Celine slowly began to regain consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, and she was greeted by a familiar ceiling. She blinked, her thoughts blurry as she tried to make sense of where she was. The soft, fluffy feeling beneath her body suggested she was lying on a comfortable bed.
She slowly sat up, her senses awakening more fully. She recognized it instantly. Her bedroom. Her luxurious, ornate bedroom that she'd spent countless hours in. It was all too familiar, yet too strange.
"Am I… dreaming?" she thought, her mind a mess of confusion.
She swung her legs off the bed and stood, trying to make sense of this strange reality. What was she doing here? Why was she here? She walked around the room, glancing at the grand decor and delicate furnishings, enjoying the comforting sense of peace that had long since evaded her.
Her fingers brushed the surface of the vanity dresser, and she paused, her gaze locking onto the mirror. Something was wrong. Something odd. The reflection staring back at her was younger—far younger than the woman she knew. She blinked and stepped closer, tapping the mirror's surface, half-expecting some kind of magic to respond.
Her eyes scanned her own body, slowly coming to the realization that this wasn't some trick of the mirror. Her body had changed. It was slimmer, softer, frailer. The scars, bruises, and burns from her past had faded, but there was something else too—something unsettling about the smoothness of her skin. It didn't look like the body of someone who had been through hell. It looked almost… innocent.
Celine frowned, touching her face. Her jawline was sharp and defined, her eyes were large and doll-like, and her lips were soft and pale. She seemed like an entirely different person. Her eyes, though—her eyes—those were a strange sight.
The left eye was like the moon, silver and cold, shimmering softly as if reflecting a hidden light. The right eye, however, gleamed red—brighter, almost like a ruby. It had a slit in the center like a cat's, sharp and predatory.
"When did they get like that?" Celine thought with a growing sense of dread. She didn't remember them ever being this vivid.
She couldn't recall the last time she'd seen those eyes glimmer with any sort of hope. They'd always been hollow, lifeless, a reflection of her tortured soul. To see them so full of light, it made her feel nauseous.
"Must've been quite a joyous occasion," Celine mused bitterly, though she couldn't remember any such event in her life that would explain this strange shift.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a wave of melancholy. Her gaze wandered to the ceiling as memories of her past death flooded back. A cruel death. A lonely death.
Achlys—her once-loyal servant, who had stabbed her in the back. Her own betrayal, her own mistakes, leading to that shameful, brutal end. A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she buried her face in the softness of the bed once again.
It was laughable really. To think that her own puppy—Achlys—had finally bitten back.
"Who knew I'd have nurtured such a dangerous monster all along?" she mused, bitter yet strangely delighted by the thought. Her own failure was… exciting in some twisted way. To die by the hands of someone she had once held so close—it stirred something within her.
But was that a sign of her desperation? Did she secretly crave death? Or did it merely feel… good to know that someone had finally taken the power from her?
"It felt so good," she thought, her heart thumping with a strange thrill. "Achlys… you truly are a monster, aren't you?"
Her mind wandered, lost in the satisfaction of her downfall. But as the quiet moments passed, she felt a sudden sense of clarity. Her fate had been sealed. But what if—what if—she could change it? Was she truly cursed to repeat her miserable life?
As if on cue, the door opened.
Two figures stepped inside. One was a maid, elegant and graceful, carrying a bowl of warm water and a towel draped over her arm. The other, a man—an older gentleman in a butler's uniform—followed close behind. They froze as soon as they saw her sitting upright on the bed.
Celine stiffened. Her gaze locked with theirs. The maid's eyes widened, and the bowl she was carrying slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor in a clatter. The man rushed to Celine's side, his expression a mix of relief and concern.
"Your Highness! Thank the gods you're awake!" The old man's voice was shaky, his eyes glistening with emotion. "How do you feel? Are you in pain?"
Celine tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Lulia… Nelius?" she whispered, the names rolling off her tongue in a quiet realization.
She was younger. She was in the past, before the act of sainthood that had destroyed her. She was before the crown.
Her confusion only deepened as she processed the scene around her. What happened?
"You were poisoned during a celebratory party," Nelius explained, his voice heavy with concern. "Her Highness Nora arranged it for you. You've been unconscious for almost a week. We nearly lost you."
Celine's eyes narrowed at the mention of Nora, her older sister. The one who had always been so eager to see her fail. "That bitch poisoned me," Celine muttered under her breath.
A strange unease gripped her chest. This couldn't be real, could it? She wasn't dreaming. She wasn't dead. She was… back?
"Lulia," she began, her voice steady, "what's the date today?"
"Súlimë (March), Valanya (Friday) 29th, 2802," Lulia answered, her voice trembling slightly.
Celine's heart skipped a beat. No. It couldn't be.
Her eyes widened. She was back. Three days before her coronation—three days before her birthday. Her death was still ahead. But why was she here?
"What's happening? What does this mean?" Her mind raced, trying to make sense of this impossible situation. Could this be some kind of curse? A spell to reverse time?
And if so… what would Achlys gain from something so powerful? What did anyone gain by bringing her back to this point?
The thoughts swirled in her mind as she noticed Nelius' hand gently resting on her forehead. A faint green light illuminated from his palm, and she could feel the warmth spreading through her skin, soothing the pain.
"You've endured so much," Nelius said softly. "Please, rest. You'll need your strength."
Celine wanted to scoff. Rest? She was being forced into another life that she had no control over. A life that would inevitably end in the same way.
"I'm not resting," she muttered to herself as she slowly reclined back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm not dying again."
She let out a bitter laugh as the absurdity of her situation sank in. Seven years of ruling, only to die again. To relive every damn moment. Why couldn't I just be left to rest in peace?
Yet, she couldn't help but wonder—could she change things? Could she truly rewrite her fate? Was there another way to rule, another way to protect herself?
Fear, she thought. That was how she'd kept herself safe. By ruling with an iron fist, by instilling terror in the hearts of others. But perhaps, just perhaps, she could be both—the kind empress they all adored, but the ruthless ruler no one dared challenge.
She smirked. A new plan was forming in her mind. A chance to repent, a chance to change—or at least a chance to play the game longer.
In this life, she wasn't dying again. She was going to make sure of it.