The Wolf Princess Takes A Mate

02 Reincarnated

I close the notebook and smile at my fellow writers in the Writing Club that I joined in school.

All of them are, as expected, not listening to me as I finished the short story that we were assigned to make and read out loud for the mandatory after-school activity.

Instead, they are busy doing other things, like reading other books(a hot and spicy one--if you know what I mean, wink!, but with a different and tamer cover to hide it from the teachers). Some are chatting with other club members, some are playing with their phones and some are even doing both.

Not only that but the adviser for the club was also barely paying attention. Not that I blame her since she's writing some admin work that wasn't for teachers to do in the first place anyway.

As for the inattentiveness of my audience, other people might be lamenting about it. That they have no audience to share their creations with.

But I, on the other hand, am built differently.

That's because the contents of the notebook I am reading are something that is not meant for others to know, let alone hear.

Especially when it contains a secret.

A special secret that I only know. However, the reason that I was reading one of the stories written in the notebook today was that I know that no one will pay attention to me.

And...well, if someone would have been interested in Captain Arabella's story, I MIGHT tell them something about it. Maybe tell them a little about the said secret that is definitely out of this world.

However, it's not a guarantee that whoever gets to hear that secret will believe me.

And that is also one of the reasons that I read this story out loud for them. Because not only will they not listen to me, but they also won't believe me if I do tell them the truth and say I was just making things up.

Hehehe.

Huffing smugly from my nose, I give a gratified nod to my inattentive audience and head back to my seat without bothering to let the adviser know that I'm done. I'm pretty sure she won't hear it anyway.

Not that I mind or anything.

I think it's best that I don't waste her time by acknowledging that I'm done and continuing on with her work instead. I mostly feel bad for her for being stuck with a job that wasn't supposed to be hers in the first place.

I can totally understand wanting to have free time whenever you get home and not spend it with more work. I know that was why she's using the time for the Writing Club to do her additional tasks.

Besides, it is not a secret that if anyone wants to take it easy during the 'mandatory after-school club activities' the school is pushing for, then the Writing Club is for you.

I'm just surprised to discover that this school has more dedicated and motivated students than I thought considering there's only a handful of us here in the Writing Club for boring and lazy people.

As soon as I return to my seat, I open my notebook again. It looked very, very old. Some of the pages yellowed with age and it looked a little worse for wear, a distinctive sign that it's pretty well-used.

I flip the page after Captain Arabella's story and traced the big decorative title of the second story on top.

The next story was about Yukina, a Japanese orphan who was raised and trained as an assassin. She met her end early when she was betrayed by a fellow assassin who, not only tipped her off to the enemy but also left her for dead.

And then there was Madam Madrigal Santos, a woman in Asia who played pretend as a loving wife to a pretend husband in the mornings but a rebel at night whose job was to expose the government of their corruption. She also didn't live long and was shot to death by the enemy when their secret hideout was raided.

I flip a page and another and another. No matter how many pages I flip, no matter how many stories there are, they all have one thing in common.

All of the stories are about a woman. And not just simply a woman.

Most of the time, she was born an orphan and if she did have parents, there were only a handful of times when the family is good to her or truly loves her. Oftentimes, her family will either abuse her or neglect her.

Not only that, but whatever the woman does in each and every story, she will pursue a life of adventure. She might have a different name and a different life in each and every story, however, one thing stays the same.

The woman will always be the same person.

Like, Captain Arabella is actually also Yukina as well as Madam Madrigal Santos. And all of the stories after it are all about the same person.

However, one might think that the contents of the notebook are merely a figment of one's imagination.

But it's actually not.

The stories that are in this notebook are based on a real person. It was written in great detail, with just a little embellishment here and there, that recalls the experience of the woman's life each and every time she's alive.

So, if that's the case, how is the woman the same person in each and every story when she always ends up dead before she even hit the age of forty?

Well, to anyone who even bothered to pay attention to what I was reading out loud ever since I joined this club, I would expect them to ask me that question. Especially when Captain Arabella's story wasn't the first short story I read out loud in this club.

