Chapter 1

Translator: Nox

Ch#1

[How to Summon □□]

Stand in the □

Defile the earth with the □□ of □□□

Draw a circle with your □ □-stained hands

Long for □ in reverence

Ripen grapes on the thornbush

Bear figs from the thistle

□□ as you □□

Receive the □□ of the □□ descending upon the earth]

Meow.

***

Evangeline Rohanson, the only daughter of the Rohanson Count Family, was dead.

Officially, it was announced as death by illness, but the servants of the Rohanson Count Family could never forget the pale feet swaying in the wind from a cherry blossom branch in full bloom.

The cherry blossoms had bloomed so red and beautifully that day; the rich fragrance still seemed to linger at the tip of their noses.

Or perhaps it was because the coffin was filled with cherry blossoms instead of white lilies.

Due to the cause of death, which was unfit to be publicized, the funeral was held privately at the estate.

After the service in the annex, rather than entombing her in a temple, they planned to erect a tombstone in one corner of the rear garden. The temples did not accept suicides for burial, leaving no other choice, but those unaware of the circumstances simply praised the count's paternal love and offered condolences.

The funeral was modest.

A noble's funeral is typically grand and magnificent even along the procession route, but Evangeline's felt somehow shabby for a noble lady's rite.

Whether it was because they refused noble visitors under the pretext of a contagious disease, the attendees were only the estate servants and a few knights.

Was it because there were few mourners, or because no one shed tears for the deceased even at the funeral? An eerie atmosphere permeated the hall.

The only thing dispelling the gloom was the prayer recited by the priest.

The priest officiating was not well-known. Though his praying figure and pristine white robes appeared devout, one who truly valued honor would not have attended for a handful of gold coins.

Once the priest finished his prayer, the ceremony would nearly conclude. All that remained was to seal the coffin and place the body in the pre-dug grave.

As a few servants, pre-instructed to move the coffin, prepared to do so,

In the deathly silent hall, a rustling sound suddenly rang out unusually loud.

The priest, who fiercely guarded his authority, cleared his throat in warning and tried to continue the prayer, but the disturbance grew worse.

The rustle of grass, the clatter of something unoiled grinding against bones, the creak of wood. The small noises converged in one place, and as people began murmuring, the exasperated priest halted his prayer and opened his eyes.

And the priest confronted the cause of everyone's agitation.

Snow-white hair cascaded like a waterfall. The soft-looking strands seemed less like spun thread and more like spider silk gathered and drawn out long.

Her eyelashes quivered, and behind the opening eyelids, crimson irises were revealed. A hue reminiscent not of rubies but of a living heart.

Apart from the blood-congealed red eyes, everything was starkly pale. Dressed in white amid black mourning attire, she seemed like a being from another realm, detached from the world—silent, cold, and pallid.

The priest realized why that initial faint noise had sounded so loud to him. He had been closest to the coffin. Silently invoking his god, he recited a prayer.

Unfortunately, it had no effect.

The reanimated corpse began to move. Starting with bending her fingers, clenching a fist, blinking, and turning her head—like something not quite human handling an unfamiliar body.

It gazed at the chandelier swaying from the ceiling, then scanned the people in the hall. Those meeting its gaze flinched, covered their mouths, and held their breath.

When that gaze finally reached the priest, he fully understood their reactions. It was as if a masterpiece painting with human eyes embedded in it was staring at him. And those painted eyes were moving.

Captured in the eyes of something so inauspicious that it should neither exist nor rise, it would have been better to bite one's tongue or strangle oneself to escape.

It would have been more natural to say the masterpiece had stepped out of its frame or that a statue meticulously sculpted from pulverized souls was pretending to be human. Compared to that thing, a marionette dangling from strings in a puppet shop seemed more alive.

“...What is my name?”

At last, it even uttered human words from its mouth.

The thing possessing Evangeline Rohanson's body finished adapting to its new vessel and smiled with evident satisfaction.

