Chapter one: Her story
My life was planned out a long time ago. Pain, suffering, false hopes, stupidity were the things I would learn in this life. I sometimes look back and wonder if I had listened to my grandmother's crazy stories….would I have lived without those saddening things?
When I was a little girl my grandmother would tell me stories about a woman who had suffered greatly in a past life and how she was going to be reborn. The story always started off happy. The woman was beautiful, loved by many men, and had an amazing family, friends, and she had married her one true love. But my Grandmother would tell me that the happiness of her life wasn't the main part of the story.
The woman had beautiful waist-long brown hair and gorgeous, warm honey brown eyes that men felt like they got lost in them every time they looked at them. She wore fancy dresses and kimonos since her family was wealthy. She had caring parents and loyal friends.
Her life was complete when she met him, a short, black haired and blue eyed man. He was wealthy and very handsome, and everything the woman could hope for. The two had met in the market one day and knew the other was for them. They had fallen in love and had chosen to marry each other.
Their wedding was perfect, but the woman's mother had made them do a ceremony from her religion. Her mother was extremely religious and wouldn't give them her blessings unless they did it. The two lovers laughed, but did it anyway to make the woman's mother happy.
The ceremony they had done would supposedly tie their souls together for that life. If their marriage was happy and one of them had died before the other, the soul of the person who had died would watch over the other one and make sure their former lover's life would go smoothly and happily.
If their marriage wasn't a happy one or if one of them had cheated on the other, the one being cheated on would die shortly after they found out. Then their soul would haunt their old lover till insanity or death. After their lover died only then would their souls are put at rest, waiting to be reborn again.
The woman had lived a good few years married to her husband, enjoying the time they spent together. Until one night, her husband was gone late and she went out to look for him. She had searched the whole village and was about to give up, when she heard her husband's voice. She ran towards the voice until she saw him with another woman, kissing her.
The woman had ran off towards their home, crying. She felt hurt, betrayed, and suddenly so tired. By the time she reached their home, her eyes were red from the tears that didn't seem to stop running down her face and she felt exhausted. She went to their bedroom and continued to cry until she fell asleep.
When the husband had returned home the next morning he was surprised to find his wife dead on their bed. A few days after he had found her dead, the villagers began to notice something different about him. He seemed more jumpy, sleepless, and very paranoid. After a few weeks they had begun to think the man had gone crazy and not long after that the man had killed himself.
People began to say that his wife's soul haunted him until his death and that she was the cause of his madness. They also say that the poor girl's soul was cursed and that even if she was reborn, she would continue to have poor luck in love and die again from it. They claimed she had been reborn nine times and on her tenth time being born and dying; she would stay as a ghost, haunting anyone she didn't seem fit to be in a relationship.
I didn't believe or give it much thought. It was just a story. And stories weren't real, right? Plus that didn't really have much to do with me. I was completely different from that woman.
My family was not wealthy, nor was I very beautiful. I had found the perfect fiancé for me and I was a hundred and ten percent sure he would never do anything to hurt our relationship. And even if this was true and someone else had been reborn with her soul, why would she come after me? Nothing was wrong with my relationship.
