patricia, without missing a beat. “As for the private lessons, they are imperative if you are to be married into the Royal family. No one shall expect anything less.”

 

Translation: I don’t care. Deal with it. 

 

Joe swallowed, and knew that it was a battle lost when it came to this couple. She’d have to fight in a nasty, roundabout way if she wanted to win any argument, and she’d have to put the family’s honour at stake if she wanted to win at all. The voice was right. The Master and Mistress of the Winsten house hardly cared about anything else.

 

“It is such a shame that the firstborn of the prestigious Winsten nobility isn’t a son.” Lady Patricia sniffed dramatically. “But as the young lady of this noble house, you must marry with Prince Emmanuel of Triciella and retain the honour of your family. Do not forget, for that is your duty as a daughter.”

 

The said ‘noble daughter’ silently contemplated the pros and cons of throwing a chair at the woman, but refrained with some difficulty. The original Lady Joanna had it pretty bad; she was a child of an arrogant noble family, spoiled rotten with endless maids at her disposal, and grew up with neglectful parents who only cared about some family honour. She had but a single salvation in the form of her sweetheart, Prince Emmanuel, and even he was whisked away by some dumb heroine of a dumb game.

 

She was dealt a real shitty hand in this world. No wonder Lady Joanna went from arrogant crazy to batshit crazy by the end of the game. 

 

                                                                           -----------------------------------------------------

 

The rest of the evening went uneventful, with only the clinking sounds of forks and glasses. Joe’d never had such a morbid dinner in the entirety of her previous life, and secretly thanked the stars for all those peaceful dinners she had inside her room, all by her lonesome. Heck she’d gladly take three extra classes of the Prattwell ballroom dance lessons over this dinner any day of the week.

 

After the dinner, Joe murmured a hasty ‘goodnight’ to the couple and slinked away towards her room as quickly as possible. Lucia the maid gave her a funny look on the way, but she didn’t have time to decipher any funny looks for tonight. Joe slammed the door shut and plopped unceremoniously on the bed, suddenly exhausted with the whole affair.

 

Such nice people, aren’t they? The voice sang inside her head, sounding smug. I told you that there is nothing quite sentimental about a dinner with the Winsten family, didn’t I?      

 

 

Joe sprang back up and began pacing in the room, her dress all crumpled up and hair in disarray. ‘So you did, but I have new problems now.  What’s up with the talks of marriage?! I need to stop it before it goes any further…! The social debut can go to hell!’

 

 She did not want to be engaged with the prince, much less marry him or anyone in the royal family. It didn’t matter whether it was a noble or a trader, a prince or a pauper; she did NOT want to marry, period.

 

She’d have to find a way to escape this dilemma. And the only way to do that, was to have the prince break off the damn engagement of his own accord.

 

The difficulty was suddenly cranked up way higher.

 

“What kind of women does Prince Emmanuel like, again?” Joe wondered aloud. She’d never paid too much attention to all the handsome love-interests in the game; all she remembered about the second prince was his charming smile, and his exotic combination of blond hair and sea-green eyes. All the eligible, handsome men in the game, without exception, fell madly in the love with the heroine in one way or the other, so Joe supposed that being dumb and ditzy was the foremost criteria, as far as preferences were concerned. 

 

Weeeell, someone with long, luscious hair, unrivalled beauty, and a pure noble lineage? The voice supplied, unhelpfully. Someone who loves him passionately, and oh, I don’t know— someone elegant like me, maybe?

 

‘Oh, shut up!’ Joe hissed at the voice, now unexpectedly irritated. ‘Who the hell are you anyway?’

 

The voice promptly went silent, but she could feel it bristling in muted anger against her sub-consciousness. When it replied back, there was an unmistakable trace of authority in its tone.

 

Mind your manners, woman. It said, and for the first time since coming here, Joe felt an inkling of awe fluttering inside her stomach.

 

The voice echoed inside her head, loud and unforgiving, as if waiting for this single moment all along.

 

I am the real one. I am Lady Joanna Valeria Winsten, firstborn of the Winsten nobility of Triciella. And in this wretched world, I have died more than 1,054,891 times over already.