The Butcher's Heart, A Boy's Hope

The acrid smell of disinfectant and old wax assaulted my seventy-year-old nose.

One moment, I was Butcher Betty, cleaver in hand, surrounded by the familiar scent of my shop.

The next, I was a stranger in a sterile, enormous kitchen, wearing a stiff uniform, feather duster in my hand.

Then, a cold, mechanical voice boomed directly inside my head: "Transmigration successful. Welcome, Host 734."

My new identity: Betty, the cruel and sycophantic housekeeper of the Anderson family, tasked with following a novel' s plot.