First Life
My name is Leona, and I'm trapped in this royal prison, accused of crimes I didn't even commit.A father who constantly scolds me for not awakening some ability—one I don't even understand.A little sister who values money more than family. This is my family.
Then, the door to my prison opens. A cold, middle-aged man steps in. His hair is white, his eyes violet—just like mine. He looks at me as though my ability will suddenly awaken if he stares hard enough.
"When will you awaken your ability?"
Leona looked at her father with a calm expression.
"What ability, you old man?"
The man's face twisted with anger as he grabbed Leona's chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"One more day. If you don't awaken by then, you'll be of no use to me. I'll send you to marry some bastard from the Sylvian Empire—a brutal, barbaric country."
With that, he turned and left.
You might be wondering why it's "one last day." Well, after I turn 18, my chances of awakening will become weaker, just like that old man said.
The reason he'll send me to marry them is simple—our empire is at war with the Sylvian Empire, and we're losing resources badly. After this marriage, the war could end, and he can save his precious money.
"Sigh, what a life…"
A day quickly passed, and when that old man saw I hadn't awakened, he didn't waste any time. He immediately ordered the guards to send me to the Sylvian Empire.
After being married off to a cold-looking man with long black hair and red eyes in the Sylvian Empire, my life became hell. Oh, wait—my life was already hell. It's just… worse now.
Why? Well, from what I'd heard and based on his behavior, it was pretty obvious he already had a lover—and he was definitely forced into this marriage. And, to top it all off, on the third day, my food was poisoned. I died.
"Goodbye... for now, I guess."
But why was this cold-looking person staring at me with pity in my final moments? Whatever. Not like I care.
Currently, in an apartment bedroom, a person sits in front of a mirror, staring at it like a ghost. She touches her chin, examines her reflection carefully, then suddenly shouts:
"Where the hell am I?!"
Well, as you can probably guess, I've been reborn in this strange world—where there are so many cool things! Ice cream everywhere, I can drive cars, and as for money... well, I'm basically a real estate boss with more apartments than I can count. Like hell I care about making more!
But then, this strange box—called a truck—decided it didn't want me to enjoy my new life. After two months, it crashed into me and killed me again, sending me out of this amazing world.
Currently, I'm staring at my dead body—with a smoky, floaty form that I guess is my soul. I glance toward the truck… and swear it just smirked at me.
How dare you smirk at me, you metallic murderer!
I immediately start floating toward it, ready to throw hands—well, ghost hands. But just as I get closer, I suddenly freeze.
I can't move. It feels like something—or someone—is pulling me backward. Toward them.
As I tried to resist, the force pulling me just got stronger—and boom, I blacked out again.
When I opened my eyes, I immediately grabbed my head. Ugh. It hurt like hell.
I looked around, and my face twitched. The place was dark, damp, and smelled like mold. Water dripped from the ceiling, and spiderwebs decorated every corner like it was Halloween.
Wait a second… isn't this the prison that old man locked me in? For life?!
Suddenly, the door creaked open. I turned my head and, yep—there he was. The old man himself, wearing that cold, punchable face of his.
Leona's father, the mighty Emperor of the Kalgas Empire, strutted into the room like he owned the place. (Well, technically, he did… but still.)
He looked down at me—his very locked-up daughter—and frowned like I was a stain on his royal carpet.
"This wild girl still can't awaken an ability. Guards, send her to the Sylvian Empire. And don't bother with any preparations—those barbarians don't deserve anything but trash. Hmph."
With a dramatic swirl of his cloak and a face full of arrogance, he turned and walked out like some third-rate villain in a stage play. I fought the urge to chuck a cobweb at his royal back.
Well, technically, if I'm trash… then he's ancient trash. With extra smell. Ugh—rotten ego and decades of bitterness? Awewek.