Aadhya jolted upright with a scream, her chest heaving as though she had been drowning. Her hands clawed at her throat, searching for the invisible chains of pain that had bound her in her final moments. Her body trembled violently, and sweat poured down her skin, soaking her night-robe.
Her last memories were still vivid, burning through her mind like fire. The echo of Meera's final screams, the sound of her father's last breath, the cruel laughter of her husband, and the mocking smiles of her stepmother and sisters—all of it clawed at her like hungry beasts.
But when she blinked, the fire and smoke were gone.
The room around her was... whole. Untouched. Familiar.
Her chamber in Veerani Palace spread out before her, draped in silks and gold, the soft fragrance of sandalwood lingering in the air. The carved rosewood bedposts glowed in the pale moonlight spilling through the latticed window. The marble floor was cool beneath her bare feet, polished and unmarred, not yet stained with blood as she had last seen it.
Her heart thundered in her ears. She staggered off the bed and stumbled toward the tall mirror near the window, her hands shaking as she gripped its edges.
Her reflection stared back.
Not the battered, broken princess she remembered being in her final moments. Not the girl with blood matted in her hair, her body bruised, her lips swollen from beatings. Instead, she saw the face of a nineteen-year-old maiden—her skin smooth, her lips uncut, her eyes wide and terrified.
Her long black hair spilled over her shoulders in silken waves, unburnt, untouched. Her robe was spotless, delicate embroidery glimmering faintly in the moonlight.
"No..." Aadhya's voice cracked, disbelief dripping from every syllable. "This cannot be."
Her trembling fingers rose to her face, pressing against her cheeks, her lips, her neck. Smooth skin. No cuts. No bruises. No blood.
The world tilted around her. She stumbled backward, clutching at her chest as tears filled her eyes. She remembered everything—her humiliation, her father's murder, Meera's suffering, the mockery, the fire. And yet, here she stood, alive, untouched, whole.
"What trick is this?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Am I dreaming... or cursed?"
A sharp knock rattled the chamber door.
"Princess Aadhya," a familiar voice called. "Queen requests your presence for the morning prayer."
The voice belonged to Mala, one of the attendants her stepmother often sent to fetch her. Aadhya froze. Her pulse quickened, her chest tightening. She knew this voice. She remembered this exact moment.
Her breath hitched as her mind tried to piece the fragments together.
Her 20th birthday—the last time the palace had celebrated her with grandeur. Just one month after that night, her father had introduced her to her husband, heir of another Kingdom. The charming smile, the sweet words, the feigned admiration for her beauty—she remembered it all. That was the beginning of her downfall.
Her lips parted, trembling. "No... this is... before."
Her heart pounded painfully as realization washed over her. She was not in the ashes of death. She had been pulled back. Back to the very edge of the abyss, to the moment before her destruction had begun.
Her body trembled violently. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sank to her knees, clutching her head. Memories of betrayal replayed in her mind, each sharper than a blade. Her stepmother's gentle words, always poison wrapped in honey. Her sisters' affectionate gestures, nothing but masks for cruelty. Her husband's false love, the deception that had shattered her life.
Her fists clenched. Her nails dug into her palms until pain shot through her hands, grounding her in the reality of this moment. She was alive again—but the scars of her past life still throbbed inside her heart.
She dragged herself back to the mirror, staring into her reflection. The girl who looked back at her had wide, trusting eyes. The same eyes that had once believed in false love, that had once obeyed lies, that had once been blind to the venom in her own home.
But now, those eyes glowed with something new.
Hatred.
Determination.
The fire of vengeance.
"This time," Aadhya whispered, her voice trembling but sharp, "I will not be your pawn. I will not let you twist me. I will not let him break me."
Her reflection blurred through her tears, but the fire in her gaze only grew brighter.
She remembered her father's death at her husband's hands. She remembered the way Rajeshwari, her stepmother, the queen, had smiled as if she had orchestrated it all. She remembered the cruel confessions of her sisters, their laughter at her pain.
Her heart twisted, torn between grief and fury. Her body may have been restored, but the wounds of her past life carved deep into her soul.
The knock on the door came again, more insistent this time.
"Princess? The queen awaits."
Aadhya's lips curled into the faintest of smiles. Not the naive smile of a trusting girl, but the sharp smile of a predator cloaked in silk.
"Tell the queen," she said, her voice calm, almost cold, "that I will be there soon."
Silence followed from behind the door, then the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall.
Aadhya turned back to the mirror, her fingers brushing over her reflection as though she were touching a ghost.
"You thought me weak," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of her vow. "You thought me blind. You thought me easy to break."
She straightened, her spine stiff, her chin raised like the princess she had always been born to be. Her heart still ached, her soul still burned with the scars of betrayal, but in that moment, she knew—this was not a curse. It was a chance.
A second chance.
And this time, she would not waste it.
She would not forgive.
She would not forget.
Her stepmother, her stepsisters, her past life's husband—every one of them would pay in blood, in fear, in despair.
As the moonlight bathed her in silver, Aadhya Veerani's lips curved into a venomous promise:
"This time, they will burn."