When I Opened My Eyes, It Was a Completely Different World
It was a cliché, but a new life had begun. I stared quietly at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Curly black hair cascaded down to my waist. Abigail Carpoem. That was the name of this body.
I'd been an ordinary office worker in Korea. And at over thirty, after devoting myself entirely to work, I'd finally keeled over from overwork. Even amid the crushing workload, I'd snuck in moments to read romance fantasy novels—they were like a lifeline. Somehow, the owner of this body I'd taken over seemed to be a character from one of those.
A chill prickled up my spine. Awkwardly, I turned to the side. A meek-faced maid stood with her head bowed.
"How much time do we have left?"
"...Even starting now, it'll be tight, miss."
The maid was visibly tense, her face incredibly youthful. She couldn't have been much older than Abigail. I turned my head with feigned nonchalance.
"Then let's get started."
"Yes, miss."
At my permission, she sprang into bustling motion, joined by the other maids waiting behind her. I didn't lift a finger as they dressed and adorned me.
It's a bit awkward, but pretty convenient. As that thought curved my lips upward, my eyes met those of a maid adjusting my attire.
"Eek...!"
"..."
She flinched as if seized by a fit. I regarded her coolly before looking away. Well, Abigail's red eyes were pretty intimidating. And since she played the villain in this novel, her personality must have been rotten too.
I recalled the Abigail from the story for a moment, then gestured for the maids to step back and returned to the mirror. The girl reflected there was breathtakingly beautiful. The red eyes were eerily sharp, but she already carried the bearing of a great beauty. Dressed to the nines, who could rival her?
With this looks, her status as a duke's daughter, overflowing wealth—nothing lacking—yet she ruined it all over one man. Tsk. I clicked my tongue. The maids' shoulders stiffened at my gesture, but I ignored it.
"Well done."
A brief compliment, and I turned away. Normally, Abigail would have hounded them until she was satisfied, so their confusion was palpable now that I hadn't. But I paid no mind to their flustered state and headed for the dining hall. I had to meet the duke for dinner.
The duke was sharp in the novel. If he realized his daughter was an imposter, all hell would break loose.
I need to act the part without getting caught...
The high heels clacked uncomfortably. Abigail must have pranced around in these just fine. Descending the stairs, I nearly twisted my ankle.
"We've been waiting, miss."
"...Butler."
I hesitated, his name escaping me. But he didn't seem to care, ordering someone to open the dining hall doors.
"Please, go in."
"Alright."
I stepped forward with as blank an expression as I could manage. In the vast, opulent dining hall, only the echo of my heels resounded. Grand chandeliers, glittering ornaments. Countless servants bowing their heads. A table long enough for ten adults, lavishly adorned. And at its center sat one man.
I took the seat opposite him. Tense as I was, seeing his face stirred an inexplicable pang.
Adrian Carpoem. Abigail's father, the empire's sole duke. He held more land than any noble, his power rivaling the emperor's—a great northern duke. Yet the man before me looked frail and gaunt.
I swallowed hard and spoke.
"How's your health, Father?"
The duke, his face thin and haggard, looked at me. Abigail's mother had died giving birth to her, leaving them each other's only family. But they weren't close. And he'd been ill for years now, some unknown ailment gnawing away at the body of a once-mighty knight.
To think this frail man had once been the Flame Knight, guardian of the empire. His sharp red eyes, undimmed by sickness, fixed on me, ratcheting my tension higher. At last, his lips parted.
"You worrying about me? That's a first."
His voice was surprisingly firm. Even looking so ill, a knight was a knight. I marveled inwardly and replied with a smile.
"What do you mean? Isn't it natural for a daughter to worry about her father?"
Abigail's moods swung wildly; her attitude toward the duke vacillated. She resented the stern, patriarchal archetype he embodied, yet fawned over him when she needed something. My smiling face must have mirrored those moments perfectly.
"What do you need this time? Don't waste money frivolously."
He scowled, eyeing me like a headache. Under such a strict father, Abigail had turned into a full-blown problem child. The duke was swamped with duties, leaving little attention for her. Desperate for more, she'd gone about it all wrong—like a child breaking toys for parental notice. Their rift had only deepened. Even now, across the table, his demeanor was icy.
But I had no intention of following the original plot.
"Do I only act sweet when I want something? People might misunderstand."
I glanced around casually; no one seemed to notice anything off. Abigail had always been moody, blurting whatever came to mind. Unless I suddenly broke into song and dance, no one would suspect a fake— not even her own father.
"Enough nonsense. Eat."
"Yes."
The golden tableware gleamed atop the table, laden with exotic delicacies. The north was barren and harsh, but rich beyond measure. Mines scarce in the south dotted the land here. Thus, crops and seafood that wouldn't grow up north filled the spread.
I started with the steak right in front of me—a tender cut, the servant had explained. A slice in my mouth burst with juices. A satisfaction I'd never known before brought a genuine smile to my face. Lost in the feast, I suddenly sensed something amiss.
"...?"
Looking up from my mashed potatoes, I met the duke's bemused gaze.
"You must have been starving."
"Pardon?"
Ah, too ravenous—possessed, even. Glancing around, the servants were stealing looks too. I cleared my throat softly and straightened up.
"A bit. I skipped meals all day."
Abigail's recent memories were vivid; it wasn't a lie. She'd been starving herself lately, for the dumbest reason.
"Starving yourself again before meeting His Highness the Crown Prince?"
The crown prince of the Rampas Empire, Michael Lux Rampas. He was Abigail's fiancé. She'd doggedly pursued him at first sight until he'd accepted. The duke had balked at marrying off his only daughter to the imperial family, but relented to her pleas. The palace, thrilled at allying with the empire's most influential house—practically given up for lost—snatched up the engagement when Abigail pushed.
The problem was their relationship. Abigail stalked him obsessively, but he didn't care for her.
"No. I just wasn't hungry today."
I set down my fork with a clink. The duke eyed me curiously, as if wondering what I'd eaten wrong. Abigail always overreacted to his rebukes, especially about the prince. She'd thrown tantrums, demanding to look doll-like and slender before him. But not me.
I wanted to avoid suspicion while signaling I wasn't the old Abigail.
"I'm just... tired of it. Why should I starve for His Highness?"
"..."
"No need, right?"
I asked coyly, sipping juice, then devoured the plate like a bottomless pit. The duke stared in astonishment, but I ignored him.
"Hah... another change of heart."
"..."
He muttered and pecked at his food like a bird at seed—eating clearly pained him. I stole discreet glances. The novel skimmed Abigail's childhood, focusing on protagonists. So I relied on her memories.
Luckily, they surfaced easily. She was around sixteen now; her lavish sixteenth birthday party blazed first in my mind.
Chewing, I sifted through them. What a mess.
Why was she always such a bitch?
At the party, she'd unleashed vitriol and spilled drinks on someone for stepping on her dress. Worse at home—lowly maids were her punching bags. The last memory, slapping one over disliked accessories, made me stop.
"Whatever you're thinking, be extra careful tomorrow when His Highness the Crown Prince visits."
"Ah."
Nearing the meal's end, his words hit. What? Tomorrow?
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
"What's wrong?"
"N-nothing."
I smiled, but inside: Abigail, you crazy bitch.