12 O’Clock Marionette

A flash—my eyelids lifted.

A completely unfamiliar ceiling filled my vision.

Where is this? Who am I?

Just in case, I raised my hand.

Gone were the callouses, leaving only a thin layer of skin stretched over fragile bones.

"Again!"

Even my voice was unfamiliar.

It was soft and delicate, yet that didn’t make me feel any better.

I groaned and lowered my head.

Disheveled strands of hair fell, obscuring my sight.

Grabbing a handful, I let out a hollow chuckle.

"Blonde again this time."

This was just ridiculous.

Wait—this was no time for laughing.

I quickly raised my head and scanned my surroundings.

The bedroom was spacious but sparsely furnished.

To put it nicely, it was neat. To put it bluntly, it was empty.

Not much to search through.

I threw off the canopy and leaped out of bed.

Pulled open every drawer, lifted the sofa cushions, flipped over the carpet, yanked aside the curtains.

I even peeked under the bed—the most secretive hiding spot in any bedroom.

Clean. Not a speck of dust.

"There should be a law making diary-keeping mandatory."

How could no one write a diary?

Disappointed, I ran my fingers through my hair, only for the tangled mess to wrap around them like a snare.

Was this an omen of bad luck? Because the very next moment, a knock came at the door.

"I'm coming in, Lady Siora."

"Wait a moment!"

I hurriedly dashed to the mirror.

A quick check of my reflection.

"Not bad."

And it wasn’t just the voice that was good.

My hair was thin and frizzy, but its golden hue shone like sunlight.

A round, slightly protruding forehead. A smooth curve descending from my nose…

"Lady Siora?"

The urging voice snapped me back to reality, and I summarized what I saw in the mirror.

Blonde. Purple eyes. Beautiful. Too skinny. Sickly complexion.

Even when smiling or frowning, my facial muscles barely moved. A naturally expressionless type.

"Come in."

A girl in her late teens entered.

Short red bob, freckles. Judging by her outfit, a maid.

I greeted her with a blank face.

"What is it?"

If I had gotten something wrong, she didn't show much surprise at my tone.

She simply brought a basin of water and helped me wash my face.

Having someone in the room made my mouth itch to talk, but a stiff personality was its own penalty.

The safest question I could ask without suspicion?

"What's your name again?"

"I'm Betty, Lady Siora."

I see.

The conversation ended there.

A chatty companion would’ve been ideal. I fidgeted with my fingertips, anxious to gather information.

Meanwhile, Betty finished washing my face and started brushing my hair.

If I let her leave without learning anything, I’d be the only one at a loss.

She was easier to deal with than the other people in this house, so I had to ask something.

"Mother…"

Trailing off deliberately, I tossed the bait.

The fish bit immediately.

"They’ve been laid to rest near the annex. Since, well… the house ended up that way."

"I see."

So, 'Siora's' parents had recently passed away.

"It must be difficult for you. I lost my father when I was young, so I understand, at least a little."

"…"

"But I'm relieved you've improved. You wouldn’t speak at all and stayed in your room for so long—I was really worried."

No wonder my throat felt scratchy after just a few words.

I was contemplating how to ask something else naturally when Betty continued, as if her tongue had loosened.

"It's a shame tomorrow will be the last day."

"Huh…?"

"I'm sure you'll do well outside."

"Wait, what?"

"There, all done. You look lovely, my lady."

Unfortunately, just as she finished brushing my hair, Betty flashed a faint smile.

She was smiling, but there was a pitying look in her eyes.

That expression, combined with her previous words, sent an immediate wave of unease through me.

Outside? What does she mean?

"Well then, I’ll be going. Rogers will bring your breakfast—"

"Betty!"

I grabbed hold of Betty’s skirt.

Forget about acting stiff or composed.

This was no time to worry about matching the personality of this body.

It had only been thirty minutes since I woke up in this body, and my instincts were screaming red alert.

Crisis! Crisis!

And I had always had a sharp intuition.

So.

"My lady?"

"Help me, I don’t remember anything!"

I made the worst possible choice.

Memory loss was a terrible card to play.

If I were from a wealthy family, I’d be dragged to every priest and doctor for months.

If I were poor? I’d be branded insane and thrown out.

And yes, I had experience with both.

But shockingly, this time, it turned out okay.

"Oh my goodness! I knew something felt off today! What do we do, my lady?"

Betty looked more distressed than I was, pacing frantically.

She even respected my wish to keep it a secret from others.

Of course, people could be two-faced, so I’d have to stay wary, but once a choice was made, I had to commit!

With that, I jotted down the information I gathered in my notebook.

Name: Siora Velvet. 20 years old. Adopted child.

Parents died in a fire.

