I had a "reincarnated villainess" story published on ScribbleHub for a time, called She Died Twice. I'd written out some side content to place between chapters in order to give some insight into a story antagonist, her eldest noble brother, but I ended up deleting the story because I just didn't feel like it was very good or that people would really like it. But! I do think that I did a great job in writing some... "good" stuff here, and thought "what the hell" and decided to just post it on its own. Anyway I hope you enjoy. Spoiler: Part 1 As I knelt before the altar clothed in nothing but the ritualistic white tunic and trousers that had been given to me, I resisted the urge to shiver through willpower alone. The late-autumn chill was radiating up into my bare feet and thinly covered knees through the stone floor beneath me. It felt like the cold was drilling into my very bones. Against my best efforts, my teeth began to chatter too. Or perhaps it was nerves rather than the cold. Hagen, the wizard who had been living on the estate for the past six years in preparation for this moment, stood behind the altar as my minister. His depthless black eyes drilled into me, and it felt to me like he could see past my skin and flesh and even my bones, see into that place that had always felt secret, private, where the flickering flame of my magic sparked about weakly, but was now it was all laid bare. “Beralt Jesper Grandespark.” As soon as he spoke, his words slammed down upon me with a weight I’d never imagined he could summon. I’d always considered his high, nasal voice to be lacking dignity, yet now in this moment it had me completely entranced. Each word, each syllable, was booming in my ears. “Before I summon the spirits, I must first know your resolve. To marry a spirit is not as it is to marry a mortal - to join with a spirit is to bond with them both flesh and soul. It will be bound to you, a part of you, until the very last of your breath has left your body, and know no other partner so long as you continue to live. It is not something to be entered into lightly. “A bond with a spirit is called a marriage because it must be entered into with love, respect, and fidelity. Do you solemnly swear, with your own life on the line, that you shall be able to live alongside your spirit, if one so chooses you, with love, respect, and fidelity?” I’m not sure whether or not I nod, as in this moment I feel as if I have no control left over my own body. I am a puppet, dancing on the strings of Hagen’s voice. I force myself to speak. “I do.” Hagen nods sombrely, lifting the chalice up from the altar, his voice filling up every single mote of space in the hall. “With your vow as promise, I summon the spirits to respond with their own. With your blood as sacrifice, exchange your lifetime for their strength.” I almost falter as I try to stand, my knees locking from the chill. I grit my teeth and force my way through the pain, standing up before the altar. With the chalice held before me, I take up the ceremonial dagger in hand. Although everything else could be practiced - the Great Silence, the kneeling, the vow - this alone is a step I can only take now, today, in this moment. When training with father I have been beaten, bruised, broken, torn, stabbed, slashed, but that is battle. To stand here and cut my own arm open takes all my strength and courage. But it must be done. For most children who undergo their spirit marriages after turning ten, it’s a simple matter of taking a vow and pricking their finger. But I am not most children. I am Beralt Grandespark, firstborn son of Balin Grandespark and the heir to the Grandespark dukedom. From the moment I was born, I already carried the weight of the entire Grandespark legacy on my shoulders, and this spirit marriage could potentially decide the very future of our family. I cannot falter. I drag the blade lengthwise down my arm, making sure the cut is deep. If a spirit agrees to my vow, in the moment we bond for the first time it will heal me. If the spirits respond with nothing, then I will bleed out and die. Not being able to marry a spirit was never an option to me from the start, however, so only by putting my life on the line will I be able to prove myself. Tilting my arm, I allow the blood to trickle down, into the chalice. With the rate at which I’m bleeding it fills quickly, and the chill inside me just spreads, chasing after the blood fleeing from my body. Hagen shows no alarm or concern, maintaining his stoic mask even as the silence drags on. The only sound now is the drip, drip, drip of my life filling the chalice one dazzling red drop at a time, and the violent chattering of