Stories of how to survive as an evil duke's daughter are nothing new. But then fate just had to, really had to, put Lizzie at the center of such repetitive chaos, with nothing but cuteness and wits as her weapon.
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Lizzie survived a burning orp...
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Lady Feliziia Norvillon is very unlucky.
One could say, her story is a tragedy.
Her mother, the princess of Gran Dacchia's king, was forced into marriage with the Grand Duke of Norvillon. The king hoped, by marriage, he could take advantage of the infamous ruler of the North, whilst the princess had other aims.
But then, unfortunately, to all of them, it ended differently.
Feliziia was born, kidnapped as a child, and was only found years later.
"Then, after that? Did she live happily ever after?"
"Does this look like a fairytale to you? She died, like, brutally dead. The duke of Norvillon, her own father, stabbed her in the heart. The end of your story."
"Wait a minute, Red." eight-year-old Lizzie sat up from the wooden floor of the wagon and scratched her itchy shoulders. Her thin clothes, one could be mistaken as rags were as stiff with dirt as her silver hair that had long lost shine. "Don't just make up stories and call it my fate. There's so much gap in between. Why would a duke kill his child? What happened to the princess? And do I look like a noble to you?"
"For now, no. You don't talk and sound like a child to me either."
Lizzie didn't answer, because in truth, in insanely and unbelievable truth, she felt like she isn't.
It's as if she had lived longer, somewhere in worlds with people flying inside sky machines, moving pictures inside boxes and the world carried in tiny flat rectangles that fit in hands. She may not remember all the details, but the loneliness that images present in her dreams reverberated after she wakes up then forgets them.
She did not know how old exactly she was in that world, but it must be older than she is now. She didn't even know if she actually existed there, or that world was just in her dreams.
All she felt is the sense of mental maturity.
"I knew it," Red grinned. He was years older, Lizzie assumed in his fifteenth summer. "Don't worry, reincarnation, rebirth, transmigration, whatever you call is nothing that uncommon."
