"I've been hurt enough to become cruel — yet I still choose to care. That is my curse."
Serona Windsor's Diary — Entry #… well, everything went to hell so let's call this Entry #Afterlife?
Kindness.
People like to romanticize it—paint it in pastel colors, sprinkle glitter, call it "a gift."
But here's the real tea: being kind in a world that's constantly sharpening its claws? It's a revolution.
At least, that's what I told myself every time life threw another punch.
Hi. I'm—was—Serona Windsor.
Eighteen. Ordinary. Too ordinary.
Except for the part where my heart refused to mind its business.
Stray cat hungry? Feed it.
Old lady carrying bags? Help her.
A "dead" butterfly lying still on the pavement? Obviously… adopt it.
I still remember that tiny creature—little wings like crumpled sunshine. I had already prepared a tiny funeral in my head (don't judge me) when it decided to wiggle.
"Okay, buddy. You're alive and dramatic. I can respect that."
One quick research spiral later, I found out the cutest thing ever: it wasn't dying. Just thirsty. Honey, however? No go. Apparently, I almost turned the poor baby's feeding tube into cement. A+ attempt at murder, Serona.
So I followed the three sacred steps:
1. Let it clean itself with warm water (with a cotton swab)
2. Nectar—actual nectar—sugar water or a flower
3. Rest, until it could dance with the sky again
And it did.
When it was time to release it, I stood by my window, sweaty as a furnace because I'd refused to turn on the fan for days—wouldn't want a flying friend sliced to pieces. My heart did this squishy-hop thing as it fluttered up… and then?
It landed on my nose.
Its tiny proboscis tickled my skin—like a thank-you kiss before freedom.
"Go," I whispered, smiling like an idiot.
It took flight, painting the air with hope—and left me behind on the ground where hope rarely stayed.
Because kindness comes with a price.
And people… people noticed.
Not the good parts, of course. Jealousy, rumors, shoved into lockers—yay friendship (I was bullied). Then home—where love should live—was a battlefield.
My father's screams. My mother's tears.
Bruises like constellations on skin.
We—my elder sister, my twin brother and a younger brother and I—clung together like fragile shields. I never told them about the bullying. They already carried too many monsters.
Who would have thought the person who helped others without asking anything in return was the one who needed it the most.
And then came that night.
The night where the monster didn't bother hiding behind alcohol or anger. Where my breath was forced out, my world turned black…
…and I died.
At least, that's what I thought.
_____
Because then I woke up.
In a bed that looked like it belonged in a Victorian soap opera. My body—NOT MY BODY—ached everywhere. And let's just say the aftermath of childbirth is… um… grossly educational.
Wait wait WAIT. I just gave birth?
To what?
A human? A potato?
A baby dragon? (Honestly hoping for dragon.)
People crowded around me speaking fluent whatever-the-heck—but I understood them.
Why?! Who installed Google Translater in my brain?!
My Panic level: maximum spicy.
I tried sitting up—bad idea. My insides felt like mashed potatoes. I looked down—long dark curls, pale skin, and a corset that could double as a medieval torture device.
My body moved without my control, Someone spoke... I spoke? It was like watching a movie in my pov but it didn't felt like me.
"Okay Serona, plot twist: you're in someone else's body. Very sexy. Very inconvenient."
My humor was doing that thing it always did—turning trauma into punchlines filled with sarcasm.
Not healthy? Sure.
Effective? Also yes.
My heartbeat was loud. My breaths shaky. My thoughts spinning like a fidget spinner on caffeine.
Who am I?
Where am I?
Why is everyone calling me—
Katerina?
The name echoed around the room, sharp and foreign. Someone placed a crying baby into my arms.
My body—this body—reacted like it knew them.
I didn't. Not yet.
But fate, or chaos, or whatever cosmic clown was writing my life now…
They were laughing.
Because Serona Windsor, the girl who saved butterflies and believed in kindness—had just woken up…
in Katerina Petrova's body.
And I have a very strong feeling that this time?
Kindness might not save me.