I thought, "Have I been reborn?"
I recalled carefully. It was the scene when I attended my father's funeral. It had been five years since I returned to this land once again.
My older brother, Tomas Danes, furious, rushed over and grabbed my collar, raising his hand as if to strike.
"Claire, how dare you come back?"
Tomas' sudden outburst interrupted my thoughts.
Instinctively, I gripped his hand and pushed him away forcefully.
I was not the young girl who could be easily knocked down by his fist anymore, nor was I the girl from a past life who would meekly accept his slap with guilt.
Smoothing out the wrinkles in my collar, I coldly questioned, "I'm not the one with a guilty conscience, so why wouldn't I dare to come back?"
"How dare you..."
"What? Just because you're loud doesn't mean you're right."
It was probably the first time Tomas encountered his meek sister standing up to him. He stuttered, unable to utter a word.
"Tomas, it's our father's funeral today. Do you have to make a scene?"
The villagers were always keen on gossip.
A disturbance today would become tomorrow's talk of the town, spreading through households as fodder for dinner conversations, a topic for idle chatter.