The dungeon smelled of damp stone and decay.
Elara Venrise sat against the rough wall, her once-pristine dress now reduced to tattered silk clinging to her frail form. The flickering torch above her cast elongated shadows, making her surroundings seem even more sinister than they already were. Her wrists were bound in rusted iron shackles, her skin raw from the constant friction against the unforgiving metal.
She could hear the faint echo of water dripping in the distance. The silence in between felt suffocating.
Elara closed her eyes.
She had never feared death.
Not when she had played this dangerous game of power. Not when she had orchestrated the fall of enemies, pulled the strings of alliances, and manipulated those closest to her for the sake of survival. She had known from the start that those who rose too high would eventually plummet.
But she had never expected him to be the one to cast her aside.
"You disgust me, Elara," her brother Kieran had spat at her as she knelt before him in chains. "You lied, you schemed, and now you expect mercy? You brought this upon yourself."
His words had burned more than the betrayal itself.
Everything she had done—every risk, every sacrifice—had been for him. For them. She had ensured his path to power, shielded him from enemies, and even taken the fall for his mistakes. Yet in the end, he had condemned her, denouncing her as a villain, a traitor.
Elara opened her eyes and exhaled slowly.
So be it.
She had spent her life carving a future for someone who had never truly needed her. If this was the price of her devotion, then she would accept it.
The heavy iron doors groaned as they opened. A guard clad in dark armor entered, his expression as unreadable as stone.
"The execution is set for dawn," he announced.
Elara smiled bitterly.
At least it will be quick.
She remained silent as the guard stepped back, leaving her alone in the suffocating silence of her cell once more.
Her fingers trembled as they curled into fists. The chains rattled softly, a cruel reminder of her powerlessness.
If only she could do it over.
If only she had another chance.
She let her head fall back against the cold stone wall, her vision blurring as exhaustion overtook her.
And then—
A sharp pain struck her chest.
It wasn't physical. It was something deeper, something unnatural. It clawed at her lungs, stealing her breath. Her heart pounded violently, as if trying to escape her ribcage. Her fingers twitched, her body convulsing.
A voice—soft and ethereal—whispered in her mind.
"You have lost everything… but will you take it back?"
Elara gasped, her body arching as heat surged through her veins. She wanted to scream, to claw at the invisible force that was pulling her into the abyss, but she could do nothing but succumb to the overwhelming sensation.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
---
Sunlight.
It was the first thing she noticed.
Warmth caressed her skin, a stark contrast to the cold dungeon walls she had known just moments ago.
Her fingers grasped silk. Not tattered, stained fabric, but the smooth, luxurious bedding of her own chambers.
Her breath hitched as she slowly sat up.
The room was painfully familiar. Ornate gold-trimmed furniture, pale blue curtains billowing softly in the morning breeze, the scent of fresh roses in the air—everything was just as she remembered.
Elara turned her gaze toward the full-length mirror across the room.
Her heart stopped.
A younger version of herself stared back.
Gone were the bruises and the sunken cheeks of a prisoner awaiting execution. Instead, she was met with the reflection of the noble lady she had been years ago.
Her hands trembled as she reached up to touch her face. Soft skin. No scars. No signs of suffering.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for some sign that this was an illusion, a cruel trick played by her dying mind.
But everything felt too real.
The realization hit her like a crashing wave.
She was alive.
And she had returned to the past.
Elara sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers gripping the bedsheets.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a hallucination brought on by desperation.
She had been given a second chance.
A slow, cold smile curled on her lips.
"This time… I will not be the one to fall."
---
The first thing she needed was information.
Elara forced herself to remain calm as she rose from the bed. Her movements felt lighter, her body free from the weight of exhaustion and malnutrition.
She crossed the room and pulled open the heavy velvet curtains.
The sight beyond the glass doors of her balcony confirmed her suspicions.
The estate gardens were still in full bloom. The same flowers she had ordered to be planted years ago.
She was back before everything had fallen apart.
A knock on the door startled her.
"Lady Elara?"
It was Lillian—her maid.
Elara took a deep breath.
Lillian had been one of the few people who had remained loyal to her until the bitter end. She had even tried to plead for her release when she had been imprisoned.
Elara clenched her fists.
She would not let that loyalty be wasted this time.
"Come in," she said, keeping her voice steady.
Lillian entered, a warm smile on her face. "Good morning, my lady. You slept in later than usual. Shall I prepare your bath?"
Elara hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yes."
The maid moved efficiently, as she always did, but Elara couldn't help but watch her closely.
Had she always been so young? So full of energy?
Elara had been so caught up in her schemes before that she had overlooked the people around her—the ones who had truly cared.
Not this time.
She had been granted an opportunity that defied logic and reason. She would not waste it.
As Lillian poured scented oils into the bath, Elara stared at her reflection in the rippling water.
She was no longer the desperate woman awaiting death in the dungeon.
She was Lady Elara Venrise once more.
And this time, she would make sure she was the one holding the strings of fate.