Chapter 1: The Apple of His Eye

I am the reincarnation of a malevolent spirit, destined to die a miserable death once again in this life—only then can I become a vengeful ghost.

On the advice of other spirits, I chose to be reborn as a girl in old America, back in the 1800s. I’d heard that if I were unlucky, I might be left to die as an infant.

Some of the other ghosts had whispered about the dangers of being born a girl, especially in a country farmhouse out in the wilds, or in a city tenement where too many mouths to feed meant one child too many. They said, sometimes, if your luck ran out, your first cradle might be a pine box. That possibility suited me just fine—or so I thought.

But I didn’t die.

My mother cherished me; my father treasured me like the apple of his eye. For thirteen years, even the bitterness clinging to me faded away, layer by layer.

I remember summer nights on the porch, the fireflies blinking in the humid Savannah dusk, my mother humming old hymns while braiding my hair. My father would ruffle my curls, calling me his 'little miracle.' Even the sour taste of old pain seemed to sweeten with the scent of magnolias drifting through the window.

Until the day my uncle committed a terrible crime. Since my father was the son of a mistress, he was pushed forward to take the blame, and even my mother was dragged to the gallows.

It’s always the same story—family secrets and southern pride. Here, bloodlines mean everything, but a scandal must always have a scapegoat. My father, born on the wrong side of the blanket, was easy pickings.

When my aunt threw me into the river, I didn’t resist. Only a single tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

I’m about to break my promise.

I once vowed to my father that I would be a good person.

But now, no one deserves peace.