my teeth. There is no wind, but the candles in the room flicker. The room is filled with an oppressive silence, but there is a sensation of noise, as though there are hundreds of voices chattering away right in my ear. Still, I only hear silence. I asked my father what it was like once - to have a spirit. Was it like having a second person living inside you? Did you hear it talk? Was it a sensation like never again being alone? What did it feel like, to have useable magic coursing through your body, leaping to your fingers with nothing but a thought? I desperately wanted to know. He’d kicked me to the floor and told me if I had time to ask stupid questions, I’d be better off training, and then ordered me to finished 500 sword drills by the end of the day. I try not to be nervous. I have no right to be nervous. To be nervous is to entertain the possibility of failure, and that I had no right to do either. When it finally feels like I have no more blood left to bleed, the chill has completely taken over my body. I no longer have control over my limbs, which feel as lead, and the entirety of my being is shivering violently. It feels like my veins have been completely emptied out and then filled over again with ice, freezing me solid from the inside out. Just when I feel like this is it, this is the moment in which I die, the cold… turns warm. Which isn’t to say it stops being cold. In fact, it’s so cold that ice has begun to spread out beneath my feet. It has climbed the altar, reached even Hagen, causing him to drop the chalice in shock. Even has it clatters down onto the solid sheet of ice, nothing escapes it, for already my once warm blood has frozen a solid chunk of sickeningly red ice. I can see Hagen’s breath condensing with every exhale, but nothing comes from my own lips. I’ve become one with the cold. “Spirit Grande!” Hagen’s eyes are wide, and he gives me a smile that seems so wide it could split his head in two. “You’ve married a Spirit Grande, my lad!” Frost has completely encased my arm, closing the wound. My skin has turned completely translucent, like clear ice, and I can see the snake work of veins writhing beneath as clear as though there were nothing between us, throbbing and glowing with a vibrant white-blue magical energy. I am me, and I am not me. I am Beralt Grandespark, but at the same time I am the Snowdrifter. I was formed from the first frost to ever wither the ground, born from the first winter to ever have touched this world. I have seen the slow, peaceful death of hundreds of thousands of creatures beneath my chill. They did not scream, they did not fight; they only closed their eyes and slept, but never again awoke. My bones transform into solid blocks of ice, then begin to crunch and fold in on themselves, warping and deforming as, for the first time, I take the form of my new existence. Things are shifting inside me. My own internal organs are melting away into ice water. New limbs violently tearing openings in my skin to make their way out of my body. I’m becoming smaller, more compact; I can feel my skin shrinking faster than my flesh and bones beneath can keep up, and it begins to split and tear open across my body. It should be excruciating, but it’s not. Because a spirit is not a being that is contained within skin. It is breath, and thought, and energy, and magic, and everything I currently am is transitory to what I will eventually be. Then finally it’s over. All of this happened over the span of a few seconds, and just as quickly the power began to recede. It’s likely that this is the only moment in my entire lifetime that I will be so perfectly at one with my new spirit, but there isn’t a moment to even absorb it before it begins to recede. Although my partner is a Spirit Grande, it will only be able to do as much as my own magical power allows for it to do. The Snowdrifter leaves my body and I crash down onto the floor, gasping for air, once more myself, a normal, feeble human.Though physically it has separated from me, I still feel intrinsically linked to it. Hagen lifts me up with surprising strength, helping me to limp through the door. I might not die of blood loss anymore, but I still feel weak and each breath comes sluggishly. “A Spirit Grande… it’s only the second time in all my years I’ve seen a marriage with a Spirit Grande.” He mutters beside me, visibly excited. “If I’m not mistaken, that is your maternal family’s ancestral spirit? Hoho, your mother will be very excited to hear this.” “Yes, my mother’s family. Not the Grandespark family’s ancestral spirit.” I reply shortly. “…Ah, of course. That is… unfortunate.” Outside of the family chapel, I’m surprised to find mother