"How should I leave my life now?" she whispered. Her voice was softer than before.
Hollow and scared.
It wasn't her yet at the same time, it was.
This body belonged to another, yes. But the soul inside — the one who had begged under the twin moons of Mars and was given a second chance to life— was still her.
Avis Quincy, the cursed child.
And there's Avis Stark, the mad woman.
Maybe this was fitting and perhaps that was why the universe had a cruel sense of symmetry.
They had both been abandoned. Betrayed and despised. Called monsters in different tongues.
Was this justice? Or punishment?
Before her mind wander further, something flickered mid-air.
A faint tremor, like breath fogging glass.
Then a familiar light, cool blue and geometric screen hovered silently in front of her, pulsing with an artificial heartbeat.
[First Kill: Complete]
[Reward: Claimable]
[Touch to access system interface.]
Avis went still.
The memory of the nurse's gaping mouth. The doctor's death rattle. The blood-soaked IV pole. It all slammed back into her.
It had happened. All of it.
The clinic. The monster. The fight.
She hesitated only for a second, then reached out. Her fingers brushed pass the light.
Then, the screen bloomed open, cascading into shifting panels and luminous glyphs. Strange text aligned itself in neat rows, translating faster than she could blink. Her name — or rather, the body's name — flashed across the top:
[User: Avis Stark (Avis Quincy)]
Age: 19
Soul Sync: 94.7%
Compatibility Detected. Host Accepted.
[System: Codename – NullGenesis]
Doomsday Protocol: Initiated.
Expected to arrive within a month.
Save Point: Established. Space Entry Available.
A chill raked down her spine.
Doomsday... Within a month? Save point and space entry?
What the hell is going on? She swiped everywhere to look further into what it meant by 'Available Entry' but nothing came out of it.
She puffed her cheeks, dejectedly and looked around the serene room again, suddenly aware of how still everything was.
Too still.
And it was then she realized something even stranger — the time!
The date blinking in the corner of the screen was… wrong. Or rather, it was familiar.
August 3rd, 7091.
It was really a month before waking up from a surgery. Before the clinic. Before the madness plunged the whole world.
But wait...
Does this mean, she had been taken back — not just into another body, but also into a moment of a crucial turning point in the original Avis Stark's life?
"T-Then that means Avis was still the lady of House Stark!"
And she's yet to be disowned!
Her lips twitched in dry amusement.
She hadn't just been given a second chance. She had been handed a weapon and told to survive!
Avis exhaled slowly and tried to contain her excitement.
Her eyes, once dull and lifeless, now glinted — cold and sharp beneath violet light.
She's in a situation she never would wanted to have and can no longer stop what's bound to happen.
The only thing she can do now is to fully arm herself.
If she play her cards right, she could use this grace period to prepare and stock up necessary supplies for her to live through the incoming disaster.
The light from the holographic screen flickered for a moment, then dimmed into a semi-transparent standby state — still there, still watching, as if waiting for her to decide whether to claim her power or not.
Avis didn't move.
She stood in the middle of that pristine bedroom, draped in silence, with a strange, foreign face and a past soaked in blood that was only partially hers.
Her mind buzzed.
Not with panic — no, that had been burned out of her long ago — but with calculation. There was no room for panic now. Not when the system had said one thing so clearly.
Doomsday Protocol: Initiated. Expected to arrive within 30 days.
That means, whatever peace this polished marble world offered… it was nothing but borrowed time.
Suddenly, a soft chime broke the silence, causing Avis to shift her gaze.
One of the side panels on the far wall slid open with a quiet hiss — revealing a young woman in a tailored servant's uniform, head bowing with a rigid posture.
She stepped inside with the grace of someone used to being invisible.
"Good morning, Lady Stark," she said with a practiced tone — too respectful, but not warm.
Avis turned to her slowly, eyes half-lidded, voice cool. "Oh. It's just you. Good morning, Ayla."
Hearing her casual greetings, the servant froze mid-step.
"Did... Did you just greeted me, milady?" she asked back in surprised, failing to school her face into neutrality.
"Why? Can I not?" Avis' eyes narrowed.
"Y-You... Of course you can, milady. Please forgive my insolence," the maid stammered back, causing Avis to stare at her frowning deeper but did not say more.
What's so surprising about greeting someone back? She's so jumpy.
Did she say it wrong and this girl was just afraid to criticize her employer?
How typical.
The girl — no older than twenty — carefully approached the nightstand and began laying out items with precise efficiency: a brushed steel datapad, a black uniform sealed in clear plastic, a small tray of newly bought cosmetics, and untouched premium accessories.
But Avis noticed the tension in the servant's fingers. The small tremor in the way she aligned the tray. The flicker in her gaze when she dared to glance up.
"Why do you look afraid?" Avis asked quietly.
The servant stiffened. Her throat bobbed.
"I-I don't, milady."
Wrong answer.
Avis stepped forward, each movement smooth and deliberate — like a blade sliding free of its sheath. She stopped just short of the girl, close enough to see the fine sweat beading along her brow.
'Although I don't remember everything about the real Avis but I also lived like a stricken mouse for many years in my previous life so I know fear when I see it.'