Juliette's last memory was a haunting one—her body dangling from the gallows, the coarse rope biting into her delicate neck, the jeers of the crowd echoing in her ears. Even as the world blurred and the pain consumed her, the deepest wound was not the execution itself but the betrayal that had led her there. Betrayed by her uncle. Betrayed by those she trusted. Betrayed by a world that had swallowed her innocence and spit her out.
And yet, here she was. Breathing.
She shot up in bed, clutching her neck, her fingers trembling as they brushed against her skin. No rope. No bruises. Just smooth, untouched flesh. Her chest heaved, her breaths short and panicked, as if the phantom pain of the noose still lingered. Tears pooled in her crimson eyes as the realization hit her.
Am I alive? Was it a dream?
Her surroundings felt alien and familiar all at once. The soft pink drapery of her childhood bedroom fell around her like a comforting cocoon, the faint scent of lavender wafting from the small bouquet by her bedside. Her trembling gaze moved to the ornate mirror across the room. Her reflection stared back at her—a small, delicate figure with long white hair cascading over her shoulders, her crimson eyes wide with confusion and fear.
She looked... younger. Much younger.
Panic clawed at her chest. She scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the hem of her nightgown. Her feet hit the cold floor as she stumbled forward, her breaths quickening. She didn't understand—how could this be? How could she feel the phantom memory of the noose and yet stand here now? How could she see the young, unscarred version of herself in the mirror?
Before she could make sense of it, the door creaked open.
"Miss Juliette, you're awake early today," a soft, familiar voice said.
Juliette froze, her head snapping toward the voice. Standing there, holding a tray of warm tea, was a figure she never thought she'd see again.
"Camille…" Juliette whispered, her voice trembling.
The young maid blinked, tilting her head in confusion. "Miss Juliette, are you feeling unwell?"
Juliette's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto her knees. Tears blurred her vision as she stared at Camille. Her Camille. The woman who had stood by her side in her darkest days. The woman who had spoken out against Juliette's uncle when no one else dared. The woman who had paid for her loyalty with her life.
"Camille, you're alive," Juliette choked out, her voice breaking.
Camille's expression shifted to one of alarm. She placed the tray down and rushed to Juliette's side. "Of course, I'm alive, my lady. What's the matter? Did you have a bad dream?"
Juliette's small hands gripped Camille's apron, clutching it tightly as if the maid might disappear if she let go. The tears came in torrents now, uncontrollable and raw. "I saw you die," Juliette sobbed. "You stood up for me... against him. And he... he killed you."
Camille's eyes widened, her confusion growing, but she didn't push Juliette away. Instead, she knelt down and pulled the trembling girl into her arms, stroking her hair soothingly. "There, there, my lady. It was just a nightmare. I'm here. I'm alive, see?"
Juliette's sobs only grew louder. Camille's warmth, her presence—it was real. It wasn't a dream. Somehow, she had been brought back.
After what felt like an eternity, Juliette pulled back, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks. Her mind raced, piecing together what had happened. She didn't know how or why, but she had been given another chance. A chance to rewrite everything. A chance to protect the people she loved.
Suddenly, a thought struck her like lightning.
"Father…" she whispered.
Camille blinked. "The Duke is in his study, as usual, my lady. Shall I—"
But Juliette didn't wait for her to finish. She stood abruptly, her bare feet carrying her out of the room before Camille could stop her. The hallway was exactly as she remembered it—ornate and grand, lined with paintings and tapestries that spoke of the De Vervaine lineage. But Juliette barely noticed. Her heart thundered in her chest as she ran, her white hair flying behind her.
Tears streamed down her face as she searched desperately, her voice breaking as she called out, "Father! Father, where are you?!"
The staff she passed looked at her with surprise, but she didn't care. Her entire being was consumed by the need to see him, to feel his arms around her, to know that he was truly alive.
Finally, she reached the study. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, she could hear the familiar rustle of papers and the soft hum of a man lost in thought.
She pushed the door open, her breath hitching as her eyes landed on him.
There he was. Édouard De Vervaine, her father, sitting at his desk with a quill in hand. His blonde hair gleamed in the soft light, and his crimson eyes, so much like her own, were focused on the document before him. He looked exactly as she remembered—strong, composed, and warm.
"Father…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Édouard looked up, startled by the sound of her voice. His expression softened immediately when he saw her. "Juliette, my little rose. What's wrong, ma chère? Did you have a bad dream?"
Juliette didn't answer. She couldn't. The lump in her throat was too large, her emotions too overwhelming. Instead, she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms with a force that made him stagger slightly.
"Juliette!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her instinctively. "What's gotten into you, mon ange?"
She buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt. "I missed you," she sobbed. "I missed you so much, Father."