waiting for me. I quickly hurry over, immediately forgetting my own sorry state to worry over her. Just how long has she been her?! Her white-blonde hair has drifted out from the braid holding it back, framing her tired, pale face. “Mother, you shouldn’t be here, you should be resting in bed!” “Nonsense! It’s my first child’s spirit marriage, where else should I be but right here?” She gently tucks some hair behind my ear, tracing a hand down my face. My skin is still icy cold, and in comparison the heat of her palm feels searing. But like all things from my mother, like her love and her kindness, it soaks into my body, calm and reassuring. The other hand rests on her swollen belly, tenderly rubbing the little life inside of it. “You’re so cold. Hagen, why is he so cold?” My mother asks sharply, pulling me into a one-armed embrace. “Aha, well, it’s probably better to tell you anyway so that you can be the one to break the news to Balin - I don’t want to be here to see him throw a tantrum.” Hagen toys with the tip of his waxed moustache between a thumb and finger, giving a cheeky grin. “Your lad here ended up marrying the Snowdrifter.” “Great-great-grandfather’s spirit?! The ice Spirit Grande?” Mother beams down at me, cupping my face in her hands and peppering my cheeks with warm kisses. “I knew it. I knew my Berry would make an amazing partner.” I try to smile, but I cannot make the expression form naturally on my face. Right now I want to remain strong, but as always, when I feel the soft and gentle presence of my mother, all the weak and vulnerable parts of myself rise to the surface, wanting nothing more than to feed off her tender motherly love. Tears well up in my eyes, and rather than smiling and acting proud, I begin to sob. “I wuh-wanted the G-Grandesp-spark. I wan-wan-wanted tt-tuh-to make f-father, hic, ha-happy. I’m ss-suh-sorry.” “Oh, my love, there’s not need to be sorry. Come here.” She wraps me in her arms, her hand gently imprinting a pattern on my back as she traces it back and forth, calming me. What a joke. To anyone else, being able to marry a Spirit Grande, even a derivative one like the ice spirit, would be fervently celebrated. It would be a point of immense pride amongst the family, and bragged about to others. But all I feel is crushing disappointment. I’ve failed. I’ve failed our slowly declining house. I wasn’t chosen by Grandespark, our namesake family spirit. I didn’t measure up. “Shh, don’t cry. It’s all right. Although he may not show it, your- ah. Your fath-AH! AAH!” My mother’s words suddenly cut out, interrupted by her strangled scream of pain. Suddenly she is clutching her belly, doubled over in agony. What’s happening? Why, why is this happening?! “Lady Nesaela!” Hagen is by her side, trying to help her stand, but her entire body is contorted in pain. “Nessa! Help me, Beralty - no! Don’t! Oh, damn it. The Spirit Grande, the lingering magic is interfering with the foetus. You must stay back, Beralt.” “Wh-what’s happening, what’s happening to my child?” Mother was sobbing, gripping tightly onto Hagen’s arm. I did this? I, I didn’t mean- Red is seeping out from the ground beneath her skirt. The moment mother notices it, she becomes hysterical, screaming and clutching her stomach. “No, no, I can’t, I can’t lose her. Please, Hagen! S-save my daughter, you must save her!” She begs him. “Nessa, we must get you to bed. It’s not just the foetus’s life that is in danger!” “What do you mean, what’s happening to mother?” “Beralt, back! It’s fine, it will be fine, Beralt. Just run, fetch the doctor! Do not dally, run!” I stumble back, afraid… afraid of what damage my merely being here may do. The doctor! Yes, I must- I must fetch the doctor, I must save- “Save my daughter.” I hear mother gasp as I begin to turn. “If a choice must be made between the two of us, I beg you. Promise me, Hagen, you will save my daughter.” “Nessa, I cannot-” “Either save her or lose us both!” With the shrill voice of my mother in my ears, I begin to run. As fast as I can, I leave that blood-covered place, deathly afraid. I am afraid that blood will be on my hands for the rest of my life. Spoiler: Part 2 “Beralt, she wants to see you.” Hagen steps out of the doorway, gesturing for me to enter. “I, I can’t, what if-” “It’ll be okay now, boy.” He slumps against the wall. “Your magic should have stabilised by now, and the baby’s been placed under protection. Go. Your mother wants to see you.” My heart is cowardly, screaming that I should not enter, afraid to see the damage I have wrought. But I must know, and at the same time I seek comfort, or forgiveness. The room is well lit to ward off the cold and dark of the deep