The question may pose something difficult to answer, but to me, it's actually a simple question that has a simple answer.

The catch here is whether they'll believe my answer or not.

That's because the woman is actually--

Ding Dong! Bing Bong!

At the sound of the bell that signifies that school is finally and officially over, both school and after-school activities alike.

My clubmates didn't need another reminder from the bell.

As soon as the first signs of ringing were heard, they all perked up and stopped what they were doing momentarily, probably to make sure that they were not hearing wrong.

A heartbeat later, everyone, even the adviser, stood from their seats almost in unison and started packing up. Though, others are already slinging their stuff over their shoulders and leaving the room as if the devil was running after them.

No one even bid to greet each other goodbye but I am used to it. That's how the Writer's Club worked.

Always has and always has been.

But that doesn't mean that I should also go with the flow in this case.

Like Captain Arabella and Madam Madrigal, I am also the epitome of rebellion. Well...this time, though, not really. But I mostly mean that I don't want to be just a part of the crowd.

Not only that it's boring, but believe me, I tried, there's also something more exciting and thrilling trying to break the mold and see other people's reactions to it.

Like what I'm about to do now.

"Goodbye, Club Mates! Goodbye, Mrs. Johannsen."

I greet them as they file out of the room. Naturally, those who already left didn't get to hear me but as long as I get to greet the others goodbye and our adviser, that was more than people for me to garner the reactions I'd been looking forward to.

All of my Club Mates stop in their tracks when they heard me before they slowly continue on their way out. Some are giving me small smiles from that, and some wave at me, while the others give me weird looks.

And those weird looks are one of the reasons why I did that in the first place. Of course, I like the waves and the smiles better but the weird looks are just hilarious.

However, despite those weird looks I received, I don't blame them. I've been in their shoes before and I can understand that someone in this club, a club where there's an unspoken rule that club members should just mind their own business, would dare break that rule.

Even if it's ironic since the members of this club are the ones who are breaking the rules by not doing club activity.

"Oh, yes. Thank you and goodbye as well, Tabitha," the adviser tells me, giving me a small half-grateful and half-regretful smile.

The latter is probably from her being sorry for not listening to me reading my story out loud, while the former is probably from relief that I am cool with her despite the inattention.

I beam at all of them and settle back in my seat, taking my sweet time getting all my stuff back in my bag.

The last that got inside was the notebook.

As I was thinking to myself before the school bell rudely interrupted me, the notebook is the key to a story that is out of this world, where no one will be able to believe me if I tell them about it.

And I guess this is enough beating around the bush.

The reason why I am so cryptic about the contents of this book and its stories is because...

Captain Arabella was me.

Yukina, Madam Madrigal, and all the other women in the stories in this notebook are all me as well.

At least they were my past lives for the past century or so. I am not really sure how this came to be, to be honest.

All I can recall was the moment when I opened my eyes and found that it was dark out. At first, I thought I was already way on my way to the other side.

However, I knew that I can open my eyes and I can breathe. Surely, that is a telling sign that I am alive, right?

After confirming that I was really alive, I thought that a miracle has happened.

That my crew did the stupidest thing ever and braved the raging storm. Not only did they come back for me and retrieved me from the sinking ship but also managed to return to shore, safe and sound.

Additionally, I also thought I survived a sword through my stomach and they managed to patch me up.

However, despite the fact that I can open my eyes and feel that I am alive, I'm probably paralyzed or severely wounded since I couldn't move my body the way I wanted it to or I can't even call out for help or something.

Something was wrong with my body and my throat, making it hard for me to do the things that I usually do with ease. Like simply moving my arms or calling out for someone for some light or something.

However, that wasn't the case.

The case was because I wasn't Captain Arabella. Not anymore, that is. Especially since I became someone else entirely.

Through reincarnation.

Yep. That's right. I got reincarnated.

And currently, as Tabithat Simpsons of the year XX90, this is my one hundred and fifteenth life.