Aira was exhausted.
Every muscle in her frail, thirteen-year-old body ached from endless labor. Her hands, once soft and untouched by hardship, were now covered in blisters and dirt. Her feet, bare and calloused, stepped on rocks and filth every day. The days blended together in an endless cycle of toil: waking before dawn, working until sundown, and collapsing onto a pile of hay at night, too tired to dream.
The worst part was Joren, her younger brother, no older than seven, who clung to her at every opportunity. He followed her like a shadow, asking endless questions, tugging at her clothes, and insisting she play with him when all she wanted was a mont of silence. In her past life, children had been nothing more than an afterthought—secondary characters in the love stories she had crafted. Now, she was surrounded by them. Her younger siblings, loud, needy, and unrelenting, demanded her attention at all hours. She had seven of them, and each one tested her patience in a different way.
She wanted to scream.
This was not how reincarnation was supposed to work. In her novels, the main female character always woke up as a princess, a noble, or at least a rchant's daughter—soone with power, wealth, and beauty. But Aira? She was none of those things. She was a peasant girl; stuck in a naless village she had never even bothered to write about. It existed in the background of her worldbuilding, a re setting for the grand events that played out in the castles and noble courts she had so lovingly detailed. Yet here she was, a naless extra, suffering the cruel realities of the world she had once found so enchanting.
The Horror of Peasant Life
Seraphis was a dieval fantasy world, and Aira had designed it based on 15th and 16th-century Europe. At the ti, she had thought it was a fascinating period—kings and queens, knights and battles, magic and monsters. But now, living in it, she realized how little she had understood.
Peasants like her had no rights, no freedom, and no future.
Every morning, she woke before sunrise to fetch water from the river, her feet freezing against the damp earth. The wooden bucket was heavy, almost too much for her thin arms to carry, but there was no choice. Water was necessary for cooking, washing, and drinking, and there was no well in the village. If she didn't bring it back, her mother would scold her, and her siblings would go thirsty.
Then ca the farm work. Pulling weeds, tending to the animals, gathering crops—backbreaking labor that never ended. She had to deal with animal waste daily, her hands constantly covered in dirt and filth. There were no gloves, no tools to make the job easier, only her bare hands and whatever rags she could tie around them.
And food? There was never enough. als were bland, simple, and repetitive—stale bread, watery soup, and on rare occasions, a piece of salted at. There were no spices, no sugar, nothing to make the food taste good. Every bite was a reminder of how little they had.
Bathing was a luxury. Water was scarce, and the family could not afford to waste it. At best, she could wipe herself down with a damp cloth, but a proper bath? That was unheard of. She slled of sweat, dirt, and animals every day, and there was nothing she could do about it.
At night, she had no bed of her own. She slept in a cramped space with her seven siblings, their small bodies pressed together for warmth. The air was thick with the sll of unwashed bodies, and there was no privacy, no space to call her own. If one of the younger children wet the bed, she had to deal with it.
The Oppression of Won
As if being a peasant wasn't bad enough, she was also a girl. And in this world, won were treated as little more than property.
Her mother had already begun speaking of marriage. Not for love—love was a luxury reserved for the wealthy. No, marriage was a transaction, a way to ensure survival. Won were expected to marry young, often to n much older than them. Aira had overheard conversations about girls being married off at twelve or thirteen. The idea made her stomach turn.
She had no rights. She couldn't own land, couldn't work outside the ho, couldn't even read or write—at least, not in this life. If she had been born in a noble family, she might have had access to education, but as a commoner? That was impossible. Most won in the village couldn't even sign their nas. Knowledge was dangerous, and an educated woman was seen as a threat.
Then there was the Church. The priests preached about obedience, about how won should be subservient to their husbands and fathers. They spoke of sin, of how a woman's duty was to bear children and serve her family. Won who defied these roles were punished. So were accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake. Others were forced into convents, where they lived out their lives in isolation.
The Brutality of the World
Disease was everywhere. The Black Death had wiped out entire villages in the past, and new plagues continued to spread. People died from fevers, infections, and wounds that refused to heal. There were no real doctors—only herbalists, priests, and self-proclaid healers who knew little about dicine. The best treatnt one could hope for was a prayer and a bit of crushed herbs.
Violence was constant. The kingdom of Seraphis was at war, and soldiers often passed through the village, taking whatever they pleased. There was no law to protect commoners. If a noble decided he wanted sothing—or soone—he took it. Won were often kidnapped, used, and discarded. If a family resisted, they were executed.
Punishnts for cris were horrific. Thieves had their hands cut off. Liars had their tongues removed. Witches were burned alive. Public executions were a form of entertainnt, with entire villages gathering to watch as criminals were tortured to death.
And through it all, the Church remained powerful. Priests sold indulgences, promising to erase sins in exchange for money. The poor suffered while the clergy lived in luxury, feasting on food that peasants could only dream of.
Trapped in a Nightmare
Aira had no idea how to escape this life. She had written this world into existence, but she had never considered what it was like to live in it. She had created a nightmare without realizing it, and now she was trapped in it.
There was no going back. No easy way out. No hero coming to save her.
If she wanted to survive, she would have to find a way to climb out of the pit she had been born into. She needed knowledge, power—sothing that would give her an edge in this brutal world.
She needed to find a way to rewrite her fate.
But for now, all she could do was endure.
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