black night sky, leaving no shadows for me to skulk in secretively as I approach the bed. My mother rests against the headboard, looking tired and pale, gazing vacantly at the glass box by her bedside. The midwife my father hired on stands by, carefully maintaining the conditions inside the protective case, regulated by a delicate circuitry of magic. I glance at it briefly, afraid to linger my gaze too long on that small - far too small - shape inside. I hurry to my mother’s side, climbing onto the bed and grasping her hand. Tears spring forth from my eyes. “I-I’m sorry, mother. I h-hurt you, you and the, the-” “Your sister.” My mother turns to me, her face gentle and without a trace of anger or blame. She places another hand over mine, squeezing without any strength. “You have a baby sister, Beralt. I know, you never wished any harm to her at all. I don’t blame you for this, my love. Nobody does.” She lifts her hand to my cheek, wiping away a tear with her thumb, then pulling me forward so she can kiss my forehead. I sob, throwing my arms around her and letting out the deep grief, guilt, and pain that has been building up inside me since yesterday. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re not at fault, Beralt.” My mother softly reassures me, holding me tightly in a hug until my shaking subsides. She softly hums, a cheerful, familiar tune from my infancy, a cheerfully, silly ditty I vaguely remember being about a rabbit outwitting a fox, and strokes my hair. I pull away from her, wiping away the tear tracks from my cheeks with the back of my hand. Fumbling for words to fill the silence, I ask about the baby. “Metilda, bring her closer.” My mother’s entire being shifts at the mere mention of the newborn, an excited light sparking in her tired eyes. Although she loves myself and all my brothers, I know her heart has always been yearning for a daughter. Metilda, the midwife, pushes the magitech case a little closer to the bed, extremely cautious in her movements. My mother reachers a hand over, gently placing it against the glass. “Although she’s a little early, she still arrived safely.” The midwife laughs. They’re downplaying the peril the baby faced, but I know that both my mother and the infant barely made it through the birth intact. That is why I don’t want to look at it, in truth. I don’t want to see the shrivelled, underdeveloped creature I had almost sentenced to death. I don’t want to think of it as… as my sister. As a person. But my mother is staring at it with a frantic love, the hand gripping her blanket trembling with a weak determination. I’m sorry. I close the door behind me as I leave, closing my eyes and exhaling softly to shake the lingering images of my mother so weak and tired from my mind. A messenger had been sent to father informing him of the early birth as soon as my mother’s condition changed, thus I had no doubt he would arrive home within the next few days, bringing with him a righteous fury against me. Although I just gained my Spirit Grande, it was my lack of control over it that endangered my mother and the baby all the same. I am not disciplined enough. I am not strong enough. I am not in control enough. I will not allow any weakness to exist as an excuse to put those I love in danger ever again. Spoiler: Part 3 Mother sits at her favourite place in the conservatory, right by the window overlooking the fencing grounds. She has always enjoyed sitting here and watching father teach us. The sun lights up her pale golden hair, creating a corona that gives her an inviolable, holy aura. Although her face is pale and shadows have appeared under her eyes that were not there before, she has finally gotten out of bed for the first time in a month. The tea table is bare on one side of her, and the cradle is empty on the other side. In her arms is a bundle, which I know to be the newborn child, finally stable enough to be held. “Mother?” I call, stepping softly as I approach her. She turns to me, and although she is smiling, it seems forced and utterly exhausted. My chest tightens, and I hurry over to her. “Mother, perhaps you should return to bed.” I cry. Once I am at her side, I can see just how sallow her complexion has become. “No.” She forcefully refutes, turning her gaze out the window, to the sight of my father currently being dogpiled by my younger brothers. “I wanted to sit here and see all my little men. Sit Beralt, sit with me.” I draw a chair up beside her, sitting down and gently laying my hand on her shoulder. “In another week, she will receive her name, but I wanted to tell you ahead of time.” Mother tells me, and suddenly the bundle of infant is forced into my unready hands. “Olena. It was your great-grandmother’s name - your father’s grandmother.” She gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, stroking my cheek. “It means ‘shining light’. Beralt, this is your sister, Olena. Please, for me, face her.” Hesitantly, I finally look down into the face of my mother’s baby. It is so small. I saw my brothers after they were born. They were big and loud and screaming. But this child - Olena - she is still so small. Her skin is pale and semi-transparent, the spiderwork of veins still somewhat visible underneath the surface. