My poor parents. Even now I still feel guilty for giving them a heart attack on a day they were so excited for. Not to mention all the stress and anxiety of the next two months as I lay bedridden with a migraine so bad I was nearly begging for death. I couldn't speak, move or even think, and no one could figure out what was wrong. 

Fortunately, I knew exactly what was wrong. I was remembering. 

At first it was utterly overwhelming. I was trapped in a hazy state of unconsciousness as memories of another life assaulted my mind. I could occasionally feel my body being looked after by my family; whether it was feeding me spoon by spoon or wiping away my feverish sweats, I could feel their worried love. But I couldn’t respond; I didn’t even have the strength to process or understand the thoughts and memories that were being downloaded into my mind. But as the weeks rolled by things gradually improved; the new memories began to slow down, and I was able to start sorting through them. They were far from perfect; many parts of my previous life were lost or missing. I couldn’t even remember my name, nor where I lived. But the things I did remember were crucial.

In my previous life, I was a depressed and lonely young adult. No friends, no motivation and no desire to live. But there was one thing I was obsessed with; a certain type of story called ‘visual novels’. 

The world of my previous life was nothing like our own. Buildings were made of glass and metal, and magic and steam power were a thing of fantasy. Instead, the humans of that world relied on technology that controlled electricity, and created vast and complex societies that exploited this power to the fullest extent. 

Visual Novels were similar to children’s books in that they told a story through text and imagery, though these stories were targeted at a much wider audience. But what made a visual novel unique was its ability to allow the reader to influence the story through certain decisions. These decisions then affected the outcome of the story, allowing the reader to see multiple different endings and interact with the characters. It allowed readers to spend more time with their favourite characters, fall in love and understand them on a more intimate level. 

And in that previous life, I hated them. 

I utterly despised them. The vast majority of these stories were nothing more than tripe romances, filled with cookie cutter stereotypes and despicably vacuous characters. Disgustingly possessive male leads were littered around every corner, and female leads with the personality of a sloth were led around trashy plotlines like they were being trained for the circus. 

But I could not stop obsessing over them. I was the world’s worst critic; snobbishly deriding them at every opportunity I could, all while buying as many as possible.  I won’t lie; it was a dreadfully unhealthy habit and much of the time I spent criticizing them was a complete waste.

Except for one series. There was one pair of visual novels that I despised so much, hated with every fibre of my being, that I still scowl to this day when I think about it. It was called The Monster’s Daughter.

It was the tale of a kind, beautiful young woman who grew up in a poor baker’s family. On her thirteenth birthday, her magical powers manifest themselves and the local tyrannical Duke recognizes her as his long lost daughter. The poor girl is dreadfully bullied by her evil step-sister and the cruel servants of the manor. Her cold-hearted and cruel father ignores her plight, and she suffers greatly. But through her small acts of kindness and simplistic friendliness, the staff of the Duke’s manor grow to love her. Even the dead heart of the Duke eventually warms up to her, and she gains the love and friendship of everyone around. The evil older step-sister is punished, losing her right of inheritance and nearly being thrown out of the house. But the main character magnanimously forgives her, allowing her to stay. 

I distinctly remember trembling with rage after I finished the story. Not only does the main character suffer from Stockholm Syndrome, conveniently forgetting the numerous horrible things her father and the servants do to her because ‘they grow to love her’, but the evil step-sister gets all the blame. Not only that, but the step-sister is nearly thrown out because it is revealed she was the daughter of a sex worker. How was that any of her fault?! The father was the one to blame in the first place!! And the Baker family! They raised the main character with love and affection from a young age, yet she conveniently forgets about them as soon as the Duke kidnaps her?!

I had thought it was as bad as it could get, until they released the sequel, The Monster’s Daughter: Lover’s Academy. It completely redefined my definition of horrible, and was likely the main reason why this series gave me the brain aneurysm that finished me off. 

In this sequel, the heroine travels to a boarding school for the country’s elite. Here she meets a variety of different men, all of whom look down on her or ridicule her in some form until their hearts are won over by her love and kindness. It was almost the exact same premise as the first one, but taken to new extremes. The men are violent and dangerous, some of whom even kidnap the heroine if they fall in love with her. The step-sister is even more cruel and vicious than in the first one as well; not having learned her lesson she goes to new extremes to ruin the heroine through murder, defilement or even torture. In every case the heroine is rescued by whichever man she has won over, and the step-sister suffers a fate often worse than death. I will not share what can happen to her; truth be told, I find it too upsetting to imagine even now. And at the time, I was so horrified at what they had done to this ‘evil’ character, whose only real crime was failing to please an unloving father, that I cried myself to sleep. 

