The night was dark and thick with silence as Erica crept through the shadowed corridors of the grand estate, her footsteps silent against the marble floors. She was a master at her craft, known in the underworld as the "Goddess of Life and Death," an assassin whose swiftness, skill, and precision were unmatched. Tonight's target was an untouchable in his own world, but she had broken into his sanctuary with ease, slipping past his guards like a whisper of smoke. She expected to kill her victim quietly in bed and leave as swiftly and quietly as she usually does.

She moved with lethal grace, her slender frame wrapped in midnight-black attire, blending into the shadows around her. Her pulse was steady, her mind focused. As she approached the door to the bedroom, she opened it quietly that even the sharpest ear would not hear anything.

Her victim was fast asleep in bed, a politician who has always used the poor and underprivileged by draining them of every little penny they earned.

That was one thing about Erica, even though she is an assassin, she only targeted the dirty and greedy ones that needs to be wiped off the face of the earth. She approached the bed where he was sleeping peacefully like he is not always oppressing the poor. She took out a syringe that contained a lethal poison. The poison is one she made herself, to kill whoever was injected quietly and then traces of the poison will be gone after the person is dead to not alert anyone during an autopsy that the victim was poisoned to death.

After injecting the poison in a nonsuspecting spot, beside the belly bottom. She left the room and mansion with the swiftness and precision she came in.

When she got out, she was walking when she halted feeling a difference in the atmosphere, she was not alone. They were people in hiding, not sure what they wanted, she continued to walk while still alert. She turned and walked into an alleyway and she saw them now coming out of hiding.

Counting them, there were about twenty she could see and she could hear more still in their hiding spot

"Well, well… The Goddess herself, caught at last," a familiar voice sneered.

Erica's heart tightened. She didn't need to turn to recognize the voice. It was Lucian, a fellow assassin with whom she had once worked, his jealousy over her skills as poisonous as it was obvious. He had always watched her with envious eyes, always striving to outdo her.

"Lucian," she said, her voice cold and steady, despite the sudden dread flooding her veins. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, just… rearranging the hierarchy," he replied, a twisted grin evident in his tone. "The underworld has room for only one god, Erica. And you've held that title far too long."

With Lucien behind her and twenty or more men waiting on an order to attack her, Erica's eyes scanned the whole alleyway for a way out. "Do not bother, you are going nowhere."

The men all attacked her at once but she did not get the title as the Goddess of Life and Death for nothing. Under two minutes, most of them were on the floor, most were dead and some, paralysed and unable to move. As she fought them, she noticed Lucien looking at her, his eyes filled with hatred, she noted the dagger in his hand.

After dealing with all the minions he had brought to attack her, Erica faced him. Holding her own daggers in both hands.

They began to fight, moving so fast that untrained eyes would not even be able to follow all the moves. They stopped and Erica saw that he had managed to slash her on her thighs. She felt dizzy but shook it off.

"I never knew it would work that fast. The poison on my blade, that is the effect you are feeling." Lucien said with a sick grin on his face.

Erica, now realising that she was poisoned vowed that even if she died right now, she would not allow Lucien to roam free.

Lucien was an assassin without principles, he killed anyone he was paid to. Regardless of whether they were bad or innocent.

With a groan, she shifted all her remaining strength and moved so fast towards him that Lucien could not even do anything. Both of her daggers were buried in his chest, piercing right through his heart. Erica held it in place as she watched him die.

After making sure he was dead, she slashed his neck to be sure. Assassins could be very tricky at times.

She left the alleyway and kept walking weakly, the poison was slowly killing her but it was still fast enough. She laid on a bench in a park and called someone on the phone telling her location.

Erica lay there, her body broken, her life slipping away. She could feel the cold edge of death brushing against her, the darkness pulling her under. She thought of the life she had led—one that was filled with bloodshed, loneliness, and betrayal. She had been powerful, feared… but what had it all been for? She had no family, no love, no one who would remember her after she was gone.