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, her face wrinkled in discontent at the autumn sunlight shining down on her. A single fist peeks out from the opening of her swaddling cloth, tucked under the round smudge of her chin. The entirety of her fist is not even as big as father’s thumb. How can anything be so small? So fragile and weak and small? I breathe in sharply, suddenly feeling the sunlight is too bright as it prickles my eyes. “Olena.” I exhale the name alongside the tight feeling that strangles my lungs. “Yes, she looks like an Olena. Why is she so quiet? Remi never stopped screaming when he was a baby.” Mother sighs softly. “Usually when a baby is born, the first thing they do is cry. It’s said it’s how they take their first breath, and in turn, a baby’s first cry became their declaration that they want to live - to be alive, here in this world. But your sister was born too early. Her lungs were too weak to even breathe on her own, which was why she needed the incubator - the machine to help her breathe. So although in my heart you’re still my baby too, I have something I need you to do for me, Beralt. I need you to protect her, my love. She was born too early, you see? She is still so small. So she will need you there to protect her until she grows, until she is ready to cry. All of you boys are her older brothers, and it’s all of your jobs to take care of her, but you’re her only eldest brother. You must keep her safe, for me.” I nod, fiercely blinking away the tears rapidly pooling in my eyes. “Please, Beralt. I need… I need to hear you say it. I need you to promise, that no matter what, you will, you will protect her. Because there is only one Olena.” “Yes.” I choke out, and the tears begin to spill. Olena stirs in my arms, but her eyes remain shut and her breathing remains shaky but present I stretch out one shaky finger poke her cheek. Her skin is as soft as a cloud, and turns red under the slight agitation of my roughened fingertip. She is still so small, and weak, and soft, by my hands are already rough. Father has already taken me hunting before, and I have taken the lives of animals with my hands. In time, he will take me with him to the border, and I will take the lives of other human beings with these same hands that are currently cradling my sister. To protect the border and kill encroachers into our territory was the ideal my father raised me up towards. But now these hands also exist to hold my fragile baby sister, and protect her from men like me. Although her eyes do not open, her fist works its way out of the swaddling cloth wrapped around her, and grasps onto the roughened tip of my finger without any strength. My heart somersaults in my chest, and my breath hitches. “Mother, she knows I’m here. Look-” I look up to see my mother still in her chair. Her eyes are open and facing out toward at my father and my brothers, but they are glassy and empty. A body sits in my mother’s chair, but it is not her. Not anymore. A silence that lasts at the same time both a fraction of a moment and an unending eternity settles over the three of us - myself, my sister, and the body. And then I wail. I hold Olena to my chest and I wail and I reach for my mother and beg for her to come back. The sound of my voice carries through the glass, and when my father and brothers arrive I am on my knees on the ground, my head in my mother’s. More people arrive - the family doctor, Hagen, the midwife, but it’s a blur to me. There is a deafening ringing sound in my ears, and a searing hot wetness in my eyes blocking out the world around me. Only shattered instances of words manage to make themselves heard over the din echoing off the insides of my skull. “—how—etting better—” “—internal bleed—uch damage—” “—ow long did you—” “—her wish not to—” There is a cracking sound, and Hagen hits the ground heavily before me, holding a bloody and broken nose. I stare blankly, mesmerised by how red the blood that flows down his face is. All I see is red. Everywhere I look, everything I touch, it all becomes red. There is red on my hands I cannot ever wash off, I