Édouard chuckled softly, though his tone was tinged with concern. "Missed me? But I've been here all along, my dear. You're trembling—what on earth has frightened you so?"
Juliette clung to him, her small hands gripping his shirt as if she would never let go. "I thought I lost you," she whispered. "I thought… I thought you were gone."
Édouard stroked her hair gently, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Hush, now. I'm here, Juliette. I'm not going anywhere."
But Juliette knew better. She knew how fleeting this moment could be, how fragile life was. And as she stood there, wrapped in her father's embrace, she made a silent vow.
She would protect him. She would protect her family. She would never let the horrors of her previous life repeat
---
Édouard eventually led her back to her chambers, his hand warm and steady on her shoulder. When they reached the room, he paused in the doorway, giving her one last gentle look before brushing a kiss against her forehead. "Rest, ma petite rose," he said softly, his voice like a lullaby. "Your father will always be here for you."
Juliette nodded, unable to speak past the knot in her throat. As the door closed behind him, silence wrapped itself around her, and she sank onto the edge of her bed. The soft pink canopy above felt like a distant comfort, and the faint hum of life in the halls beyond seemed worlds away. Her thoughts spun in chaotic circles, the weight of what had happened—and what could still happen—pressing against her chest.
She was alone now, but not for long.
A soft knock broke through her haze.
"Juliette?"
Her breath hitched. That voice.
Before she could respond, the door creaked open, and there he stood. Mathéo. Her brother.
He stepped into the room hesitantly, his crimson eyes filled with worry. Even in the dim light, she could see every detail she thought she'd never see again—the slight curl in his white hair, the way his brows furrowed ever so slightly when he was concerned, and the soft, protective warmth that had always radiated from him.
"Camille told me you weren't feeling well," he said, his deep voice laced with gentle concern. "She said you had a fright, so I… I wanted to see you." He took another step closer, his eyes searching hers. "Are you alright, Juliette? Did something happen? Can I do anything to make you feel better?"
The kindness in his voice, the love, broke whatever fragile dam she had been holding together.
Juliette didn't answer him—not with words, at least. She rose to her feet in a sudden rush and ran to him, her bare feet silent against the carpet. Without hesitation, she flung her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
"Mathéo," she choked out, her voice trembling, her tears breaking free.
He stiffened for a moment, clearly startled by her sudden embrace, but only for a heartbeat. Then his arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her against him as if shielding her from an unseen storm. "Juliette," he murmured, his voice dropping to that soft, protective tone he'd used when they were children. "It's alright. I'm here. I've got you."
Her sobs grew louder now, raw and unrestrained. She clung to him, her small hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic, as if letting go of him would cause him to vanish like a cruel illusion.
"I-I had a bad dream," she whispered through the tears, her voice muffled against him.
Mathéo's arms tightened around her, and he rested his chin gently on her head. "A bad dream?" he repeated softly. "It must have been terrible to upset you like this." His tone was steady and calm, but she could hear the undercurrent of worry in his voice.
She nodded wordlessly, still trembling.
Mathéo gently guided her over to the edge of the bed, never letting go of her. He sat beside her, holding her close, his hands moving soothingly over her back. "Shh… it's okay, Juliette," he murmured, his voice warm and steady, like the anchor she so desperately needed. "It was just a dream. Whatever you saw… it's not real. You're safe now. I'm here."
The quiet strength in his words only made her cry harder.
Even now—after everything she'd been through, everything she'd lost—he was still the same. Still her brother. Still the protective, kind soul who had always stood between her and the shadows.
For a while, they simply sat there, the room filled only with the sound of her quiet sobs and his murmured reassurances. His presence, his warmth, his love—it was real. It was him. And she realized just how much she had missed him, how much she had taken him for granted in her old life.
When her tears finally subsided, Juliette pulled back slightly, her crimson eyes puffy and red but clearer now. She looked up at him, her hands still clutching his tunic. "I… I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to worry you."
Mathéo shook his head, brushing a strand of her white hair away from her face with a tenderness that made her heart ache. "Don't apologize, ma chère sœur," he said gently. "You're my little sister. It's my job to worry about you." He smiled faintly, though his eyes were still filled with concern. "Besides, you've never been one to cry like this. Whatever that dream was… it must have been awful."
"It was," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He tilted his head, his hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Juliette shook her head quickly. "No… I just… I just need you here."
Mathéo's smile softened, and he pulled her into another embrace. "Then I'm here," he said simply. "For as long as you need me."
Her tears welled up again, but this time they were quieter, less frantic. She let herself sink into his warmth, holding onto him as if he were the lifeline keeping her tethered to this moment.
As the minutes stretched on, Juliette made another vow to herself—a silent, unbreakable promise.
She would not lose him. She would not lose her father. She would not lose anyone she loved again.
Not this time.
This time, she would write her own story.