Her pulse raced.
The words_ "The royal knight, Serene, requests to see you", echoed in her skull like a curse.
She stood before the mirror, fingers trembling.
The face staring back at her was alive — too alive.
No blood. No dirt. No rain. Only smooth skin and wide, terrified eyes.
Her reflection didn't feel like hers,
It belonged to someone who hadn't yet died.
She stepped backward, clutching her robe, heart pounding so loud she swore the maid could hear it.
"Tell her…" Lysandra's voice faltered. "Tell her I'm—"
But before she could finish, the door opened.
And there she was.
Serene.
Clad in her silver armor, polished and perfect, sunlight glinting off the edge of her shoulder plate.
Her expression was calm, steady, the same face Lysandra had last seen through falling rain.
That same voice, soft yet sharp, filled the air.
"Your Highness, the council awaits your decision on tomorrow's audience."
Every word felt like a blade against her skin.
Lysandra's breath hitched.
It was her.
Her executioner.
Her friend.
The woman who once trembled while raising a sword to her throat.
For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
Serene tilted her head slightly, concern flickering in her eyes.
"Are you unwell, Princess?"
Lysandra forced her lips to move. "I'm fine."
The lie came out shakier than she wanted.
Her fingers gripped the edge of her desk until her knuckles turned white.
"You may go."
Serene hesitated. "If you wish, I can escort you to the council—"
"I said go."
The words cracked like thunder.
Serene stiffened, bowed deeply, and left without another word.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Lysandra sank onto the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. Her heart wouldn't stop pounding.
"She's alive… no, she never died," she whispered to herself. "I died. I remember the blade. The pain. The darkness."
Her nails dug into her palm.
"So why am I here?"
The wind outside had quieted.
Raindrops no longer fell.
The world felt still, like it was holding its breath, waiting for her next move.
She looked up at the mirror again, her reflection steadier now.
The fear in her eyes began to harden into resolve.
"Fate may have given me another chance," she whispered. "But I won't play its game twice."
Her voice grew cold.
"If destiny brings her to me again, I'll decide how this story ends."
Suddenly, a sound came from the corridor. Footsteps. Laughter. Snatches of servants' whispers drifted through the door:
"The prince has returned from his campaign!"
"The kingdom will rejoice. His Majesty will be so proud."
Lysandra froze.
The prince.
Her brother.
The one she was accused of killing.
Her blood turned to ice.
She turned toward the window, watching the sunlight cut through the fading storm clouds.
"Then this is the day it all began," she whispered.
And for the first time since waking, she smiled — not in fear, but in promise.
"This time… no one will bury me in my brother's name."