"Mira… Mira… Mira!" A voice, achingly familiar, pierced through the fog of my thoughts. My eyes fluttered open as the sound tugged me from an unfamiliar haze. "Mira, wake up! You have to get ready for your wedding!" The urgency in the voice made my chest tighten.
"Mom…" I murmured, my voice hoarse, barely audible.
It was her voice. My mother's. But… how? My mind raced. She was dead. I was dead. I had felt the darkness embrace me, had felt my life slip away as I fell from the third floor into nothingness. What was happening? Was this the afterlife? Or had I somehow survived? My thoughts collided in a storm of confusion, each question multiplying by the second.
"Mira dear, wake up," she said again, shaking me gently this time. Her hands were warm, real. My eyes opened fully, scanning the room. It was familiar—my room in my father's house, perfectly intact. Everything was as it had been before the nightmare began. My heart pounded as the pieces slowly came together. I had been given a second chance… a rebirth.
Huh. I didn't die. I survived. But when? What day was it? Why were there so many people here? My mind was a jumbled mess, my thoughts racing faster than I could comprehend.
"What… what happened? What year is this? What day is this?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"What are you saying?" my mother asked, raising an eyebrow. "Stop being strange, dear. It's your wedding day. You're getting married today." She smiled warmly, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me.
A cold, unfamiliar voice emerged from within me. "Get out."
"What?" my mother asked, startled. She looked at me as though I were suddenly a stranger. Even I was startled by the tone of my own voice.
"I said—get out! All of you!" I repeated, my voice rising slightly.
The room froze, then everyone scattered, startled by the unexpected command. I exhaled and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Slowly, my gaze drifted to the massive wall mirror before me.
The face staring back was mine. Same eyes, same lips, same features. But the warmth, the innocence, the softness—it was gone. Replaced by something sharp, dangerous, and unyielding. The light in my eyes had dimmed, replaced with cold fury. Authority radiated from my posture; anger and resentment simmered beneath the surface. Something dangerous had awakened inside me.
A line from an old movie echoed in my mind: "If you wish for something with all your heart, one way or another, it will come to pass."
I had wished—no, begged—with every fiber of my being as I plummeted to my death. And now, that wish had been granted. I had returned, reborn, the complete opposite of the naive, powerless girl I once was.
"I thank the Almighty for this opportunity," I whispered, a grin spreading across my face. "Christopher Walken has done countless evil deeds in this life. Now, it's time he finally pays. I will make everyone who caused me pain feel the weight of their actions. I will punish them all."
I rose from the bed and began dressing, my movements precise, deliberate. My makeup was carefully applied, accentuating the cold authority now etched into my features. I had learned from my death: trust no one blindly. Allow no one into your life so easily. To defeat evil, you had to be capable of it yourself. Ice in the heart, stone in the hand—this was the lesson I would carry forward.
When I finally walked down the aisle, my father holding my arm, I smiled. Wide. Joyous. Genuine—or at least, it looked so to everyone else. In truth, it was the smile of someone who had returned from the dead with a mission. The devil waiting at the end of the aisle had no idea what was coming.
The wedding proceeded without a hitch. Guests whispered, eyebrows raised, astonished at my uncharacteristic behavior. The timid, tearful girl who had begged not to marry looked radiant and joyful. But they did not know why. They did not know the fire burning behind those eyes.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself, considering the fact that you're walking into hell," my sister Bianca said quietly, a hint of unease in her voice.
I chuckled, turning to her with a glint of mischief in my eyes. "I've been through worse, dear sister. I've already been to hell. Today, I walk in not as a victim, but as someone given the chance to put the devil back in his place. What do you think that makes me?" I laughed, light and free, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.
Bianca shivered, fear crossing her face, and quickly moved away. I let her go, savoring the small victory of intimidation.
Once inside the house, I surveyed my surroundings. The interior was unchanged. Yet I saw it all differently now—the way I had been beaten, humiliated, treated like nothing more than a servant. My old self had been weak, naive, foolish. I had accepted cruelty silently, bowed under it. I pitied her deeply as I watched her younger form greet the maids and attempt to carry her own belongings.
"You were so stupid," I muttered under my breath, eyes hard. "That's why they treated you like trash."
I turned my gaze to the maids, who now watched me with uncertain, fearful expressions. "What are you waiting for? Take my bag to the guest room," I commanded coldly.
They hesitated, faces down, refusing to move. My patience snapped. "I really hate repeating myself. Unless you want to be unemployed in the blink of an eye, move!" I threatened. Immediately, they scrambled, carrying my belongings with trembling hands.
Then I saw him—Christopher Walken, leaning casually with his hands in his pockets. "Look—" he began, but I raised a hand, cutting him off.
"Our marriage is a formality. In this house, I am neither your wife nor your slave. I will not tolerate your cruelty," I said with finality, walking away without waiting for his response.
I retreated to my room, sighing as a headache threatened to break through. I undressed, took a quick shower, and emerged in a simple, elegant gown. Soon after, a timid knock came at my door.
"What do you want?" I snapped, cold and commanding.
"Ma'am… your food… it's ready. I was told to bring it to you," the maid stammered.
"Do you usually speak like an imbecile?" I asked, eyeing her intensely. "You sound foolish and slow. Get out. I will eat in my room." I shut the door in her face.
Not long after, another knock came. My patience frayed. "What is it this time?" I demanded.
The maid trembled violently as she entered, dropping the food plate in fear. "I-I'm sorry, ma'am. I… I'll get another," she stammered.
"Pick up the chopsticks," I commanded sharply. She obeyed, hands shaking as she prepared to serve. It was spicy cumin lamb noodles—my favorite from my previous life, a cruel reminder of what had been taken from me.
"Eat," I ordered, my voice cold. The maids gasped, shocked at my uncharacteristic harshness.
Christopher stepped forward, attempting to intervene. "Mira, this isn't right—"
I chuckled coldly. "She made a mess. She should clean it. Stay out of this," I said, eyes fixed on the trembling maid.
Hands shaking, she obeyed, lifting the noodles to her mouth. "Make sure you clean it properly," I said, satisfied, and returned to my room.
I lay down on my bed, a small smile on my face. Finally, I had taken control. Finally, I was no longer the girl Christopher had tormented. Every act of cruelty I had suffered would be remembered, and every moment of powerlessness would be avenged.
I would never be the same again.