They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. But for me, it wasn't my life that came rushing back—it was everything I had lost.
The weight of betrayal. The sting of cold iron shackles. The echo of laughter that once made me feel safe, now twisted into silence. My memories weren't kind. They came in like a storm, drowning me in the truth I had refused to see until it was too late.
Rain fell from the sky like the heavens themselves were mourning me.
I stood at the center of the execution square, soaked to the bone, surrounded by a sea of faces. Some looked away, some stared. None of them saw me—not really. All they saw was the villainess. The madwoman. The traitor. The monster of Caelora House.
Funny. Not long ago, they called me "Lady Seraphine." Whispered my name with awe, admiration, envy. But today, they would chant for my death.
And there he was.
Lucien.
My half-brother. The empire's youngest and most promising knight commander. The one they praised as the people's light. The one who was about to kill me.
His dark hair was tied back, soaked from the rain. His blade gleamed silver, flawless. Just like him. Cold. Untouched. And completely unreachable.
I wanted to scream at him. To ask him if he remembered how we used to sneak out of the palace together. How we once swore we'd protect each other no matter what. How he promised he'd never raise a blade against me.
But he stood still, sword in hand, eyes like winter. No sorrow. No regret. Just duty.
"Seraphine Caelora," the High Inquisitor announced, his voice booming through the square. "You have been found guilty of high treason, consorting with dark magic, and conspiring to assassinate members of the imperial family. Your punishment is death."
Gasps. Some cheers. A child started crying.
I looked around. Not a single familiar face in the crowd dared to meet my eyes. Of course not. They all abandoned me the moment it was no longer convenient to care.
Cowards.
I took a breath and stepped forward. My feet were bare. Mud clung to my skin. I lifted my chin, unflinching.
"Any last words?" the inquisitor asked.
I turned my head. My eyes locked with Lucien's. I knew the crowd was waiting for tears or pleas. But I gave them none.
"If I had been born a different way," I said, voice steady despite the shaking in my limbs, "would you still have killed me?"
He flinched.
It was brief. Barely noticeable. But I saw it.
His grip on the sword tightened. The world seemed to pause. For a second, it felt like time folded in on itself, like the rain stopped falling, like the crowd faded away. It was just me and him.
And then he raised the blade.
White-hot pain. A crack of thunder.
Then nothing.
When I woke up, I expected to be in chains. Or in hell. Or to simply not exist.
But I was warm.
I blinked. The ceiling above me was familiar. Pale ivory with tiny cracks near the corner where the paint always peeled in the rainy season. I sat up slowly, heart pounding.
No chains.
No blood.
No execution stand.
My hands flew to my neck. Nothing. No scar. No wound. My skin was smooth, unbroken.
I scrambled off the bed and rushed to the mirror.
The face that stared back at me was younger. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. My hair was longer. My eyes wider, brighter. My cheeks still soft with baby fat.
I stumbled back, nearly tripping over the hem of my nightgown.
This can't be real.
This has to be some cruel punishment. A trick.
A knock startled me.
"Lady Seraphine?" came a gentle voice. "Your bath is ready. Should I bring your tea in ten minutes?"
That voice. Miri.
She died. They hung her for trying to help me escape.
My legs gave out. I sat on the floor, breathing hard, palms pressed to the cold marble tiles.
I wasn't dead. I was back. Somehow, impossibly, I had been thrown back in time.
And not just days or weeks.
Years.
Back to before the trials. Before the lies. Before Lucien.
Before everything shattered.
I stared at my reflection again, my pulse pounding.
This time, I wouldn't waste my life trying to prove my innocence to people who already decided I was guilty.
This time, I would find out the truth.
Why Lucien killed me.
Why everyone turned on me.
And why I was given this second chance.
They want me to be the villainess?
Fine. Let them.
But I will be the villainess who rewrites her death.
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A few hours passed, and I was still unsure if I was trapped in a dream or truly given a second life. The sun filtered through the tall windows of my chambers. This room—so grand and filled with silks and satin—had once been my prison. But now, I saw it as a starting point.
I walked to the window and stared at the gardens below. I remembered this day. I remembered what was coming. My stepmother would arrive soon, reminding me of my place. My tutors would drill etiquette and useless embroidery lessons into my skull while nobles whispered about my birth. I wasn't a true Caelora, they said. My mother was a commoner. A stain on their bloodline.
I touched the windowpane, cool and smooth beneath my fingertips.
Not this time. This time, I would not shrink myself to make room for their egos.
I turned just as the door opened.
A tall woman swept in, dressed in navy velvet, her face sharp as ever.
"Still in your nightgown, Seraphine?" she said coolly. Lady Elira. My stepmother. As venomous as ever.
"I woke up late," I replied, adjusting my tone to sound small. Familiar. Predictable.
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. She liked it when I was meek.
"Well, hurry. Your father expects you in the solar in half an hour. He's meeting with Lord Varence. You will attend."
Lord Varence. That snake. He tried to marry me off in exchange for political favor.
"I'll be ready," I said.
As soon as she left, I opened the wardrobe. The maids would pick soft colors for me—lavender, pearl, baby blue. Harmless. Forgettable.
I chose crimson.
Let them remember.