Originally, the story began with the heroine, a cleric possessing healing abilities, stumbling upon a holy knight wounded by monsters and cleansing his corruption. Since no one possessed purifying power but her, the Temple declared her a saint, and due to her miraculous gift, she rose swiftly in status.
Soon after, she met the main male leads: Prince Rafael, the commander of the holy knights; Prince Seinf; and finally Louisa’s real older brother, Damian. Each man, enamored by her sunny nature, fell for her in turn, leading to all manner of romantic entanglements.
Meanwhile, tragedy struck Louisa. She spiraled into obsessive jealousy over what the heroine had. This obsession inevitably led to her downfall. It wasn’t surprising that Rafael, who was bound to the church and aiming for the cardinalate, grew to despise Louisa.
When the Emperor learned that Louisa had fallen for Rafael, he saw an opportunity. He wanted to tie Rafael into secular ties so he wouldn’t break his vows prematurely, making Louisa a useful pawn.
“Miss Blake, if you truly wish for Rafael, wouldn’t it be better to marry him than watch from afar?”
“…Marry?”
“You seem interested. I’ll promote a powerful match with my Duchess Blake family. But you must make your own house willing, as well.”
Louisa stopped at nothing. First she fasted, then—when that failed—she resorted to self-harm. Rafael, repulsed by the extreme measures, found himself forced to accept the marriage to avoid scandal.
(Of course I’d be stuck—and then afterwards I get to this body. If I’d woken up before all that, I wouldn’t have had to bother with the engagement…)
Too late—the engagement date had already been set a month ahead, and the situation was irreversible.
Now, she only had to wait for the heroine to enter the story—three months after the engagement—and watch Rafael break the engagement and demand compensation from the Blake family.
(So long as I meet Rafael twice a week for three months, the Emperor won’t rush the wedding—free lodging, food, leisure…)
Louisa mused: this time was meant as her second chance to live without worry—no pressure, no hustle, and yet still crowned Duchess.
(Maybe divine mercy—this chance to rest after my previous life’s toil.)
In her previous life, she struggled through university and a corporate crash, only to find family greed at every turn: elder siblings demanding she subsidize them, then demanding loans once she landed a job. She was worn out.
(What’s the point of working so hard? I’ll just enjoy life and not care about others.)
Louisa calmly closed and reopened her eyes. Meeting Rafael didn’t feel like a chore. She could pretend she was just going on a gourmet outing instead.
(Not the problem…)
She lounged in the bath, reluctant to move. Finally, she hauled herself out into the chilly air, but felt something unsettling.
Her stomach turned, and she stumbled—covering her mouth as she retched. But she wasn’t sick. Something else came out: blood.
(Oh no… not yet…)
Mary’s scream shattered the calm in the Duke’s estate as she found Louisa collapsed, bleeding profusely.
“Doctor! She’s vomiting blood!”
The family physician rushed in, suspicious that Louisa had self-harmed again. But Mary, shaking in fright as she wiped Louisa’s face, explained it was blood, not poison.
“Are there any medicine bottles nearby?” asked the doctor.
“Nothing—just blood, and lots of it!”
The doctor asked about her meals. Mary listed her lunch in detail: simple, as befits her fiancé’s ceremony day.
“Did she ever complain of discomfort?”
“Not really,” Mary replied. “After she awoke—that day, about four days ago—she ate normally and slept more, though only two hours, which worsened slightly.”
That day was the day Louisa woke in the new body—four days after she supposedly died from poison.
Since then, she had become lethargic, as though all drive had drained from her. She moved like an empty husk. But no complaint surfaced; she accepted Mary’s care with calm resignation—a resigned calm that often came with repeated “I’m too bothered.”
“These symptoms can be normal in spring—more long hours and less stamina,” the doctor reasoned, trying to calm Mary.
“I’m afraid she’s hiding something painful,” Mary wept, gently helping her undress. Mary noticed tenderness in Louisa’s subdued manner.
That afternoon
The doctor returned to the door.
“Mary, give this — it’s tea, good for colds.”
“A cold?!” Mary exclaimed.
Louisa just coughed—a lackluster cough that startled the doctor.
He gazed at the draped curtains. Damian, hiding here since entering the room unexpectedly, looked even more obvious than the doctor. He didn’t need to say anything—Mary shielded her eyes, and the doctor gave up, focusing on Louisa again.
The priestly calm was gone.
‘This is bad,’ Louisa thought. ‘I needed to wait three months, but now I’m coughing blood…’
She feigned sleep but felt things escalating. She cleared her throat and slowly opened her eyes:
“—Ah.”
“Milady!” Mary gasped, dropping a towel.
“Are you all right? You collapsed! Do you remember anything? There was so much blood on the floor. I thought you might not wake up…”
Mary’s worried, trembling voice echoed in Louisa’s mind.
And Louisa blinked back into the room—bleary and entranced.
