She had died.
Although she had eventually been born and lived a life before that.
She had been a single child with a quite loving family, even if it hadn't always been easy.
As soon as she had turned fifteen, she took small jobs to ease her family's financial issues while continuing High school.
She graduated with a basic mention and got into a university to study that one thing that captivated her.

Writing.

One's life could be brightened by a single activity, and for her, it was it.

So, she worked on everything, every day, from A to Z, to give an incredible story.
The story of her dream.

It had been about a princess who had a pretty nice life and was sent to the north for a contract marriage.
She discovered mafias' stories and other problems in the whole empire, even in the whole world, and decided to take care of it (since she was bored and didn't have anything else to do. No, please do not ask questions, readers.)
Gatekeeping and girlbossing by all means was her mantra.
As she took those organizations down (or, more accurately, took control of them), she had charmed her husband, who was as cold as any ordinary male lead should have been.

Typical story with basic characters, but the wonderful point of it was her writing style.
Finely detailed, she swore she had looked at each of her phrases for hours, days.
Added up to the refined world building, and there you had it.
The best-selling novel of that year.

She had been so proud of herself and of her work.
She had felt complete for the first time in her life.
Then she met Andrew and fell in love.
He fell in love too, so they got married.
They got children, so she had to settle down her work temporarily, sadly, never picked up back like before.
Boredom and numbness conquered her life, and she began to argue with her husband.
After two kids and a divorce, she found the power to start anew.

Therefore, she never did any masterpiece again since it wasn't, and couldn't, ever be the same.
Nevertheless, she did some books for kids, which had had their little success.
Her children had had children, and she was a grandma at the age of fifty-seven.
The rest was peaceful and calm.
She saw everyone growing, and it was enough for her to be happy.
She fell asleep and never woke up.
At eighty-three years of age, Dahlia Mona Lotter died.

But, it can't end here.

She opened her eyes.
Lights glimmering, shimmering, glittering in a new manner.
Blindness enveloped her for a few seconds.
Although silence didn't.

"BRING TOWELS AND WATER TO THE EMPRESS IMMEDIATELY!"

"YES, SIR!"

"Will their Majesties wish for a meal at this hour?"

"THE BABY DOESN'T SCREAM!"

"Oh my..."

"That's a first time..."

"Your Majesties, please answer the question. We'll have enough time to present you a decent course, if so."

Our writer didn't understand how the bedroom of her home in the countryside got crowded.
Like, what the fuck, let her wake up first.

She felt the air fill both of her lungs.
Sadly, it wasn't like her habitual inhale.
It was painful, painfully horrible.
The first inspiration felt like a cut, the deepest one she ever felt, at the core of her chest.
She yelled out from pain, or for help, maybe.
Relieved sighs were heard across the room as she screamed.

A light, silky texture englobed every part of her body, replacing the omniscient cold of the room.
And she stopped.
The pain became slowly bearable by the heat brought from the silky tissue, finally soothing her pains.

A low, masculine voice crushed her last cries.
"Everyone, please leave the room."

A small querying cough was heard.

The man continued.
"No, Ms. Lessie, there's no need to prepare any kind of meal. Please call out for our children."

She was passed to someone else like a balloon.
To the latest news, she wasn't?
And her nice home out of the town wasn't this dark and medieval.
What kind of dream was that?

She lifted her eyes.

The woman who held her tightly on a wide bed shone with beauty.
Something exhaled familiarity from her.
Our writer unfortunately didn't catch what.

The lady looked away, still grinning warmly.
"I think she looks a lot like you, Alex. Less than Xander, for sure, but more than Harlow and this other cutie."
She declared to someone.

Our writer looked in the same direction.

The room was murky, although filled with a lot of fur and big pillows to seemingly give a cozy look.
Not far from the bed, a man was standing, gently holding a baby.
His light hair, contrasting with the obscure color of his eyes, gave him... a scary look.
The overall making her want to jump to yank the baby out of his arms.

"She may have my smile," he said, taking a few steps while staring into our writer's soul, freaking her out in the same manner, "but apart from that, Ann, she fully has your face."
After a moment, his glance turned to the woman.
"I'm blessed with another child having your look. It's too much happiness for me."
He muttered, leaning to kiss her.

The man leaning; she was close to the baby in his arm.
An adorable, cute, pretty, small, cheeky, innocent baby.

And, her grandmother's instinct kicking in, our writer wanted to hold it.
She reached out for this cutie pie.
Or tried.
Her arms were too short, and her hands, too small, to reach him.
Shorter and smaller than it should have been for an eighty-three-year-old woman.