The truth is that I found the villainess to be a fascinatingly sympathetic character; she came from poorer origins than the main character, yet she failed to garner any love or attention from her father simply because she was not cute or naive. She was sharp and clever, and the fact that the heroine won because she was more feminine and vulnerable caused her to act out in gradually escalating manners. In the end, she only wanted the same love from her father as the heroine received. This was a story filled with hatred disguised by love and romance; hatred that was directed towards any woman that wasn’t naive, loveable and controlled by the men in her life like the heroine was. 

And it sent me into a maddened rage. 

Rampaging feminism aside, there is a reason why I have wasted my readers’ time describing this dreadful tripe of a story. As I lay there as a young girl, trying desperately to sort through these memories I slowly began to realize that much of the details of this story were familiar to me. The story was set in an Empire much like our own, driven by magical and steam powered technology. There is indeed an Academy in our Empire, Escott Academy, where the elite of the Empire gather. In fact, even the villainess seemed very familiar; she had long black hair, lavender purple eyes and a fake magical crest on her chest… and… her name was-

I sat bolt-up in bed, startling my poor mother from her exhausted bedside nap. She gave me a look of shock, then elation as I showed signs of life for the first time in two months. 

“F-Freya? Are you awake?!”

I opened my mouth and tried to speak, but my tongue felt thick and unresponsive. 

“Aaa...Ahh” was all I could manage before I gave up and mimed writing something. My mother gave a startled look, then ran into the next room shouting wildly at Father. They scurried back in together, and my mother handed me a piece of charcoal and a dirty rag. 

“Here, try drawing on this. Do- do you remember me? Where we are?”

I nodded carefully. Though manageable, my head was still sore and sensitive and I didn’t want to worsen it. Instead I took the charcoal, and carefully wrote onto the worn white rag that served as my paper. 

Lady Violette Grace Von Rhinestadt

“Honey, what do these mean?” asked my father in a worried tone. I gave him a blank stare in confusion, then looked back at my writing only to realize that I had written it in English, the language of my previous life. The world I lived in now used a completely different language, and I had never been taught how to write in its script. What I had just done was write a language completely foreign to this universe. 

Feeling slightly awkward, I rubbed the letters out. Pictures would have to do for now. I drew a smiley face with a checkmark next to it and pointed to myself. 

“A-are you saying you’re okay?” asked my mother tentatively.

I nodded again and smiled, then carefully stuck out my swollen tongue and pointed to it. 

“Is it your tongue? Is that why you can’t speak?”

I nodded again. This was easier than I expected. 

“Don’t worry sweetie. I’ll fetch the doctor at once!” said my father, hurriedly rushing out of the room. 

At this I swiftly shook my head, causing another wave of dizziness that forced my eyes closed. Doctors were outrageously expensive at the time, and I knew we couldn’t afford it. I rubbed my fingers together and gave a thumbs down. Seeing my dizziness at the sudden movement, my mother grabbed me to lie me back down. 

“Slow down, you’re still sick. Don’t worry about the money sweetie, the Duke offered to pay for it all.”

The Duke? That horrible stingy man who tortured both his daughters for his own self entitled ego? No, would torture. It felt strange knowing what was going to happen like it had already happened.

My father quickly returned with a doctor who seemed like a bit of a quack but offered good advice. They asked me lots of questions, to which I could only nod or shake my head. Eventually they prescribed me more headache medication and a sweet ginger tea to reduce the swelling on my tongue. 

It took nearly three more weeks for me to fully recover, during which much crying and hugging was had. My twin siblings were especially distraught, as I had collapsed right in front of them, so I spent a lot of time cuddling and playing with them. I felt guilty for causing so much stress to my family, but my mother insisted I stay in bed every time I tried to help out. Fortunately, my headaches didn’t last long and I quickly bounced back to where I used to be. 

Once my father was assured that I had made a full recovery, he pulled me aside one day and told me to go deliver my thanks to His Grace the Duke personally. He had covered all of my medical fees without question, and according to my father, my life was now indebted to him. 

Truth be told, it terrified me. I had all my memories of him from the game, but I was still just a ten year old commoner girl. But despite that, I was also excited; if I was lucky, I might even get a chance to see Lady Violette again. She was still a little girl, far away from the horrible fate that awaited her. It was likely my only chance to meet her again before she was lost.