If I had to transmigrate, fine. It wasn't as if I hadn't read plenty of romance novels. But why did I have to go from being a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl to a twenty-eight-year-old past her prime?
Fine, past her prime it is. It's not as if I'm about to kick the bucket, but why must I suffer every month, aching for the carefree days of my eighteenth year?
Sigh. How can this kind of transmigration ever be called fun...?
Come down.