Chapter 05 The Beginning of a Path Never Taken

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Sylvia jolted awake in the early hours of the morning, panting like she’d been running.

The door slammed open, and light from a single candle spilled onto the unorganized boxes and tall shelves around her.

A short and thin man walked in; his many years were marred on his face. His crooked back made him look even shorter, and the garments he wore were old and patched in various parts.

“Sleeping in, eh?” Shote said in a hoarse voice.

He coughed aloud as if his lungs would spill out of his mouth at any second.

“You look as pale as a sheet there, girl. He-he-he. Did ya have a nightmare?”

Sylvia blinked in response. Cold sweat had wet her neck and back.

The storage room smelled of mold, spices, and dust. She’d tried to keep it clean as much as she could, but there was a limit to what she could do given her workload.

“Hmph. I’ll let you off the hook today, but I better not catch ya slacking!”

With that warning, the old man turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

Sylvia chuckled, still disoriented from what Shote called a nightmare. The entire experience felt too real to be made-up. Especially in how it ended.

A chill ran up her spine. The sensation of a blade piercing through her stomach remained fresh in her memory.

Her hands moved underneath her raggedy patchwork of a dress on their own to feel her stomach, pinching and poking the skin that had sunk in. There was nothing there—neither warm blood nor cold steel.

Yet she found herself trembling.

The door opened again, still none too gently.

“Come now, girl. The floors won’t scrub themselves,” the old man ordered, sounding a bit annoyed.

Sylvia swallowed her tears back and threw the rag off her small body, then jumped down from the box she’d slept on. She picked it up again, intending to wipe herself dry, but the object atop the box made her freeze.

The shadows have stolen its luster, but it was clearly made of gold. Round, heavy, and silent.

Sylvia slumped to the floor, shaking, unable to brush off the sense of dread.

‘It’s real.’

‘It’s all … real.’

The pocket watch that Lord Marcus lent her was irrefutable proof that the nightmare was real.

Knock! Knock!

As the door creaked open, Sylvia hurried to stand on trembling legs. She jumped back on her makeshift bed, blocking Taleer’s view of the pocket watch with her body.

Candlelight flooded her room once again.

Taleer, Shote’s adopted son, walked in with his signature look—an apron covering his entire front and the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows.

“Woah, there. Shote was right. What’s got you spooked, Sylvie?”

“Nothing,” she replied, swallowing hard. “I had a nightmare.”

T

Taleer nodded. He glanced left and then right as if checking for anybody listening in on them.

“You didn’t see a ghost, did you, Sylvie?”

“N-no?”

“You sure?”

Sylvia sighed.

“Ghosts aren’t real, Taleer.”

“It’d be expensive if they were,” he said with a faint smile. “You don’t look good. I’ll fetch water for today.”

“I don’t smell wood burning, boy! Where are you?” came Shote’s grumpy voice.

The sheets crumpled in her fists.

 “Shote’s calling for you.”

“Calling me ‘boy’ at this age is embarrassing, don’t you think? Damned old man,” he complained as he crossed his muscular arms and clicked his tongue. “Sorry, Sylvie. We had guests come by late last night.”

“Heh. Nothing to be sorry about. It’s my job.”

“Drop by the kitchen as soon as you’re done,” Taleer replied as he left. “Shout ‘ghost’ if you see one!”

Sylvia shook her head.

‘It’s embarrassing that someone your age is scared of ghosts.’

She reached for the pocket watch and opened it.

The time read four o’clock.

Her brows furrowed.

She’d clearly heard the ticking sound it made when Lord Marcus held it. But the third hand wasn’t moving this time.

Sylvia opened the back door to get a closer look. Similar to the long hand, it stood affixed to the number twelve.

Someone stomped by in front of the door.

Sylvia shut the pocket watch and turned around. She sighed when the door remained closed.

Her hand clasped the object tightly. It was small, grimy, and rough from days of labor. But it also meant one thing—she’d returned to her ten-year-old self.

Sylvia chuckled.

“If this isn’t a dream, then …”

All her life, she’d suffered. All her life, she’d been selfless.

But in the end, Duke Alec himself came to kill her.

“Roses, was it?” she mumbled.

‘Live and wait, you bastard. I’ll be a thorn in your existence while I sharpen my sword.’

 Sylvia opened the box she used as a bed. Inside were a few of her possessions, such as an old tin box. She stuffed the pocket watch inside, buried it under her spare dress, then secured the box shut.

She took a basket with its bottom gone and placed it on top. It was to let Shote and Taleer know that it was her bed.

‘It’s a long way off, my revenge.’

Beside the box, Sylvia found a couple of beaten-up buckets with pieces of rags hung on their rims and a pair of worn-out leather boots.

The events leading up to her final moments lingered in her mind as she picked them up and exited the room through the backdoor, which led to the alleys.

The crisp morning air, laden heavily with the stench of poverty, made her shiver, and every breath she exhaled formed into a cloud that dissipated quickly.

Sylvia threaded the familiar path shrouded in partial darkness as the dawn loomed overhead. The smell of hopelessness, the drunkards slumped on the ground and the beggars that felt for their pockets for anything of value—the same scene played around her, reminding her of her current position.

She was no longer a duchess.

In this life, Sylvia had returned to being nothing more than a street rat.

‘What now?’

‘I won’t be able to take one step past the gates before the guards kick me to the curb.’

A small queue had lined up at the well. Sylvia joined it and began picking off the crust around her eyes.

‘That’s if I’m lucky. They won’t even let me approach.’

In front of her were a couple of adults who were filling up larger buckets than hers. When her turn came, she filled her two buckets to the brim. Her hands turned red from her efforts.

As she bent down to pick them up, a ragged boot toppled one over.

Sylvia looked up and saw a gang of unsavory faces.

‘Heh. I forgot about you guys.’

-gn_cc-