"Ahg!" She exclaimed from surprise.
Ahg? She wanted to say... "Ube!"
What the... "Igu!"

Something strange was happening : She didn't know how to talk anymore.
It was annoyingly terrifying.
Her babbles continued to spread, stopping the adults in their kiss with a giggle.
Those gave her an intense look, filled with amusement... and love.
The love you gave to your kid.

It hit her like a truck.

It was not an eerie dream. She was really in here—this dark, old-looking room. She wasn't a granny anymore, but a child, a baby, or in the body of one.
And these people were her parents.
Probably.

Wait, was it one of those reincarnation stories? Couldn't she have something less cliché?

That meant that she had passed away as Dahlia. Parents, children, grandchildren, gone.
Forever.
She'll never see them again.

It made her want to cry.
Cry until the pressure on her heart stops; cry until her mind is numb and empty; cry until her eyes are sore from her tears.
Cry to cry.
How ironic for her, who, in all of her memories, had had really better reason to tear up than letting her close ones fly and live without an old grandma like her.

The tears slid down her cheeks, surprising the two adults near.
The woman's brows met each other while the man took a seat on the bed, focusing his attention on our writer.

"Hush, hush... now, it's OK. You are with us." He began, his tone calm and composed. "Everything will be alright. Breathe slowly.."

She breathed as she was said to.
Strangely, even if the pain and tears were still there, those words appeased her.

If it was really happening, if this was reality, she had to go on as hard as it would be, because it was the right and only thing to do.
She had to enjoy that new chance to do something.
Staying passive, even as an idea, made her want to vomit.

She'll cry about it later.

The woman (should she call her Mother?) gently stroked her slick forehead. "How do we name those two sweethearts?"

The man stared at her blankly. "Well, we have Ian for this little one," he said, pointing at the cheeky baby, "since he came first. But this one," he declared while pointing at our writer, "we need to find a name in "J" for this little princess."

The stare of those adults seemed way too long in our writer's opinion.
However, it only took two seconds for the woman to decide. "Jade."

"Excuse me, what did you just say?" he blurted out.

"I said Jade. Her name is going to be Jade." She shortly replied, with a dead serious expression.

At first, he shot her disturbed glance, probably because of the speed of the answer.
Then, he just glimpsed at the future Jade and her brother with a resigned scowl to announce.
"Welcome to this world and to our family, Ian and Jade, the siblings who weren't planned. Again."

A choke.
Oh, so Jade was an accident.

Out of nowhere, the other baby in the man's arm jiggled in all directions, tugging our writer out of those profound reflections.
He kicked, wiggled, and attacked her father's arms (in a baby way, not so much worries), who, by the way, showed an I'm-used-to-that sort of face.
The baby grabbed the woman's bosom, already asking for food, with a large smile across the face.

"Ohhhhhhhh, this one is already hungry." She said the voice full of happiness, already undoing the top of her gown to let her bust free for the feeding.

When this happened, he remembered, with their first child; Alexander was quite shocked since he never saw a noble lady feeding her child.
But after eight children and a lot of sleepless nights caring for them, he just resigned about his wife's educational methods and followed them to the letter.
For those reasons, of course, he tried to help her undo the dress to feed the baby.
And, for other reasons, it was also the perfect timing for their eight other children to burst into the room with Ms. Lessie.

(Yes, This Narrator and you, readers, will have to blame The Author for that boring, stereotyped scene.)
《The Author rejects the fault on This Narrator's poor narrative skills. Period.》

Ms. Lessie, the lady's maid, immediately tried to cover Harlow's eyes, the youngest one among the eight children.
Right after the perilous action, which was welcomed by some, 'I'm big enough to know what Papa and Mama do!' and some, 'You are still too young, Princess!' Xander, the oldest of the eight children, spoke with an exasperated voice.
"Dad, can you please wait until Mom has recovered before bothering her?"

Seven kids nodded, tagged along with the maid and baby Jade.
Jade? Oh damn.
Now, even their babies thought he was a pervert.

"No, this isn't what you think..." However, this tentative of a sentence was only welcomed with rolls of the eyes.

"Ube." Jade uttered.

It was alright for since he was married and in love with his wife, but it wasn't the perfect and desired image for a beloved father.

His wife, who perhaps heard his thoughts, came to his rescue. "No, no, dears. Your father wasn't bothering me. He tried to land me a hand since I needed to feed your siblings, and you all know how hard it is to undo a good knot."

