A vast crowd filled the square, their voices rising like a storm. At its center stood a twenty-eight-year-old woman, her once-fine clothes torn and hanging loosely from her frame. She did not lift her head, yet she could feel thousands of eyes fixed upon her, heavy with hatred and judgment.
Her name was Selena Agana, daughter of one of the most influential families in the Western Kingdom.
Silver hair cascaded down her back in tangled strands, and her crimson eyes—once admired and feared—now stared emptily ahead. As the crowd shouted curses and demanded her punishment, Selena's mind drifted far from the noise. She could not understand how everything had led to this moment. She had devoted her life to one simple wish: to earn her father's approval and to help her younger brother become the greatest duke the kingdom had ever known.
Yet now, that very brother stood before her.
He met her gaze. His eyes sharp and cold. His hand was steady, his expression unreadable, as though she were nothing more than a stranger whose fate had already been decided. In that moment, Selena felt anger— gritting her teeth she looked to the ground accepting her faith. How had love turned into this?
Her brother raised his sword.
Time seemed to slow. The shouting faded into a distant hum, and the world narrowed to the sound of her own heartbeat. Selena closed her eyes, her hands trembling at her sides. She did not beg. She did not scream.
The sword came down.
For a single, unbearable moment, she felt the rush of air, the weight of finality, the sharp certainty that there would be no tomorrow.
Then—
Nothing.
The world seemed to freeze. Her head decapitated on the floor as it for a second saw her lifeless body blood rushing out of it like a fountain.
Then, darkness swallowed her whole.
When Selena opened her eyes again, silence surrounded her. The cold stone and roaring crowd were gone, replaced by familiar walls bathed in soft morning light. She was lying in a bed she knew all too well—her old bedroom.
Confused, she rose unsteadily and moved toward the mirror.
What stared back at her stole the breath from her lungs.
Instead of the grown woman she expected, a small girl stood there—no older than seven. Her silver hair was neatly combed, her skin unmarked, her red eyes wide with shock and fear.
Selena collapsed to the floor, her heart pounding.
Somehow, impossibly, she had returned to the beginning.
. ____________________ .