(Chapter one:Mira Pov) 

 I gasped, my lungs pulling in air with a painful, rattling heave. My body felt battered, as though I'd been dragged through a battlefield. Shadows flitted in my mind, fragments of something violent and dark—a final battle, the sting of betrayal, the crush of a blade—and then… nothing. Only this ache in my chest, throbbing like an echo.

Opening my eyes, I saw an unfamiliar room. I was lying on a bed that felt too soft, the air tinged with a floral scent I didn't recognize. My fingers gripped the sheets, and I stilled. My hands—they weren't mine. The skin was too smooth, too soft, the nails perfectly manicured. A pulse of horror surged through me.

 Scrambling out of bed, I stumbled, nearly tripping over my own feet as I searched for a mirror. When I finally found one, a stranger's face stared back—dark, wavy hair framing a pale face, eyes wide and startled.

I reached a trembling hand up to my face, touching my cheek as if it would disappear. "This can't be…" My voice sounded hollow, unfamiliar.

 The name drifted into my mind, unbidden. Mira. I was Mira. But not this Mira—not this face, this body. I remembered dying, my last breath ripped away in a betrayal so sharp it still burned. I knew this, knew I shouldn't be here, and yet here I was. Alive. In her skin.

A voice broke the silence from beyond the door. "Mira, you're awake." Cold. Unfamiliar. Laced with an edge that made me shiver.

I swallowed, fighting down panic. Whoever was out there knew this Mira, expected her to act a certain way. I'd have to pretend, play along—at least until I figured out what had happened.

 The door creaked open, and I barely managed to pull myself together before a woman entered. She was tall, her features sharp, her gaze slicing through the room until it landed on me. She studied me as if I were something fragile yet valuable, her lips curled into a thin smile.

 "You look…different," she said, her tone neutral but eyes glinting with suspicion.

I forced a nod, struggling to keep my expression blank. "I… must have been tired."

Her gaze narrowed, lingering a fraction too long, making my skin prickle with unease. She didn't believe me—I could feel it. But her mask stayed intact, only a hint of tension in the way her fingers tapped against her side.

"Hmm." Her lips twisted into a smirk, small but sinister. "You've always been full of surprises, haven't you, Mira?"

 The way she said my name made my stomach twist. It held no warmth, only a strange satisfaction, as if she relished whatever control she had over me. A flash of memory flickered through my mind—Mira's memory. I remembered seeing her, this cold figure, standing right where she was now, wearing that same calculating look. This woman wasn't just family—she was a threat.

My voice came out faint but steady. "How long was I… asleep?"

 She tilted her head, as if amused by the question. "Longer than we expected," she said smoothly, though I could feel an undercurrent in her tone. "I suppose the…incident took more of a toll on you than you realized."

"Incident?" I forced myself to sound casual, but my heart was pounding. There was that flicker again, a flash of something that had been just out of reach—a memory I couldn't quite catch.

 She arched an eyebrow. "Surely you haven't forgotten already?"

"No," I said quickly, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "It's just… everything feels a little hazy."

"Understandable," she murmured, but her gaze remained sharp. "Perhaps it's best if you don't dwell on it. We wouldn't want you to… exhaust yourself."

 The warning in her words was subtle but unmistakable. Her eyes bored into me, a satisfied gleam in their depths. I fought the urge to step back, forcing myself to meet her gaze. If I looked away now, she'd know something was wrong.

 "I'll keep that in mind," I replied, trying to sound indifferent. "Thank you… Mother."

Her smile widened, as if amused by my choice of words. "Good girl. I knew you'd be sensible about this." Her gaze slid over me one last time, a hint of something dark and possessive lurking in her eyes, before she turned and strode out of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the silence.

 I exhaled shakily, my hands trembling as I clutched the edge of the vanity. The encounter had left me shaken, her cold scrutiny still lingering like a shadow. Whoever she was, this woman who called herself my stepmother, she didn't trust me. And worse, she seemed to know things—things about Mira, the girl whose life I'd somehow fallen into, things that I couldn't yet grasp.

 My gaze drifted to a small notebook lying on the vanity, its edges worn, as though it had been opened and closed a hundred times. I reached for it with trembling fingers, flipping it open. The handwriting was neat, delicate, yet every line seemed to hum with a nervous energy.

I skimmed the pages, my pulse quickening as I read the words written there.

> "I don't trust her. She's watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake. But I can't let her win. There has to be a way…"

 A chill ran down my spine, Mira's fear practically leaping from the page. This girl had been trapped, just like I was now. And she hadn't trusted the woman who'd just been in this room—her so-called stepmother. I remembered that look in the woman's eyes, the barely concealed satisfaction, and a cold certainty gripped me.

Whatever had happened to Mira, whatever poison or magic had taken her life, I was in the same danger now. My instincts screamed that if I wanted to survive, I'd have to play this game carefully.

 My hand shook as I set down the notebook. "I don't know what happened to you," I murmured softly to the girl whose body I now wore. "But I swear, I'll find out."