But death was not the end.
It was only the beginning.
—
Warmth.
I felt warmth.
That alone was enough to make me panic. There had been no warmth at the execution platform—only snow, steel, and the taste of blood in my mouth.
But now… there was sunlight.
A soft blanket tucked to my chin.
The scent of fresh lavender and ink.
My eyes flew open.
Wooden ceilings. Carved furniture. A canopy bed with worn red curtains.
I recognized this place.
No… I remembered it.
My childhood room in House Ardent.
I scrambled out of bed, nearly falling on the polished floor. My legs were shorter—my balance off. I ran to the mirror and—
My breath caught.
A child stared back.
Pale skin, tangled black hair, violet eyes wide with disbelief. Her cheeks still round with baby fat. Her frame small and underfed.
Me.
At ten years old.
"No way," I whispered. "This… this can't be…"
My hands trembled as I touched my face, my chest, my neck—where the blade had fallen. But there was no blood. No wound. Only skin, smooth and warm.
I wasn't dreaming.
I had been executed. I died.
But now… I was here. In my younger body. Alive.
"…I've returned."
The memories flooded in. My cruelty. My loneliness. My downfall. The tears Elisse shed for me. The blade's final kiss.
And then—this second chance.
I sank to the floor, gripping the mirror frame to keep myself steady.
This wasn't just a dream or illusion. It was real.
I had reincarnated.
Back to when I still had a choice.
Back to the moment before I became the villainess everyone hated.
Back to the beginning.
---