The hallways of Ravencrest Manor were exactly as oppressive as I remembered from the game's background art, except now I could feel them.
The stone walls were dark gray, almost black, lined with portraits of dead Ravens whose eyes seemed to follow me as I walked. Sconces held flickering purple flames—actual purple flames, because apparently House Raven didn't believe in normal fire—that cast dancing shadows across the floor.
This is so extra. I love it.
Every few feet, I passed servants. Except they weren't exactly servants in the traditional sense. Some of them were clearly undead—pale skin, vacant eyes, movements just a fraction too stiff to be natural. Others were living, but they all wore the same expression: carefully blank faces that suggested they'd learned long ago not to show emotion in this house.
One of them—a skeletal butler in an immaculate black suit—bowed as I passed.
I nodded back, fighting the urge to cackle.
I have SKELETON SERVANTS. Truck-kun, you beautiful bastard, you really went ALL OUT.
The original Isabel had grown up with this. She'd seen undead servants her entire life and thought nothing of it. But I was a woman who'd spent twenty-eight years in Tokyo, where the most supernatural thing I'd encountered was a supposedly haunted vending machine in Akihabara that sometimes gave you the wrong drink.
Now I lived in a gothic fortress where the help was literally dead.
This is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I got hit by a truck to get here.
I followed the path the maid had taken earlier, my memory of the game's layout guiding me. Down the main staircase (carved with ravens, naturally), through the entrance hall (dominated by a massive portrait of some ancient Raven ancestor who looked like he'd murdered someone right before sitting for the painting), and toward the east wing where the formal dining room was located.
The closer I got, the more I could feel... something. A pressure in the air, like the atmosphere itself was heavier here. Magic, I realized. Dark magic, thick and oppressive, radiating from somewhere ahead.
Oh.
Oh, that's Mother.
My steps slowed slightly as I approached the dining room doors—massive things made of black wood, carved with intricate patterns of thorns and ravens and what looked suspiciously like screaming faces.
Subtle. Very subtle.
I paused, one hand on the door handle, and took a breath.
This was it. My first real test. The maid had been easy—she was a servant, someone with no power, someone I could dismiss without consequence. But Duchess Lilith Raven was different.
According to the game lore, Lilith was one of the most powerful dark mages in the kingdom. She'd married into House Raven and proceeded to make herself indispensable, consolidating power, eliminating rivals, and raising Isabel to be the perfect heir. She was cold, calculating, and absolutely terrifying.
And she was about to meet the new me.
The me who'd been isekai'd by Truck-kun and decided to make it everyone's problem.
The me who was doomed to die in six months and had exactly zero interest in playing by the rules.
Alright, Isabel. Time to perform. Time to test the boundaries. Time to see how much chaos you can get away with before Mother decides you're more trouble than you're worth.
I pushed open the doors.
The dining room was, predictably, excessive. The table was long enough to seat twenty people, made of dark wood so polished it reflected the purple flames in the chandelier overhead. The walls were covered in more portraits of dead Ravens, all of them looking vaguely disapproving, as if they were judging me from beyond the grave for getting hit by a truck.
Judge away, dead people. I'm about to become more infamous than all of you combined.
And at the head of the table, sitting with perfect posture and an expression of cool disinterest, was Duchess Lilith Raven.
My mother.
Oh.
Oh wow.
The game's character art hadn't done her justice. Lilith was stunning in a way that was almost threatening, like looking at a beautiful knife. She had the same purple eyes as Isabel—as me—but hers were darker, more violet than amethyst, and they held a weight that suggested she'd seen things that would break lesser people. Her hair was black with streaks of silver, pulled back in an elaborate style that probably required an undead servant and an hour of work. She wore a black dress with a high collar, silver embroidery crawling up the sleeves like vines, and a choker set with a dark purple gem that pulsed faintly with magic.
She looked like the final boss of a video game.
She looked like someone who could kill me with a thought.
She looked like someone who would absolutely notice if her daughter had been replaced by a cynical Tokyo office worker with a death wish and a sense of humor forged in the fires of cosmic irony.
Fuck.
"Isabel." Her voice was smooth, cultured, and absolutely devoid of warmth. "You're late."
I closed the doors behind me and walked toward the table, keeping my steps measured, my expression carefully neutral. Inside, my brain was screaming with a mixture of terror and delight.
She's PERFECT. She's everything a dark magic duchess should be. Truck-kun, you really outdid yourself with this family.
"My apologies, Mother," I said, sliding into the chair to her right. "I was... indisposed."
One perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. "Indisposed."
"Yes. I had a very enlightening morning."
Enlightening in the sense that I woke up in a different body after being murdered by a delivery truck, but we don't need to get into specifics.
Lilith studied me for a long moment, her purple eyes sharp and assessing. I could practically feel her gaze dissecting me, looking for weaknesses, cataloging every detail.
She knows something's different. She KNOWS.
This is either going to go very well or very badly, and honestly I'm excited either way.
"You look different," she said finally.
Understatement of the century, Mother dearest.
"Do I?" I reached for the teapot in the center of the table—black porcelain, naturally—and poured myself a cup with deliberate care. The liquid inside was dark, almost crimson in the candlelight.
Is this blood? Please tell me this is blood. That would be SO on-brand for this family.
I lifted the cup to my lips and took a slow sip, maintaining eye contact with Lilith the entire time. It tasted like tea—regular, expensive tea—but the theatrical presentation was chef's kiss. The kind of thing the original Isabel would have been too nervous to do, too desperate to seem normal.
But I wasn't the original Isabel anymore.
Lilith's eyes narrowed slightly as she watched me drink, her expression unreadable. I could see the calculation happening behind those amethyst eyes—the same color as mine—as she processed this small act of defiance. Not rebellion exactly. Just... confidence. Comfort in her presence. Comfort in myself.
She's cataloging it. She's filing it away. She's trying to figure out what changed.
I set the cup down with a soft clink against the saucer and met her gaze with a smile that was just a fraction too wide.