Playing with grandma

'Am I still alive?'

Tuesday pondered the mystery of her survival.

It had been six months since she arrived here.

Her body had narrowly escaped being swallowed by a lion, suffocated by carnivorous plants, bitten by a live bear rug, and electrocuted.

'How the hell am I still alive?'

It was a complete mystery.

The mansion was full of dangers, and even after six months, she lacked the courage to explore them all.

The interiors were filled with dust, spider webs, carnivorous plants, swords, and other unidentified objects.

It was far from a family-friendly place.

The body's owner was an inquisitive child who explored the creepiest places without fear or hesitation.

Due to the child's indiscriminate behavior, Tuesday had learned how to control her body even when the child was awake.

Wednesday had tried to grasp a sword from an armor display with innocent curiosity. Another hand desperately restrained her actions.

The child frowned and repeatedly tried to reach the sword, only to be stopped again and again.

Frustrated, she bit her wrist in anger and stretched her foot toward the sword.

'You little devil!'

Again, her actions were thwarted by another foot.

Wednesday resumed her struggle with a strange and competitive intensity.

The child twitched on the ground as if possessed.

'♪~' Tuesday began to sing a slow and calming lullaby.

Wednesday finally ceased her struggle and closed her eyes to listen.

Seizing the opportunity, Tuesday discreetly manipulated their legs and crawled back to the cradle.

Every action was executed perfectly, as she had done it more times than she could count.

Wednesday used every available resource to escape the cradle and often engaged in dangerous and troublesome activities.

Tuesday was working as a 24/7 babysitter for free. She could cry tears of blood at any moment.

She no longer cared about the terrifying mansion or the parents; Wednesday was far scarier.

'Do you think you have other seven lives to waste, you little rascal?!'

Tuesday cursed inwardly and held a special grudge against her parents. Because of them, she couldn't rest at night.

They were truly free spirits, often producing indescribable sounds from a room she preferred not to think about.

Taking care of Wednesday was more exhausting than attending multiple shows in a single day without breaks, and she spoke from personal experience.

When she finished the lullaby, Wednesday finally fell asleep again.

Sigh...

'I didn't die for this shit.'

With Wednesday's mind at rest, control of the body returned to Tuesday. However, she didn't move. She didn't want to waste her efforts, and it would be detrimental to her body to keep moving when she was supposed to be resting.

Tuesday began to organize all the information from the past six months in her head.

She discovered that her voice wasn't normal. She had the power to attract and influence people's emotions.

At first, she thought her voice just had a calming effect, but when she made Kitty, the lion, fall asleep with her singing, she started to doubt herself.

The effect varied based on the tone and emotion she simulated in her voice. If she sang an upbeat song, the people around her would react accordingly.

This was the second supernatural power she discovered, besides her ability to analyze people's nature and intentions.

Her powers seemed somehow related to her work as an idol and her past experiences.

In her previous life, she often had to pay attention to the emotions and intentions of the people around her.

Dirty manipulators, crazy fans, stalkers, corruption, and betrayal—she had experienced many unpleasant situations as a top idol.

She was strongly attuned to her emotions and adept at presenting the best persona for those who wanted to see her fake smile.

She lied with her voice, body, and face to millions of people. That's why she suspected that her powers were connected to her past life experiences.

But now, there wasn't anything she could do about it.

As she finished her thoughts, the door to the room opened.

An old and unsightly woman appeared, her hair white and her clothes in a poor state.

This was the grandmother of her body, usually called "Grandmama."

She was a problematic and clingy woman. She often told Wednesday stories to help her fall asleep and those stories always were followed with revolution, death, and heresy.

Tuesday's vision of her couldn't be worse, mainly after discovering her parents had relied on her education to that bitch.

Tuesday closed her eyes and pretended she was sleeping.

Shing

The sound of a sword could be heard in the background. 

Tuesday kept her eyes closed. 

She was used to it. 

Her father often played with swords by her side, the same was true for her grandmother and uncle.

The most peaceful person in this house was her mother, who liked to play with carnivorous plants, poison, and spells that she called "liberal arts".

Tak

Tuesday heard the sound of a sharp object right above her cradle.

She felt the tip of her fingers becoming cold as her anxiety raised.

'Throwing with swords?!'

Tuesday knew her family was full of mad bastards, but at least they protected her to some extent.

Even when her father played with swords while holding her, he perfectly controlled trajectory to avoid piercing her body.

But this old and senile woman wouldn't be so considerate.

Her aim was terrible.

Tak- Tak- Tak-

She trembled at each sound she heard above or beside her cradle.

'Just finish it already, please...'

She had prayed for all the gods she knew for the woman to just stop and go.

"..."

The sound of the swords suddenly stopped.

Tuesday started to feel an uncomfortable feeling in her body. She was having constant goosebumps.

She discretely opened her eyes and saw the old woman carefully holding a sword aiming for the target above her cradle.

Grandmama seemed to be trying to hit the target this time.

This vision made Tuesday's spirit fall to the bottom, fortunately, she noticed the swords around had been all thrown.

This should be the last time.

The woman moved her body with strength, aiming for the target.

Tuesday saw the sword slowing flowing to the air and the time seemed to have stopped.

Her skin prickled with goosebumps. Images flashed through her mind like vivid memories.

A vision of a sword thrusting straight into her chest made her shudder.

When she considered moving to the right, a chilling image of a blade impaling her head surfaced.

Thinking of dodging left, she saw a sharp weapon slicing through her leg.

She was paralyzed, trapped in a web of unavoidable death.

Only one option remained.

'Turn back!'

Her body moved with an unusual force, propelling her backward just as the cradle toppled to the ground. 

A sword pierced the air, embedding itself in the spot where her nose had been moments before.

Tuesday held her breath as time seemed to slow once again.

She had narrowly escaped death, but a new threat loomed.

A vision of a sword plunging into the center of her forehead filled her mind. Despair flared in her eyes—her life was still in grave danger.

As she hit the ground, she immediately rolled to the right, narrowly avoiding the sword aimed at her body.

The vision shifted, showing multiple swords raining down, striking the cradle and her body.

Each action made things worse. No matter which direction she chose, death seemed certain.

Her mind raced, desperately seeking a new path.

Swallowing her fear, she rolled with all her strength.

The cradle crashed to the ground, shattered by a flurry of sharp swords. The once ominous black cradle was reduced to splinters.

It all happened in mere seconds.

Silence permeated the room.

Tuesday's body was in a rough state, the metallic scent of blood filling the air around her.

She hoped there would be no lasting scars.

Footsteps approached each one echoing ominously in the silence.

Eyes full of awe—not concern or fear—watched her, infuriating the pitiful Tuesday who had narrowly escaped death multiple times because of the old woman.

"Bitch" she muttered.

Six months had passed since she became a girl. Her first words weren't "mom" or "dad."

They were a curse for the woman who had almost killed her, accidentally and without remorse.