Volume I, Chapter 2: Funeral, For Who?

 

I open my eyes groggily, only to wish I kept them shut.

 

In front of me on a stand is beautiful portrait of a mother and her two daughters, all having red hair. At the base of the stand there are many bouquets of flowers placed carefully. Two polished dark coffins are laid out in the distance. 

 

Am I dead? Is this my funeral? Then what about this painting...

 

As I study the portrait, a thin woman dressed in black approaches.

 

"Lady Ruelle, I am so sorry for your loss. That fire was such a tragic accident..." She says to me after setting down a bouquet.

 

So, I'm not dead. What a relief, I wouldn't want someone to find my dead body naked in the shower (how embarrassing)! But, she just called me Ruelle.

 

Starting back at this mournful woman, I feel dread creep up the pit of my gut.

 

A sturdy man in a formal suit joins in and places a hand on the woman's shoulder while talking to me. "You must feel lost right now, but don't fret. Though our families weren't very close, we greatly respected yours. In fact, we would be honored to take you in as one of our own."

 

This... could it be? Oh no, no, please don't say-

 

"Yes, that is right. Please do consider our offer, I think the name 'Ruelle Hughes' has a nice ring to it."

 

Ah, there's no way around that. The pitiful villainess Ruelle, that's me now, isn't it? Looks like someone will find my humiliating corpse in the shower, after all. How long does a body take to rot? I bet it's even worse when in water.

 

"T-Th-Thank youOuOUUUWAHHH" Hot tears roll down my face as I burst into loud sobs.

 

Since it is a funeral, I can mourn my own loss as well as Ruelle's family.

 

"Oh dear, I-I see it must be difficult at the moment. Uhm, we'll check in another time..." The lady, who I assume is Duchess Hughes, awkwardly says goodbye and the couple hastily retreats.

 

Ugh, such phonies, feigning shallow sympathy and then scrambling away. So what if I'm an ugly crier?!

 

I turn back to the painting, and notice the title: 'The Durham Family'. Durham is likely Ruelle's original surname, and this is her original family- she had a single mother and a sister. Ruelle Durham, I do not know why or how I have taken over your life, but I promise to do my best to live on for you and all that you've lost. I make a silent vow, brushing the tears from my face with resolve.

 

To fulfill this promise, it would be helpful to avoid becoming a member of the Hughes family. That's how Ruelle gets involved with Samuel and Clyde. Though, aside from being adopted by the Hughes, I'm not sure what options I have.

 

The funeral has drawn a decent crowd of attendees. But other than myself, no one seems to be close family, at least not close enough to shed tears.

 

The only thing that stands out is a few people in the same uniform circulating the crowd, occasionally being referred to as 'monk'.

 

I signal over one of the cloaked men. "Sir... well, Monk, would you remind me of my options for the future, now that I am without a guardian."

 

The monk nods, "Yes my lady. Unfortunately, the Durhams do not have any known living relatives and there is no record of a secondary guardian appointed by your mother. You are at liberty to accept any offers you receive or enter the social work system where officials will decide on a suitable temporary arrangement."

 

'At liberty' he says. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and thank him instead. Based on that information, accepting the offer from the Hughes is the best choice. I guess It wouldn't be that easy to diverge from the plot.

 

***

 

I look at the Duke and Duchess who are smiling eagerly, then back at the scroll awaiting my signature. It's been about a week since I entered Ruelle's body, and I have come to realize there is no escaping the Hughes.

 

Reluctantly, I wet the quill with a glob of ink and scratch my new name onto the yellowy paper. Before I can ponder my awful cursive handwriting, the Duke snatches up the scroll at a speed that seems unfitting for his bulky appearance.

 

"You there, bring her to her room." He waves his hand dismissively at a one of the maids.

 

What a shift in attitude, I suppose they'll show their true colors now.

 

My new room is on the same floor as Clyde's, the little brother I have yet to meet. It's a rather bare room with a tall single bed and a chest of drawers. There is a small private bathroom attached, and that's about it.

 

It feels like a guest room, it probably is one.

 

I unpack my bag of Ruelle's personal items: a hair comb, a few dresses, nightgowns, and shoes. I expected more, like some inheritance from the Durhams, but apparently that was all burned in the inferno that killed them.

 

I'm itching to explore the rest of the estate but the maid who escorted me left as soon as we arrived at my room.

 

Well, I can go by myself, the Duke and Duchess haven't given me any rules yet and I doubt they care as long as I don't make trouble.

 

As I stroll leisurely through the marbled hallways, I consider the events of FML.

 

Ruelle's direct cause of death is her mysterious illness. The Hughes pay for her essential medication so later when she is disowned and cast out from nobility, she loses access to the medicine and dies.

 

But, what illness?

 

I gaze at my reflection in one of the windows of the hallway. My skin looks a little pale, but my hair is thick and healthy, and my red eyes are full of energy.

 

I don't feel sick or weak in the slightest.

 

In the game, many rumors about the treacherous Ruelle surface throughout. She is homeschooled for the first year of academy, only entering at her second year. Some students gossiped, saying that her illness was a farce to receive pity or to excuse her bad behavior and that the Hughes were too embarrassed to send her to school the prior year.

 

Still, needing that medicine to live is proof of an illness.

 

A large oak door on the left side of the hallway captures my attention, pulling me from my thoughts of the game.

 

Pushing open the heavy door, my nose twitches at the pleasant smell of old books. Mmm, paper, wood, ink, leather, even a hint of must- I sense it all. Ruelle has a sharp nose.

 

I could see myself spending some time here. There isn't much else to do.

 

I weave through the bookcases, trying to grasp the general organization of the books. There isn't any Dewy Decimal system, but all the book are neatly arranged, their spines facing outward. It seems like they're grouped by genre and author. It would be nice to find a fiction section.

 

Though I'm curious about the non-fiction of this made up world, I'm mainly craving some simple entertainment to keep me distracted.

 

Ah ha! Found it.

 

The titles like The Adventures of Gooseberry Fin and Torn Lovers: Roman and July stand out to define this shelf.

 

I snigger at the familiar titles. A Tale of Two Capitals, The Trapper in the Rye- many of these seem like parodies of classics from my world. As I wonder over the peculiar titles, someone strides up to the same bookcase.

 

I glance down at the figure who faces away from me, not needing to see his face to recognize him. Just the sight of the back of his head- his mop of light green hair that resembles grass- is enough to know that this is Clyde Hughes.

 

Ugh, this is kind of awkward. Wait, why is he putting a book titled The Evolution of Political Careers in this shelf?

 

Done haphazardly squeezing in the fat book, he turns and walks past me, not sparing a single glance my way. Once I hear the creak of the oak door I take the misplaced book and bring it over the to political section that I recall passing by. Sure enough, there is a gap large enough for the heavy book on the bottom shelf. I crouch down and slide it in with ease. 

 

This place is so carefully organized, it would be a waste to let it fall into disarray.

 

Inwardly, I click my tongue at Clyde and scold him for being so inconsiderate. 

 

If it were the old me, I would do something dumb like scold him aloud and to his face. Not the current me, not Ruelle Hughes! Hehe... I'm so mature, keeping things low key like this will be easy.

 

I smirk and stand up abruptly. As if to refute my confident thoughts, a sudden dizzy spell takes hold of my body.

 

I feel that familiar lurch in my stomach- like going down in an elevator, or when I slipped in the shower. 

 

Oh boy, fate has caught up with me.

 

Once again, darkness clouds my vision as the shriek of a passing maid echoes in my ears.