The void was endless—silent, shapeless, and cold.
Aveline floated in it, weightless, suspended in something that was neither darkness nor light. It wasn't hell, nor heaven. It was something between—a quiet, hollow realm that felt like the pause between one breath and the next.
Her body felt distant, almost gone. She couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed. There was no sound, no heartbeat, no warmth. Only emptiness.
Then, faintly—like a whisper cutting through water—she began to feel.
A pulse.
Slow. Unsteady.
A flicker against the nothingness.
The pulse grew louder, stronger, until it was a pounding inside her skull. Then came light. A crack of blinding white splitting the black.
Beep… beep… beep…
Air rushed into her lungs like fire. She gasped violently, convulsing as if being yanked out of another world. Her chest heaved; her heart hammered.
White walls. Blinding light. Cold air.
Aveline's eyes flew open. The ceiling above her was sterile and bright. Machines surrounded her, their rhythmic beeping echoing in her ears. Tubes ran into her arms. Her wrists—bandaged. The faint sting beneath made her wince.
Her mind couldn't place where she was. The smell of antiseptic. The steady hum of electricity. The sterile air. She was in… a hospital?
Her breath quickened. Her eyes darted wildly around the room. The walls, the lights, the confined space—
No. No. Not again.
Her body jerked upright, panic flooding her veins. "Get away!" she screamed, voice trembling. "Don't touch me! Please—don't!"
The machines shrieked as her heartbeat spiked.
Within seconds, the door burst open. A nurse hurried in, followed closely by a doctor.
"Miss! Calm down!" the nurse said, rushing to her side. She was in her forties, her tone steady but laced with concern. "You're safe. You're in a hospital, not… not where you think. It's alright."
Aveline recoiled, eyes wide. "No, no, I can't— I can't be here again! Please!"
The nurse exchanged a quick glance with the doctor.
"Get her sedative ready—wait, no," the doctor said softly, stepping closer instead. "Let's try to talk first."
He was calm, his voice low and careful, as if soothing a frightened child. "Miss Aveline, you're safe now. No one's going to hurt you. You're not in that place anymore."
That place.
The words echoed. The asylum. The screams. The restraints. Her own voice begging to be believed.
Aveline froze, her breathing ragged. Tears pooled in her eyes.
"I…" Her voice broke. "Where… am I?"
The doctor exhaled slowly, relief flickering across his face as her hysteria began to fade. "You're at Saint Coral Hospital. You were brought in three days ago. You lost a lot of blood."
Her lips parted, confusion clouding her face. "Blood?"
He nodded, gently pulling her left wrist forward. The white bandage stood out sharply against her pale skin.
"You cut deep," he said softly, not unkindly. "It's a miracle you were found in time. If someone hadn't called the emergency line…"
His voice faded into the sterile hum of the machines.
Aveline stared at her own wrist. Beneath the bandage, she could still feel it—the sting, the moment the blade had pressed through flesh, the coldness that had followed. But that had been…
Her breath hitched.
That had been before.
Her heart began to race again, though she didn't move. Her eyes darted to the window. Beyond it, the world was bathed in soft morning light. It felt too vivid, too real, too now.
"What day is it?" she asked suddenly, her voice small but sharp.
The nurse glanced at the doctor, uncertain. He hesitated before answering. "It's March 12th."
Her gaze shifted to the wall beside her. A small calendar hung there, its edges curling slightly from age. The date matched his words.
March 12th.
Her breath stopped.
The same day.
The day she had slit her wrists after the fight with Lucien.
No… this couldn't—
Aveline's pulse roared in her ears. She could almost see it again: the argument, the way she had screamed, the way he had looked at her—not with hatred, but with pain. The way she'd grabbed the blade. The way the blood had spilled. The way everything had gone dark.
Her hand trembled violently. "That's… not possible…" she whispered, but not loud enough for either of them to hear.
The doctor was writing something on his clipboard, unaware of the storm inside her. "You're lucky," he said quietly. "You lost a lot of blood, but your vitals are steady now. Try not to move too much for the next few days."
The nurse adjusted her IV, speaking kindly. "You should rest, dear. You've been through a lot. We'll bring you some warm soup later, alright?"
Aveline barely heard them. Her gaze was still locked on the calendar.
It wasn't a dream.
The details were too sharp. The pain too real.
And the date—she could never forget that date.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She looked down at her hands, pale and trembling, as thoughts flooded her.
Had she gone mad again? Was this another delusion?
Or… had she truly gone back?
No one in the room noticed the way her breath hitched, or the distant, haunted look settling in her eyes. She lowered her head, gripping the bedsheet tightly.
The nurse's voice cut softly through her daze. "You should rest now. I'll turn down the lights for a while."
Aveline didn't answer. She couldn't.
As the nurse adjusted the blinds and the doctor stepped out, silence returned—broken only by the faint hum of the machines.
She stared at her bandaged wrists again. Every throb beneath the fabric reminded her of what she had done, of how she had died. And yet… she could feel her heart beating. Her breath steadying. Her mind—clearer than it had ever been.
The memory of the void returned—the endless darkness, the pulse that had called her back. The voice she hadn't heard but had felt.
That warmth that had pulled her through the threshold of death.
Aveline pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
Alive. Again.
She didn't know how, and she didn't dare question why. All she knew was that the universe had done something unnatural.
And this time, she would not waste it.
---
Hours passed. The nurse returned once, checking her vitals, smiling softly when she found her awake. "You're doing well," she said. "Rest. The doctor will check in after his rounds."
Aveline nodded faintly, though her mind was far away.
The light had shifted, warmer now, golden against the white walls. Dust floated lazily in the air. The faint scent of disinfectant lingered, clean and sharp.
She stared at the sunlight filtering through the blinds, and a single tear slipped down her cheek.
"I'm alive," she whispered to herself, voice trembling, barely audible.
But this wasn't relief. It was disbelief.
The calendar on the wall stood as quiet proof that she had been returned to the very day her story had ended.
The universe had bent. Fate had twisted.
And Aveline had been reborn.