Chapter 1 - A Thousand Years of Memories (1)

My earliest memory is of him as the town’s lord and me as a street urchin.

After I died, I reincarnated retaining the memories of my previous life, and met him once again.

It must be fate, I thought. But such wasn’t the case—he didn’t remember me.

Standing in front of his mansion, I lamented as I called him using his former name. He only looked down at me, weirdly, from his window.

That was our last meeting before I succumbed to the epidemic.

The second memory is as a butler and maid.

As a maid, I was hired to perform tasks for the master of the household, whom was also a governess. He was the butler. I was so excited. I was determined not to fail this time.

But, the only one with recollections of our former life was me. There was no sign of him remembering. Thus, I should avoid being creepy and act like a normal maid. I worked harder than anyone and did my best to be recognized by my master, as well as him.

Finally, we became lovers and were engaged to each other.

However—

—he died. Right before the wedding. Hence, I drank poison.

Third memory, I died before anything could happen.

I was betrayed by those whom I thought were my best friends.

Well, if I think about it, it was only natural. The fact that I reincarnated, it kind of slipped from my mouth. Thus, I was branded a witch, crucified, and burned alive.

The fourth, after twenty years, I finally met him. Sadly, he had a fiancée. There was no chance for me. I watched them silently, careful not to reveal my face, from a far. A happy smile glazed his face.

Just looking at him together with another women tore my heart asunder. I couldn’t stand it, at all—the fact that he loved another …I jumped into a deep river that very night.

I died, killed by others, killed myself—I did those over and over. Ten times, twenty times—until I finally realized;

The closer I was to him, the worse his misfortune. If he became my lover, then he undoubtably would die.

Is this a curse? Desperation painted my heart as I entered my 30-th reincarnation.

If I watched him in silence, and kept my distance, he wouldn’t ended up miserable.

He would marry another kindhearted women, give birth to children, and live happily ever after.

But, his happiness didn’t necessarily means my happiness.

I wanted him to see only me. I wanted him to love only me. Yet, those desires never came true.

…Why won’t my memories disappear? If they did, then surely I wouldn’t be in so much pain. Why me? Why only me? Why won’t he remember me?

I hated myself. I hated him.

It was around my 40-th time reincarnating. I married another man and gave birth to a child. My husband cherished me from the bottom of his heart. My children also nestled with me and loved me as much as children would their mother.

It was me who couldn’t love anymore.

The curse had changed me—or maybe, revealed my shallow, ugly side. Because of it, I wasn’t qualified to love anyone.

No, maybe it was different.

Maybe it was because I was scared to love.

Surely it was that.

To lose your loved ones again and again…—

On my 50-th reincarnation, I was born into a noble family—a Baron that lived in a rural area.

As I repeatedly reincarnated, I learned a lot of things: Sewing, cooking, horseback riding, languages, medicine, and also dancing.

They were the accumulation of a thousand years’ life experiences.

My knowledge was ten times more than those so-called geniuses could achieve in their lifetime. As such, the influence of my household grew exponentially.

Influence was a great thing, indeed. No longer did I need fear being whipped or abused. Or the way he died before—being forced to die in a war.

The only disadvantage was, the bigger the fame, the smaller the world felt.

In each of my reincarnations, he would always appear. He would always be above me in terms of rank. …No matter how high I was in the noble class, I would remain below him.

By that point, my heart had rotted to its core. My desolate heart was akin to a wasteland where no plants could thrive, where all the water had depleted—where there would be no single living beings.

Yet, I still hated seeing him die.

Weird. I couldn’t care less if he was hated and jeered, or even if he loved other women.

But for him to die—that’s not good.

After countlessly dying and reincarnating—only his death alone I couldn’t stand.

Exactly one thousand years after I died—

—how did this happen?

Why, what could be the cause?

No, I didn’t want to do this…

This had never happened before…

…How utterly ridiculous,

“Amelia, are you listening?”

The chilly voice made me lift my face. Unknowingly, I had zoned out. In front of me, my father stared with both elbows on my work desk. There were deep wrinkles between his eyebrows.

“Father, about what we have just discussed—is it the truth?”

I answered as calm as possible. In truth, I really wanted to scream, but such an act would be unthinkable for Amelia.

I held my shaking right hand with my left, and listened to my father.

He held his foreheads with both hands and whispered in a hoarse voice.

“Unbelievable …but it is a fact. You are to be engaged …to none other than the Marquis’ eldest son, Earl of Falmouth. Amelia, do you think you can manage to get close with Earl Falmouth?”

“Gaining favor from a gentleman! You know such feat is impossible for your daughter, Father!”

In this life, I lived as a member of Southwell Household—which was given a rank of about 200-th in the Etania Kingdom. Belonging on the 30-th position was of course the Marquis and his son. Just so you know how high their ranks were.

And, and… it happened. William Cecil asked for my hand in marriage …yes, William Cecil, the guy I once loved—

—but, this was a marriage that shouldn’t be. I didn’t know what happened or why Earl of Falmouth chose me to be his spouse—but I mustn’t approach him.

Up until this point, I had lived very carefully. I was careful to avoid his field of view; to avoid attending tea parties, banquets, and all other social events. I even went as far as inciting his displeasure. This marriage would threaten his life—I don’t want that.

“Father, please, just refuse it.”

Hearing my words, the wrinkles on Father’s forehead deepened.

As I thought… is it asking for the impossible?

Well, for the lower to refuse the higher rank, such a thing was unheard of.

However—there is a trump card here.

“‘My daughter is both outrageous and shameless. For her to be the wife of Cecil will be nothing but an utter disgrace to the family. As the head, I can’t afford the risk of her bringing anymore shame to our house.’” I declared indifferently.

Then, father folded his arm and sat down on a chair, seemingly in deep thought. His short, blond hair swayed lightly. His sharp eyes, resembling slits, were narrowed even further. His wrinkles, even deeper.

My father turned 40 this year, but faint wrinkles could already be seen here and there.

Seeing that, I felt a little sorry.