Deviating from the original plot

Chapter forty

❁❁OG VICTORIA'S LIFE BEFORE REINCARNATION.❁❁

Victoria often felt like there was something missing, something about herself she couldn't quite remember. But before she could dwell on it too long, her grandparents were always there to chase the worries away.

Grandpa Ren and Grandma Zoey were her entire world. They had told her she was adopted, but that had never shaken their bond. If anything, it made Victoria treasure them even more. They were her real family, the ones who raised her with love.

Grandpa Ren had taught her how to care for the chickens, how to feed them properly, and how to collect their eggs without getting pecked. Grandma Zoey, on the other hand, would take her to the bustling market, showing her how to haggle and sell the eggs for the best price. Victoria was content with this simple, happy life—at least until she turned twelve.

That year, Grandpa Ren caught a cold. At first, it seemed harmless. But the cough didn't go away, and soon he was shivering and growing weaker by the day.

"Grandpa Ren... Are you okay?" 'Victoria?' she asked one morning, her small voice full of worry.

"I'm fine, dearie," he said with a reassuring smile, ruffling her hair like always. "It's just a little cold. I'll get better soon, you'll see."

But as the days dragged on, things only worsened. Grandpa Ren no longer came out to the chicken coop with her. He stayed in bed, his face pale and his body frail, while Grandma Zoey's worry deepened.

Each time Victoria asked if he was alright, he always gave the same gentle reply:

"I'll be fine; don't you worry."

He kept saying that—right up until the day he passed.

Victoria's heart broke with his loss, and she missed her grandfather dearly. But the one who suffered most was Grandma Zoey. Just a few months after his passing, her mind began to fade, and she slowly slipped into senility.

At first, Victoria tried to pretend everything was normal. She still fed the chickens, still carried the eggs in her little basket, and still walked to the market like Grandma had taught her.

Grandma Zoey began to forget small things—like where she put the basket of eggs or what day it was. Then she began to forget bigger things, like whether she had eaten or even Victoria's name.

"Grandma, it's me... Victoria," she would whisper, holding her grandmother's frail hand. Grandma Zoey would only smile at her, unable to remember her.

Victoria bore more than any twelve-year-old should, but she pressed on with quiet determination. Every morning, she gathered eggs from the hens, sold them at the market, and on her return, she would sit beside her grandmother's chair and share the details of her day. Grandma Zoey rarely responded anymore—most days she only stared in silence, her once-bright eyes clouded and distant.

Another year slipped by this way. One afternoon, Victoria returned from the market with her small basket of coins.

"I'm home, Grandma Zoey," she called gently as she stepped inside. She walked to the chair where her grandmother always sat.

"Grandma?" she said softly. Seeing her eyes closed, Victoria smiled faintly. "Oh, you're asleep. That's okay. I made a good amount of money today..."

She went on, talking about the busy stalls, the people she saw, and the hens back at the coop—her voice filling the quiet cottage. But as the hours passed, her smile began to fade. Grandma Zoey still hadn't stirred.

"Grandma?" Victoria's voice trembled now. She touched her grandmother's hand—it was colder than it should have been. Her heart sank. "Grandma, please wake up..."

The truth came crashing over her like a wave. Grandma Zoey wasn't going to wake up. For the second time in her young life, Victoria felt her world shatter.

Not long after, she was forced from the only home she had ever known. Too young to claim the house as her own, and with no legal documents to prove her adoption, she had no choice but to wander the streets.

Left with nothing, Victoria wandered the streets. She scavenged for scraps, curled up in cold alleyways, and tried her best to survive. Hunger gnawed at her every day, and the once-cheerful girl grew wary, her eyes always darting for danger.

One afternoon, while nibbling on a mouldy crust of bread, a shadow fell over her. Startled, Victoria shrank back, whimpering. A man stood before her—finely dressed, his eyes glistening with tears.

"Victoria?" His voice broke. He knelt down, reaching toward her. He looked at her exposed arm to see a birthmark. "It's you—my daughter."

Victoria blinked at him in confusion. "Do... do I know you?"

"I am your father," the man whispered, his voice trembling with both grief and relief. "I am Marquis Valenford. You are Victoria Valenford. And I'm taking you home." He gently took her dirt-stained hand and guided her toward a waiting carriage.

That day, Victoria's life changed again. The maids washed and dressed her with great care, their hands soft and cautious. But Victoria flinched at every touch, her heart pounding with fear. Life on the streets had hardened her and taught her not to trust kindness so easily.

She remained anxious and wary of everyone during her first few days at the Valenford estate, keeping her distance from the servants and even her father. That is, until one afternoon when she noticed a small piece of cake waiting for her on her vanity. Victoria had always loved sweets, and despite her caution, her eyes lit up.

Without hesitation, she ate the cake, savouring the sweetness that reminded her of simpler, happier days.

But later that night, her stomach twisted with sharp pain, and a fever spread through her body. She curled into herself on the bed, shivering beneath the covers.

"I... I must've eaten something bad," she murmured weakly, clutching her aching belly.

"Maybe if I just sleep... it'll pass," she whispered, pulling the blankets tighter before drifting into a restless sleep.

By morning, Victoria awoke—changed.