Culprit: A servant of the household.

It was an act of revenge—an abused servant, treated like a slave, finally striking back at their cruel employer.

Siora must have died in that fire as well.

After all, I can only enter bodies that have already perished.

It was a fitting end, but the real problem was—

Remaining assets: 0g.

The inheritance Siora was supposed to receive had burned away completely.

With no money left, no funeral, and nowhere to go, her uncle—the Count—had extended a hand.

I woke up in the Count’s mansion.

He had been on bad terms with my adoptive parents, but since there were no other relatives, he had at least taken care of the bodies and held a funeral.

That was two weeks ago.

Now, the real question—

What happens to an adult woman like Siora, whose parents were estranged from the Count and who isn’t even a blood relative, but just an adopted child?

Answer: Kicked out in three days.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

I collapsed onto the mattress.

No wonder this room felt so empty despite its size—it was a guest bedroom.

Of course, there was no diary left behind.

I let out a hollow laugh.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

I’ve done this three times already, but this is the first time I’m getting thrown out with no place to go.

It made so little sense that I grabbed Betty and asked, just to be sure.

"Betty, am I engaged to anyone?"

"No, my lady. As far as I know, you have no fiancé."

"Then… was I assigned as a maid in some duke’s household?"

"There’s no way…?"

Betty looked puzzled by my strange questions, but I was the one more confused.

Then what? Why did I wake up in this body?

There’s no logic to this!

Frustrated, I smacked my pillow repeatedly.

Some might wonder why I’m so upset—I wasn’t exactly placed in a good situation, so why complain?

To them, I would proudly respond:

"Who do you think sent me here?!"

—

It was impossible to pinpoint exactly when, but some years ago, a book had appeared before me.

Bound in brown leather, adorned with golden patterns.

The cover bore an ancient inscription: "Fate."

"That day was Minuet Bonetti’s wedding day."

The first sentence still echoed in my mind.

The book was written from the perspective of a character named Minuet, and the plot was simple.

Her husband would destroy the world.

Honestly, it wasn’t interesting.

I read it all the way through out of curiosity about how it had come to me, but if I had to rate it, I’d give it a single star.

The real problem, though, was that this wasn’t just a boring book.

When I turned the final page—

"This is truly happening in the outside world."

"Ancient God Pebula, please grant us a miracle."

"Show mercy on the arrogant humans who have forgotten you and save them."

"Do not forsake humanity."

The words were scrawled in blood.

I froze on the spot.

It was then that I realized this book was an offering to the god Pebula.

And the moment I understood that, I was assigned a duty.

Because I was the last remaining believer of the temple.

How was that possible?

Well, Pebula was an ancient god, nearly forgotten by mankind.

Priestess, holy knight, pope, saint—

All those titles belonged to me alone.

Because of that, I had many abilities, but I could never leave the temple.

If the last believer disappeared, the god would cease to exist.

Surely Pebula was aware of that.

So why did they show me this book?

The moment I questioned it, a path opened.

Golden light flooded my vision, and when I blinked again—

I was in a child’s body.

"What the—?! Why is my eye level so low? Why are my hands so small? Huh? Pebula?"

"What are you dawdling for, Amy? The young master is waiting—"

"…Who are you?"

That was how I became Amy Royalsand.

The childhood fiancée of the villain who would destroy the world.

My god had thrown me into another person’s body without so much as asking for my opinion.

There was nothing good about it—only penalties stacked upon penalties!

But defying a god wasn’t an option, so I did my best to reform the villain.

I failed.

Then, I became his maid.@@novelbin@@

I failed again.

For the third attempt, I woke up in this body.

One that had absolutely no connection to the villain.

And yet—

"I’m in a body that’s about to start begging on the streets."

Ha. Haha.

Does this even make sense?

The absurdity of it made me laugh, but my mind was already working fast.

I need money.

I have plenty of experience as a maid—I’d be excellent at the job.

The real issue is, how do I make contact with the villain as a maid? Is that even possible?

Am I just going to end up dying at work again?

If only I had some source of money…

Wait.

"There is a way!"

I suddenly raised my head and furiously rang the bell beside my bed.

Someone entered the room.

I expected Betty, but instead, it was someone else with a stiff expression.

No matter.

"I need to step out for a bit."

—

I put on my best pitiful act and managed to borrow a carriage.

My destination?

The Coltish Bank, located on the outskirts of the capital.

This bank had operated for over a thousand years, keeping all client information strictly confidential.

It had been established by an ancient temple and later taken over by the modern one, originally designed to discreetly fund forbidden activities that the state had outlawed.

Because of that, all the assets of the Pebula faith were stored there!

Confidently, I stated my account name.

The banker responded—

"There is no account under that name."