Darkness lingered thick, heavy, and endless. I floated in it, weightless, caught between one heartbeat and the next. There was no pain, no light, no sound only the slow memory of blood and betrayal echoing in my bones.
Then came the sound. A single, sharp gasp. My own.
Air burned its way into my lungs, cold and raw, dragging me back into a body that didn't feel like mine. My eyes shot open, and the world crashed into me all at once the brightness, the scent, the quiet hum of something alive and unfamiliar.
I was no longer on the battlefield. No smoke. No mud. No dying screams.
The ceiling above me was white and smooth, carved with patterns that looked too delicate to survive a war. The room was drenched in soft sunlight leaking through half-drawn curtains. The air smelled faintly of lavender and medicine.
My hands small, slender, unscarred trembled as I lifted them into view. They weren't the hands of a warrior who'd gripped a sword since childhood. They were fragile, almost translucent in the morning light.
I sat up too quickly. The world spun, and pain tore through my skull.
A low groan escaped me before I could stop it.
"Miss, please, don't move too fast!"
The voice came from my right. A young woman perhaps a maid rushed forward with a basin of water and a folded towel. Her eyes widened when she saw me awake.
"You… you're conscious?"
Her relief looked genuine, but I could sense fear beneath it. Fear didn't come from nowhere.
"Where am I?" My voice came out rough, the syllables strange on my tongue.
"In your room, miss," the maid whispered, as though the walls themselves were listening. "You've been unconscious for two days since the… accident."
Accident.
The word splintered something inside me. Images rushed forward not my own memories, but hers. A staircase. A shouting match. A shove. The flash of betrayal in another woman's eyes. Then the fall — the world tipping sideways, skull cracking against marble.
Pain. Then blackness.
My breath hitched. So this was her death. The other Emily's. And now I was here wearing her face, her name, her life.
The maid hesitated, wringing the towel in her hands. "Madam said you shouldn't strain yourself. You're lucky to be alive."
Madam. The word carried venom, even from her lips.
"Madam?" I asked.
"Your stepmother," she said quickly. "Madam Grace. She's been… worried."
Worried. I almost laughed. If there was one universal truth in every world, it was that the cruel never lost sleep over their victims.
"Leave the towel," I murmured. "I'll be fine."
She hesitated, glanced toward the door, and then nodded, bowing slightly before slipping out. The door closed with a quiet click, and the silence that followed was almost suffocating.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the unfamiliar rhythm of this body's heartbeat. Too fast. Too soft. But alive.
The mirror across the room caught a sliver of my reflection hair dark as ink, skin pale from days of unconsciousness, lips dry but still the same shape I'd seen in another life. My eyes met my own in that reflection the same stormy blue, though dulled with exhaustion.
It was me. But not me.
I stood slowly, my legs trembling beneath me like a newborn foal's. Each step felt like walking through water, heavy and foreign. The floor was polished wood warm under my bare feet. I reached the mirror, my reflection growing clearer with each breath.
The same face that had once worn a crown now looked back at me in a nightgown stained with sweat. I touched the glass. It was cool against my fingertips.
I remembered the final moments of Norvale the smell of blood and burning banners, the weight of betrayal. My uncle's voice echoing in my ears. The sword that pierced my back before I ever turned to see who held it.
And now, this.
Another world. Another body. Another chance.
The door opened again, sharp and sudden.
"Emily," a voice snapped.
She entered like a shadow slicing through sunlight beautiful, perfectly poised, with the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. Grace Smith. My new stepmother.
"You're awake," she said, tone clipped. "Finally. Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused this family?"
My lips parted, but she didn't wait for an answer.
"Your father's reputation suffered enough at that party, and now you nearly kill yourself falling down the stairs. Do you enjoy humiliating us?"
I blinked at her. Every word was an accusation, thrown like stones at a body already bruised.
"I don't remember," I said quietly.
Grace scoffed. "Convenient."
Her eyes swept over me disdainful, calculating. "If you're going to fake amnesia, at least do it properly. Your father has already decided your punishment."
Punishment.
I raised my gaze to meet hers, steady this time. "For falling?"
Her expression faltered just for a second before she masked it with a smirk. "For embarrassing us. Again."
She turned to leave but paused at the door. "Your sister will visit later. She's been so worried."
A chill crawled down my spine. Sister.
The memories of this body flickered again, slow and jagged laughter, jealousy, whispered insults behind closed doors. And then the shove. The cruel delight in those eyes as I fell.
Stephanie.
So that was the name of the snake who'd smiled while she killed.
"I'll be ready," I said softly.
Grace didn't notice the edge in my voice. She was already gone.
I sank onto the bed, the weight of everything pressing down at once my death, my rebirth, my new prison.
In Norvale, I'd been a princess, a warrior, a leader. Here, I was nothing more than a fragile girl under a cruel family's roof.
But weakness was a mask I could wear. I'd worn crowns heavier than this deception.
Outside the window, the city stretched in every direction glass towers gleaming beneath the morning sun. A world built on power and greed.
I could work with that.
A soft knock came at the door. "Sister?"
That voice honeyed poison.
"Come in," I said, keeping my tone mild.
The door opened, revealing Stephanie. Her beauty was practiced, polished like her mother's and her eyes flickered briefly with surprise when she saw me sitting upright.
"You're awake," she said, stepping closer. "I was so worried. You scared all of us."
Liar.
I studied her face, searching for even a hint of guilt. There was none. Only the faint, smug relief of someone who thought she'd won.
"I suppose I'm harder to kill than you thought," I said.
She froze. "What?"
"Nothing." I smiled faintly. "Just glad to still be here."
Her eyes narrowed suspicion, not remorse. "Mother said your memory might be foggy. Maybe rest more. You look… different."
"I feel different," I said truthfully.
She lingered, perhaps waiting for me to break, to beg, to act like the weak Emily she'd helped destroy. But that girl was gone.
"Benjamin came by," she said suddenly. "He was so worried. He wanted to see you, but Mother told him you needed rest."
Benjamin. The name surfaced in both sets of memories the boyfriend, the betrayal, the silent laughter behind my back.
"I don't want to see him," I said evenly.
She blinked, startled. "What? Why not?"
I met her gaze. "Because I've finally learned that not every kind face hides kindness."
For a fleeting moment, fear flickered in her expression a tiny crack in her perfect mask. Then she forced a smile. "You must still be dizzy. Rest well, sister."
When the door shut behind her, I exhaled slowly. My pulse was steady now, my mind sharp.
The maid slipped back in quietly, setting down a tray of soup. "Miss, should I"
"Don't call me 'miss,'" I said. "Just Emily."
She blinked. "Yes, Emily."
"What's your name?"
"Lydia."
I nodded. "Good. I'll remember that."
She hesitated before leaving again, confusion written all over her face. She could sense something was different, though she couldn't name it.
When I was finally alone, I sat by the window, watching the light shift across the city. The reflection in the glass showed a stranger's body, but my eyes those were still mine.
I remembered the oath I'd sworn before I died: Those who betrayed me will not die in peace.
Now, the promise burned anew.
A new name. A new world. A second chance.
They would never see me coming.
I leaned back against the pillow, letting exhaustion pull me under once more not into death this time, but into strategy.
The world had taken everything from me once.
Now it was my turn.