The kids seemed convinced at the second as Ms. Lessie only scowled more, thinking that wasn't and shouldn't be her problem.

"Exactly what happened; now come in." He announced to close the awkward case.

Their kids finally crossed the door's threshold.

At the number of eight, these drove him crazy as much as they made him love his existence.
Benjamin stood a head above the rest, even if the one-year gap with Xander—the eldest of the eight—should have made him smaller.
This height enabled his vision at a higher capacity and allowed him to see the babies first.
"They're so cute!" He beamed, ready to hug them.

"As all of you were." Ania replied, grinning happily, before an emotionless voice interrupted.

"No, they are way cuter than Gilbert and Flanagan when they were their age." Declan, the fourth kid of the family of seven years old, always said what he thought, as sharp as the thought could be.
That cost him elbow nudges from Calista, his older sister and third born, every time.
This time was no exception.

"Ouch!"

"Hold your tongue, you're not the one who can talk about being cute." Menaced Calista with the usual ounce of teasing in her statements.

"Could you please restrain remarks on us, Declan?" Flanagan, sixth born, whined with Gilbert's, his identical twin, perpetual nodding in background.
"It's not because they are the second pair of twins that we should compare them to the originals, as to say, us, the exceptional ones."
He pompously finished as Gilbert ceased his prior continual head bobbing.

"Exceptional wouldn't be my first idea of our duo, but I have to admit that you are, for once, correct about the rest."

"For once? Seriously?" Flanagan retorted, brows already furrowed.

"Yes."

"Stop. You. Two." Their mother cut, putting an end to the sparks of the debate between them.

Harlow, who had been blinded by the other kids' back until now, was hurrying to see the babies.
"Ben, you were right!" She proclaimed, snatching the end of the sleeve of her brother.
"They are the cutest baby ever! And particularly the girl!"

"Remember, children, no favoritism is accepted here."

"It isn't favoritism if it's equally allotted, right? I prefer the boy!" Ember, fifth born of six years old, claimed, closing up.

"Foolproof argument." Their father bobbed his head, causing him to receive an impetuous eye shot from his wife.

●●●

Jade was lost.

Eight kids had entered the room so fast she just couldn't have breath since.
They were all around her, watching her like some beast in a circus.
That's what can be called a lot of accidents.

When the hand of one of the children creeped up, she screamed. "GABU!"

It had its effect because all of the kids retracted themselves as the woman hugged her promptly.
"She must be staggered."

"Probably." Topped the man.

"Excuses yourselves to have this much kids." One of the children said, making the others giggle.

They chuckled. Heartily, so easily, and naturally.

Our old writer decided on one point.
She'll protect those innocent sweethearts, as any elder should do for youngsters.
She already had a life—not sterling, she'll admit—but it was already one more than all of those good people had.

Anyway, she planned to do so.

The wide door at the other half of the room banged open, letting a servant appear. "Your Majesties..." he began.

"What is going on, Gepard?"

Gepard.
Such a familiar name.
She was sure she had heard it before, in her past life at least.

"Sun of the Northern lands, the Duke of Ørn wishes the presence of his Majesty Alexander the Sixth."

The announcement was greeted by a grunt from the man.
"Can't you tell him to wait?"

"Sadly, he declares it's a pressing matter, your Majesty."
Replied Gepard, a stoic face enabled.

Second grunt.
He rose from the bed.
"I'll be right back, Ann, children."
He declared while storming out of the room, absolutely and visibly mad, Gepard in his steps.

Jade pondered those names that offered her a déjà vu.
Ania, Alexander, and Gepard.
Ania and Alexander.
Ania.
Holy shit.

"Bye, Alex."
The woman replied, grinning.

Our writer looked at the woman.
She was more than familiar.
She was as habitual as if she had seen her a thousand times.
And so she did for Gepard or the father, Alexander.
Because they were the emperor and empress of Menless, the main characters of her story.

Don't take her wrong.
The main story ended well, with Ania and Alexander—the main characters—living the traditional happy end.

The problem was the sequel.

An overpowered magician arose and overthrew the empire, killing her family.
Oh, and she just wrote them as an extra lead since the sequel is on another continent, so the magician didn't even have a name.

God, how could she protect that family from the most overpowered person in the world AND PROTECT HERSELF IF SHE DIDN'T KNOW WHO TO PROTECT FROM?

Couldn't she have something less cliché?!