realise. My father kneels beside me, grasping the still warm hands of my mother’s body, tears streaming down his face. His voice enters my brain from a place far, far away. “Why, Nessa? We could always have another child, why did you…” My body goes cold, and I have a feeling like I cannot move a single limb. My head is spinning and my chest is burning as I realise my body is so paralysed, I cannot even force my lungs to breathe. There is nothing but a suffocating cold. Amongst the yelling and the sobbing and the confused wailing of my infant brothers, it must be a miracle that carries that sound through, into my mind. A soft cry. The words - could always have another child - repeat in my head as I mechanically turn my face down to look at the trembling, pale lips of my baby sister. No. There can only ever be one Olena, and she is in my arms right now, and though it is faint, she is crying. She is declaring she is alive, and fighting for her right to live against her own father. Yes. She’s alive. Mother is dead, and she knew she was going to die, but Olena is alive. Mother fought to stay alive long enough to be able to hold her daughter once, and to pass her into my arms as her last act. Not to the midwife. Not to my father. She gave Olena to me. My lips draw into a grim line, and I look coldly at my father. He has always been a source of fear and awe to me, but in my cold detachment, I finally recognise him for what he is. A human. With human weakness, that makes him unable to be relied upon. I cradle Olena to my chest, and before I know what I am doin, my palm cracks across his cheek. The action is so abrupt it stuns the people around me into silence. “Mother didn’t want another child.” I bite out each word, lowering my stinging palm in order to adjust the blanket wrapping around my sister. “She wanted this child. She fought for this child. This child, your child too. Why, why would you…” The words don’t come to me. Only a kind of frail, lost, flickering flame. “No… you’re right. I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m sorry, Nessa…” My father chokes out, but I barely listen to his trembling contrition. My gaze is only on the feeble little life in my arms. She was born so weak and vulnerable that even breathing on her own was impossible, and now she has been thrown to the wolves and lions. I will protect her, I had promised, and protect her I will. I will protect her from the villains of this world and I will protect her from hardships and I will protect her, if need be, from her own father. That is why she was passed to me. It could very well be why I am here at all. The soft, muted cries coming Olena trickle down into the deepest recesses of my heart and take root there, fuelling my manic need to keep her safe. But I cannot be her shield. My eyes are filled with red and my hands are already coloured red, with the blood of my own mother no less. My father taught me since I was young that the Grandespark family was to be a sword turned toward any that would threaten the kingdom. A shield protects yet a shield is passive - but a sword. Ah, a sword and cut down enemies before they have a chance to ever strike a blow. I can be a sword. But not for this worthless kingdom. I will be a sword only for you, Olena, and I will bring down red upon all those who wish you ill. I will protect you- —we will protect you— -from any who would do you harm, I will cut them down- —we will cut them down— -and use my own body- —our body— -to shield you from their filthy blood. I- —we— -we, I agree, we will be your sword and your justice. Grandespark and I. The being called Grandespark; the spirit of anger and fire and death, the sword who desired to be a shield. The fires of the Spirit Grande subsume me as we reach an accord, a pact of blood between us, but the fires do not touch Olena. They would never, ever hurt her, because she is the bond that ties us three - Olena, Grandespark, and I. Grandespark would never answer my plea before, because before I had no conviction. I had an empty desire to protect, but there was nothing I would willingly kill for. But you, Olena. I will kill for you. If harm were ever to come to you, I promise to eviscerate your enemies into ash. If ever you should bleed, I promise to boil the blood of your enemies in return. And if you ever desire to rule, I promise to raze that worthless castle to the ground and present you the crown myself. This world does not need anything you do not like. I will protect you. I will protect you. I will protect you. And if, like mother, you should ever die, I will personally bring about an absolute death upon this world and allow no other life to ever exist again.