From what she could remember—or rather, what her friend had once told her—Anastaria would eventually cultivate.
Not just cultivate, but become terrifyingly powerful. Evil, even. A walking nightmare in human form.
But how it happened? That part was maddeningly blank. Her friend had definitely explained it once, long ago. But no matter how hard she tried to recall, the details slipped through her fingers like mist. Maybe the memory would come back later. Right now, her head throbbed just trying to keep track of who she was, where she was, and what the hell was going on.
She hadn't even finished reading the damn novel, and now she was in it?
Thinking of how she died, her face immediately went sour. "Ugh! What kind of rotten luck is this?!" she muttered into her pillow, kicking her feet.
Of all the bodies she could've ended up in—she had to land in hers. Anastaria Noir. The dark twin. The hated one. The one with the tragic arc and no cultivation.
How could the universe be this stingy? Couldn't she have been Elaira at least?
Groaning, she rolled off the bed and gave the room a proper look for the first time.
And immediately felt her mouth go dry.
It was beautiful—absurdly so. Like something out of a fairytale palace.
The walls were made of white marble veined with faint silver, shimmering faintly under the glow of suspended crystal lanterns that floated midair like stars caught in glass. Tall, arching windows stretched from floor to ceiling, framed with soft sheer curtains that shifted with a breeze she couldn't feel. Outside, a moonlit garden bloomed in colors she didn't even know flowers came in—violets, blues, silvers that shimmered like frost.
The bed she had flopped on was massive, covered in layers of plush velvet blankets and embroidered pillows, all dyed in rich shades of black and deep wine red. Above it, a translucent canopy hung from twisted ivory branches shaped like thorned vines, curling upward into a crown.
The floors gleamed, polished to a mirror shine, and reflected the ornate carvings etched into the ceiling—sigils and markings that pulsed faintly with golden light.
Anastaria blinked, in awe of the beauty around her.
This world really didn't make sense.
But one thing was certain—if she was stuck here, she was going to survive.
Preferably without turning evil. Though… she wouldn't be mad about being powerful.
She stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over the hem of her robe, and made a beeline for the mirror stationed on the far side of the room.
It was massive—framed in ornate blackwood carved with thorned vines and curling silver inlay. Luxurious. Regal. Probably worth more than her entire life.
But what stopped her cold wasn't the mirror.
It was the face staring back at her from within it.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
Her breath caught in her throat.
It wasn't fair.
This wasn't just beauty—this was the kind of face that sparked wars in old epics. A face that could make kings kneel and saints sin. And now, somehow, it was hers.
She stepped closer, almost afraid the reflection might vanish if she breathed too hard.
The novel had described Anastaria Noir as dangerously alluring—mysterious, dark, and manipulative. A seductress who bewitched men with a single glance. Rin had brushed it off as exaggerated author fluff at the time.
But now?
Now she understood.
Anastaria's beauty wasn't the soft, innocent light her sister Elaira carried. No. Hers was different—untamed. Unapologetic. Wild.
There was a heat behind it. A dangerous sort of charm that made your heart stutter for reasons you couldn't quite name. Like the kind of beauty people fell into without realizing it—only to wake up ruined.
Her eyes were violet, vivid, slitted down the middle like a cat's. They should've looked strange. Uncanny. But on her? They were hypnotic. They didn't subtract from her beauty—they defined it. Like her soul had been born of shadows and moonlight, and now it stared back at Rin through that mirror with a gaze that could unravel anyone too weak to hold it.
Long, straight black hair cascaded down her back like silk, reaching her waist in sleek, inky waves. It framed her face perfectly.
Anastaria gawked at well.. Anastaria
If she'd looked like this in her last life, what the hell would she have ever worried about?
She leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. "No wonder they called you dangerous," she muttered. "I'd fall for you too."
The novel always made it sound like she used her beauty as a weapon. Like it was manipulative. Cold. But standing here now, Rin couldn't blame her.
Because if she had a face like this?
Oh, she'd absolutely weaponize it.
Every. Single. Day.