Chapter 1
It was snowing heavily when I found a mute boy, nearly frozen to death, at the entrance of my estate. I was just about to give him some hot soup.
Suddenly, the Book of Fate in my mind started flipping pages like crazy, displaying a line of ominous blood-red text.
[This boy is the reincarnation of the cursed child. If he enters the house, he'll doom everyone inside. Kill him now!]
Just as I was about to bring the butcher's knife down, the boy's timid inner voice reached my ears.
The boy thought, 'You're the only one who's ever shown me kindness. Someday, I'll fight to the death to keep you safe!'
In the first timeline, I couldn't bring myself to kill him. I took him in, gave him the chance to study and train in martial arts.
Ten years later, he rose to absolute power. The first thing he did was cut off my legs and hands, sealing me inside a wine jar as his twisted trophy.
He said, "Only like this will you never leave me. You'll be mine forever, and only mine."
In the second timeline, I trusted the Book of Fate's warning and had the servants beat him to death with clubs, then fed his corpse to the dogs.
But after he died, his hatred soared. He turned into a vengeful spirit and put all three hundred members of my family through a death by a thousand cuts.
He sneered. "You vermin who worship the rich and trample the poor. All of you deserve to burn in the eighteenth level of hell!"
After dying tragically in both lives, I still couldn't escape the torment of fate.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that snowy afternoon, the boy gazing at me with those wide, innocent eyes.
This time, the Book of Fate's warning and the boy's inner voice appeared once more, right on cue...
*****
The hot soup in my hands was still steaming, the porcelain bowl scalding hot, but it couldn't chase away the chill deep in my bones.
Just now, I made a choice unlike anything I did in my previous two lives.
I didn't kill the boy, and I didn't simply take him in. Instead, I locked my gaze on that blood-red warning, letting every word burn itself into my mind.
[This boy is the reincarnation of the cursed child. If he enters the house, he'll doom everyone inside. Kill him now!]
The Book of Fate in my mind kept flashing wildly, the letters so red they looked like they were dripping blood, carrying a metallic tang that made me sick. It felt like if I didn't act, it would force its way out and seize control of me.
The boy huddled in the corner, caked in dirt, looking more like a wild animal than a child. Only his eyes were strikingly clear, black and white, staring at me with timid uncertainty.
The boy's inner voice whispered in my mind, 'Her hands are shaking. Is she afraid of me? If my death would make her happy, then I'll just go and die right now.'
His thoughts were utterly pure, as clean as the snow swirling outside.
I took a deep breath, swallowing my fear and revulsion, and handed him the steaming bowl of soup.
"Drink," I said.
The boy froze for a moment, as if he couldn't believe such a blessing had been bestowed upon him. He carefully stretched out his frostbitten hands. Dirt was packed under his nails, and bruises covered the back of his hands.
The moment his fingers brushed the rim of the bowl, the Book of Fate erupted in my mind.
[Fool! He's testing your boundaries! The soup is poisoned. If you drink it after he's touched it, you'll die without a doubt!]
[Smash the bowl! Use the shards to cut his throat! This is your only shot at making it out alive!]
The blood-red letters took over my vision, accompanied by shrill shrieks, like a horde of vengeful ghosts screaming right in my ears.
If this had been either of the previous timelines, I would've been scared out of my wits by now.
But now, I just stared back, cold and unflinching.
The boy held the bowl, but didn't drink right away. He bowed his head and softly blew away the steam, then carefully turned the bowl with his cracked hands so the least hot side was facing me.
His inner voice echoed in my mind, 'You're dressed so thin. Your hands are red from the cold. The soup's hot. You should drink first and warm yourself up.
'I'm not hungry. I'm used to being hungry. You're fragile, you shouldn't be cold.'
He lifted the bowl above his head, kneeling in the snow, his eyes filled with hope and reverence.
I stared at the bowl of soup, then at the warning echoing in my mind: [The soup is poisoned.]
I brought the soup straight from the kitchen, washed the bowl myself, and the boy hadn't laid a finger on it. So where could the poison possibly be?
Unless... the Book of Fate was lying to me all along.
"I won't drink it. You drink it," I said.
I refused coldly, though my gaze drifted toward several servants peeking from not far away.
They were people of my stepmother, Matilda Toulouse.
In the previous timelines, they were the ones who fanned the flames beside me. They said the boy looked vicious and had sticky fingers, pushing me to punish him.
When I refused, his eyes lost some of their shine, but he was just too hungry to care.
He hunched over, scarfing down the hot soup in desperate, silent gulps, like a wounded little beast.