I wish… I wish I'd had a chance to do something more…

And as the final shreds of consciousness left her, she closed her eyes.

~~~~~~~~

Erica's eyes blinked open, and shock coursed through her. She had been sure she was on the brink of death, yet here she was, breathing, alive. A sterile hospital room surrounded her, stark white walls contrasting sharply with the heavy weight of her previous existence as an assassin. The smell of antiseptic invaded her senses, pulling her from the depths of despair.

Just then, a doctor entered, his presence bringing a glimmer of normalcy. He smiled broadly when he noticed her awake. "Miss Mirabelle, you are awake," he announced with a tone of relief that felt foreign to Erica.

Mirabelle? The name echoed in her mind, sparking confusion. Who was this Mirabelle? "Why are you calling me that?" she croaked, her voice hoarse from disuse.

The doctor continued, oblivious to her question. "Your accident was minor, so you don't have any serious injuries. You may go home this evening to ensure there are no lingering issues."

Accident? Erica stared blankly as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. She felt the need to process what had just happened. Rubbing her temples, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, her bare feet touching the cold floor. As she made her way to the bathroom, uncertainty bubbled within her.

Looking into the mirror, Erica gasped at the reflection staring back. It was not the hardened face of the "Goddess of Life and Death" she recognized, but a cute, innocent visage that seemed to sparkle with youth. Long, curly black hair cascaded down her back, framing a delicate face with soft features and bright eyes. The contrast was striking; she looked like a princess, untouched by the darkness she had known. Panic began to set in.

"What is happening?" she murmured to herself. Who was this girl?

Erica splashed water on her face before looking in the mirror as she remembered memories of the real Mirabelle.

Mirabelle had grown up sheltered by her grandparents after her mother's tragic death. The memories came back vividly, punctuated with the joy of childhood and the warmth of love that had enveloped her during her formative years. She remembered baking cookies in her grandmother's cozy kitchen, the scent of chocolate wafting through the air, laughter echoing as flour dusted their faces.

But then came darker memories, tainted by betrayal and neglect. Mirabelle's father—a man driven by greed and ambition—had only wanted her for her inheritance, a company that had once belonged to her mother. Erica could feel Mirabelle's pain at the recollection of her father's coldness, the way he treated her like a mere pawn in his game for wealth. The anger and hurt surged within her, combining with the remnants of Erica's own rage against the corrupt and evil.

"Piece of shit," she whispered, teeth clenched.

As Mirabelle's memories unfolded, Erica felt the girl's fears intertwining with her own. Her father had forced her to befriend Erix Smith, a ruthless businessman who had long set his eyes on Mirabelle's inheritance. With his aloof demeanor and stone-cold heart, Erix was the last person anyone would want to marry, especially a girl like Mirabelle who had been nurtured in the warmth of her grandparents' love.

Mirabelle had felt trapped, suffocated by the expectations placed upon her. The pressure mounted, and she had planned to escape. But then came the devastating blow: a confrontation with her step-sister. Erica shuddered as she remembered the sharp push that had sent Mirabelle tumbling down the stairs, the pain radiating through her body.

"That little witch!" Erica growled, her fists tightening. Even in this new body, the urge to protect Mirabelle burned fiercely within her. Mirabelle's step-sister, emboldened by the twisted support of their manipulative stepmother—the former secretary who had seduced Mirabelle's father—had always reveled in Mirabelle's misery.

Erica paced back and forth in the small hospital room, piecing together the memories that surged through her. The girl had fought valiantly against the bonds of her new family, trying to reclaim her life, but they had made it nearly impossible. Erica could sense Mirabelle's longing for freedom, the quiet determination that burned brightly beneath her gentle exterior.

"I will make use of this opportunity and make sure the people who treated you badly gets their karma." She silently vowed in the room.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Erica—now inhabiting Mirabelle's body—sat in the back seat of her grandmother's car, staring out at the world that felt both familiar and foreign. She was overwhelmed by the quiet beauty of suburban life, an existence so different from the darkness and danger of her former life as an assassin.

"Mirabelle, sweetie, are you feeling alright?" her grandmother asked, glancing back at her with concern etched on her kind face. The warmth in her grandmother's voice made Erica's heart swell, a feeling she hadn't experienced in years.

"I'm fine, Grandma," she replied, forcing a smile to ease the older woman's worries. The truth was, she was still grappling with the memories that flooded her mind, like a torrential storm. The recollections of Mirabelle's life intertwined with her own, leaving Erica in a haze of confusion.

