The low murmur of voices reached my ears as I regained consciousness.
Had I survived?
The question pressed heavily on my chest, a question I desperately wished had a different answer.
A rough hand clasped mine, squeezing gently.
My wish had not been granted.
Slowly, I opened my eyes and met the face of a man I knew all too well.
His green eyes were the exact replica of Anastasia's.
Just the thought of her brought a sharp ache to my heart, and I could do nothing as tears flowed from my eyes, a wretched cry escaping me.
The hand holding mine squeezed tighter as the man brought his free hand to my face.
"What is it, my child? What's wrong?"
He spoke gently, his words a mix of concern and warmth that only made me cry harder.
It's all my fault.
I robbed this man of his daughter.
The thought echoed in my mind as I continued to look into his kind eyes—eyes that reminded me too much of the young girl whose life ended because of me.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry."
The apologies slipped from my lips unconsciously, as I squeezed his hand tighter. In the deepest part of my mind, it felt like I was apologizing to Anastasia—with how similar the father and daughter looked, it didn't seem far-fetched.
His hand moved to wipe away the tears that fell uncontrollably from my eyes as he turned to address the other person in the room.
"What happened? I thought you said she just had a slight fever!"
His voice lost its warmth, becoming authoritative.
The other person's response was too soft for me to hear over the sound of my own cries.
But I couldn't stop.
My tears were just more proof of how much my heart ached.
The man before me tenderly caressed my hair, bringing my head to rest on his chest as he held me while I cried. His whispered words of comfort did little to ease my pain.
Duke Nikolai Vasilev, was an admirable character when reading the original novel.
He was someone who's presence commanded everyone's attention and respect. Duke Vasilev was the very reason as to how the empire became to be as great as it was.
The infamous man had earned his reputation as a master strategist and military leader when he had led the empire to its victory against its enemies, be it another kingdom that sought to tear down the Arathia Empire or against monsters that roamed around.
Duke Vasilev was a man that even the Imperial Family were wary of.
Duke Vasilev, Anastasia's father— the man who was one of the reasons as to why Anastasia became the villainess of the novel, the first man who had broken Anastasia's heart.
With the reminder of how he was nowhere to be found when Anastasia was by executed.
Rage replace the grief that consumed my heart.
With a grunt, I shoved him away.
"Get out!"
I yelled at the man who was still recovering from the shock of being pushed away.
Somewhere far back in my mind, I knew he was someone that I should be wary of, the Monster of House Vasilev is what many had called the man.
A monster indeed.
A monster that held no love for his daughter.
"Get out!"
I screamed louder when he took a step forward, my hand reaching behind me to grab ahold of something to throw at him, to get my point across.
I didn't want to see him.
I didn't want to see anyone.
I just want to go home and forget everything.
I watched as he left with a wounded expression, but I couldn't muster the care to soften my words.
I gazed around the familiar room, my chest burning from all the memories that played through my mind— memories of Anastasia and I in this very room.
Slowly I climbed off the bed, making my way towards the large mirror. Getting a strong sense of deja vu.
But there was not a pair of emerald green eyes that watched me silently this time.
When I reached the mirror, I truly thought someone was playing some cruel joke on me.
Rosalind—the body I had reincarnated into, the body I had grown accustomed to was not the one that stood before me in the mirror.
Overwhelmed with shock and grief, I didn't realise how hard I had hit the mirror causing it to shatter—mirror pieces fell, laying discarded on the ground.
Yet that person still stood before me.
Eyes a vibrant green that it was compatible to that of the finest emerald. Long flowing brown hair that fell down in gentle waves. An oval-shaped face that was framed by wisps of hair.
An angel— no a demon sent to torment my mind, to remind me of my failure.
The feeling of someone's calloused hands made contact with my cheeks— the mirror taunted me as it replicated everything.
Their words fell on deaf ears as all I could do was gaze at the reflection of Anastasia in the mirror.