the blackwoods

Why, oh why, did I have to reincarnate into a world where everyone still believes the earth is flat? Oh, and don't get me started on the fashion—nothing says "barbaric medieval life" like scratchy wool and layers upon layers of heavy fabric. I mean, really? Can't I get a pair of jeans around here?

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I stared at the ceiling of my room, which, in all its grandeur, still couldn't compare to the simplicity of my old apartment back on Earth. Sure, I've got a bed fit for a prince now, complete with curtains and enough cushioning to smother a small army, but I'd trade it all in a heartbeat for a decent mattress and a Wi-Fi connection.

"Thou art blessed, Nathaniel," they say. "Thou hast been born into the noble House of Blackwood." Blessed, indeed—if by blessed, they mean stuck in a world where indoor plumbing is a distant dream and people are still amazed by fire. If only they knew the truth—that inside this supposedly blessed body is the soul of someone who used to order pizza at 2 AM and binge-watch Netflix shows without a care in the world.

But no, instead of a life of convenience, I'm here, trying to navigate the murky waters of medieval politics, all while trying not to get myself killed by whatever plague is going around this season. And don't even get me started on the whole "noble responsibilities" thing. I miss the days when the most important decision I had to make was which takeout to order.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my self-pitying reverie. It was the old butler, as punctual as ever. "Master Nathaniel," he called out in that annoyingly proper tone that I swear could make even a battle-hardened knight feel like a misbehaving child. "Thou art summoned to attend the family dinner. Thy presence is requested by the Lady Blackwood."

"Very well, Lead the way old man"

I followed the old butler through the labyrinthine halls of the manor, his footsteps echoing ominously against the stone floors. Every corner we turned, every painting of some long-dead ancestor we passed, only reminded me of how out of place I felt in this world.

But it is still a beautiful castle with many fine statues,wonderful gardens, And the smell of horse droppings

i cant never get used to that damn smell

i swear those evil animals have a beef with me Otherwise why would they keep shitting near my window?

The dining hall was grand, as always, with a table long enough to seat an army—or at least a very large family. But tonight, the seats were mostly empty, save for a few notable figures. At the head of the table sat my grandmother, the formidable Lady Blackwood, her posture as rigid as the oak chair she occupied. She was the kind of woman who could silence a room with a single glance, and frankly, I wasn't in the mood to be on the receiving end of one of those.

To her right sat my mother, looking as serene as ever, though her eyes held that familiar glint of expectation. And, of course, there was Eric, my beloved cousin, the prodigy of the family, who had just ascended to the rank of Apprentice in cultivation at the ripe old age of 22. How... impressive.

I took my seat at the far end of the table, as expected all eyes were on Eric.

"Thou hast truly made us proud, Eric," my grandmother said, her voice carrying the weight of approval that I knew I'd never hear directed at me. "To reach the level of Apprentice at thy age is no small feat. Thou art the future of this house."

Eric, ever the golden child, bowed his head humbly. "I am honored by thy words, Grandmother. I only seek to serve our family to the best of my abilities."

Yeah, and I seek to not choke on my food during this excruciatingly shakespearean dinner. Is that too much to ask?

I watched as the conversation flowed around Eric, with everyone praising his achievements and discussing his bright future. Meanwhile, I might as well have been invisible. Not that I minded, really—being ignored meant I didn't have to pretend to care about any of this.

It was then that I noticed my sister, sitting quietly at the opposite end of the table. She hadn't said a word all evening, as was her usual way, but her eyes kept darting over to Eric. Every time he spoke, every time he received another compliment, she looked at him with this... shy admiration.

Oh, come on. Really? I couldn't help but roll my eyes internally. My sister, the ice queen, melting into a puddle at the sight of Eric? Now, this is something.

I mean, I get it. Eric's got the whole "perfect noble" thing going for him. He's tall, handsome, powerful, and, of course, everyone's favorite. But seriously, Sis? You could do so much better. Or, you know, you could actually talk to him instead of staring at him like a lovesick puppy.

But no, instead she just sits there, silent and demure, while the rest of the family continues to fawn over Eric. And me? Well, I'll just sit here and enjoy the show, honestly, watching this awkwardness unfold is probably the highlight of my evening.

Ah, the joys of family dinners in medieval fantasy land. Someone pass the bread; I need something to soak up this bitterness.