***

I think I've possessed a body.

Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw was a dazzling chandelier. It looked extremely expensive, by the way. While appraising the chandelier's price, I pondered how I had died.

I'd been perfectly healthy, so not illness. I wasn't employed yet, so no death from overwork, nor did I get hit by a car saving an animal or child. Never met a god or shady fortune-teller. No matter how I thought about it, it seemed I possessed while sleeping.

Even if possessions are trendy these days, is it okay to pick someone so carelessly? Well, it's done, so not important.

No point dwelling on my past life now that I'm possessed. The key is this body I've entered.

Is the possession so half-hearted that there's no original owner's memories? My hands look not too young.... If they were going to do this, couldn't they have put me in a younger body? With nothing known about the owner, I guess I'll go with amnesia.

White hair and delicate hands scream nobility, but no character comes to mind. Usually, you possess into a book you were reading or your favorite story, right?

No favorite works, and lately I'd been reading a wuxia where the Heavenly Demon regresses—the most recent one, so freshest in memory. But one look at the chandelier rules out wuxia. If it were wuxia, I'd be doomed screaming... better off this way.

This won't do.

Won't figure it out alone. Time to ask for help from surroundings. Gotta question the dazed uncle nearby. His clothes and thick scripture scream priest. If it's a frail character setup, a priest nearby isn't odd. Better for the amnesia route too.

Come to think of it, where am I? I scanned around.

Startled. Why so many people? I sensed presences but didn't notice—everyone in the room was staring at me. All in black, holding their breaths silently. Guess I'm out of it too, only noticing now.

Distracted by the unfamiliar ceiling, this isn't a bedroom. Floor's soft, thought it was a bed. Nope, covered in flowers. Cherry blossoms? Or plum? That explains the fragrance.

...Wait. This shape I'm lying in feels familiar....

No way—is this a coffin? Was I lying in a coffin? Then... is this a funeral right now? That's why everyone's in black?

Head spinning.

Possessing a dead body isn't rare. Possessing a living one makes readers pity the original, so it's common to use cleanly dead or fated-to-die characters. But possessing mid-funeral? What the hell?

No wonder they look at me like a ghost!

At least possess right after death! This sloppiness explains the inconsistencies.

The priest uncle next to me looks like he's about to faint.

From his view, the corpse revived.

Need to smooth this over somehow. What to say? Ta-da, thought I was dead? It was a prank cam? No idea. Just say something. Oh, right—first things first.

“What is my name?”

Since it's definitely nobility, skipped formal speech.

***

The name of the body I possessed is Evangeline Rohanson.

Yeah. Still no clue who that is.

It's been two days since possession. Day one: pestered by priest and doctor. Day two: focused on gathering info on Evangeline and this world.

By deduction, this is a villainess possession story.

Servants bow their heads at me, tremble when spoken to; even saw one faint during a walk. A young maid begged for her life and got dragged off gagged. How vicious was the original to terrify a kid like that? Time to live nicely.

Plus, Evangeline has red eyes.

In romance-fantasy worlds, red eyes mean shady types. Seen as ominous, abused and shunned until the male lead casually says, 'Pretty, though,' and she falls hard.

And Evangeline is the only child of the Rohanson Count Family. Mom died young; just dad and daughter. Their relationship's poor—no sign of him in over two days, even after I died and revived. Villainess dads are either trash or doting—his is the former.

That's all I got.

No fiancé; checked crown prince first since romance-fantasies love them, but this one's middle-aged with two kids. No northern duke, saintess, or saint either.

Actually, just scraps from maids.

Searched room for diary—nothing. Wouldn't read it anyway; I'm illiterate now.

Can't read? Worst possession ever? Speech fine, but letters unknown? Can't even library-research.

So now studying a second foreign language I never bothered with before.

Told maid I can't read—her pupil earthquake was priceless. Good excuse with amnesia, though; she's fetching a primer tomorrow.

Book arrives tomorrow, so today: estate exploration!