Her grandmother parked the car in front of a quaint little house with white shutters and a perfectly manicured lawn. Erica stepped out, feeling the soft grass beneath her feet as she walked toward the door. It was all so simple, so normal. She longed for this life—one filled with love and familial bonds.

Once inside, the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. "I made your favorite, chocolate chip," her grandmother beamed, motioning for her to sit at the kitchen table.

"Thanks, Grandma. You always know how to cheer me up," Erica said, her voice catching in her throat. It was strange to feel so cared for, so loved. Mirabelle's life had been far from perfect, but in this moment, it felt like a treasure trove of warmth.

"Of course, dear. After everything you've been through, you deserve some pampering," her grandmother said, pouring a glass of milk and placing it in front of her. "You scared us all, you know. I was worried sick when they told me you were in the hospital."

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Erica replied, guilt gnawing at her heart. This wasn't her life, but she felt the weight of Mirabelle's experiences, the fear and sorrow that had shaped her into the innocent girl she had been. "I just… I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Her grandmother waved her hand dismissively, sitting across from her. "Nonsense! You're my precious girl. Family sticks together through thick and thin." She reached out, her weathered hand resting on Erica's. "I just want you to be happy. You've been through so much. You deserve to find joy in life again."

Erica's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. How could she explain to her grandmother that she was an assassin who had lived a life filled with bloodshed? The thought of this gentle woman ever knowing the truth made her chest ache. She could only nod, hoping to honor Mirabelle's life with the sincerity it deserved.

As she munched on a cookie, memories of Mirabelle's childhood began to seep in, tinged with joy and pain. The little girl who loved to paint, who would spend hours in her grandmother's garden, dreaming of becoming an artist. "Mirabelle loved drawing flowers," she thought, feeling a flutter of nostalgia for experiences that weren't truly hers.

"Tell me about your day, dear," her grandmother prompted, breaking the silence that hung in the air. "I want to hear all about it. The doctors said you might have some strange dreams after the accident."

Erica hesitated, knowing how to talk about her life in fragments. "I met some interesting people," she began, her mind racing to spin a tale that blended truth and fiction. "The doctors were nice, and I… I think I dreamed about a garden. It was beautiful, full of flowers."

"Ah, a lovely garden! Just like mine!" her grandmother exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight. "You always loved flowers. I remember when you were little, you used to pick them and bring them to me, saying they were for my birthday every day."

A wave of warmth enveloped Erica as she envisioned little Mirabelle, running through the garden, laughter ringing in the air. "I wish I could have those moments back," she murmured, a mixture of longing and sorrow in her voice.

Her grandmother's expression softened, and she squeezed Erica's hand tighter. "Life has its ups and downs, my dear. We can't change the past, but we can make the present beautiful."

Erica's heart fluttered at her grandmother's wisdom. "You're right, Grandma," she said, determination creeping into her voice. "I want to make the most of this life." She would honor Mirabelle's existence, embracing her innocence and joy while keeping her darker past at bay.

After dinner, as they settled into the living room, her grandmother turned on the television, and the sounds of a cheerful sitcom filled the space. Erica settled into the couch, surrounded by cozy blankets, feeling more at home than she ever had. "You know, dear," her grandmother said, glancing at her, "you've always been my little miracle."

"Miracle?" Erica echoed, feeling the weight of the word. It was a stark contrast to the 'Goddess of Life and Death' she had once been, a name that brought fear and respect in the underworld. But here, she was simply Mirabelle, a girl trying to find her way through a life filled with love.

"Yes! You've brought so much joy to my life," her grandmother continued, eyes shining with affection. "I've always prayed for your happiness, and now that you're back, I just know it's a sign that brighter days are ahead."

"Thank you, Grandma," Erica said, her voice thick with emotion. "I just hope I can live up to that." The truth was, she didn't know if she could reconcile the assassin within her with the girl she had become. But she would try.

As the evening wore on, laughter filled the room, and for the first time in a long time, Erica felt a flicker of hope. She realized she had a second chance—not just to survive, but to truly live. And for Mirabelle's sake, she would embrace every moment, honoring the innocent girl whose life she now carried within her.