Chapter 2
Darkness.
It was cold, endless, and quiet.
Seraphina drifted through it not with fear, but with fury. Her soul burned brighter than any flame. Not even death could smother it. Images flashed through the void: Kaelron's smirk, her father's greed, the red of her gown. Blood. Betrayal. The echo of her last vow pulsed like a heartbeat.
Then light.
It wasn't warm. It was sharp, like a blade slicing through the veil between death and life. And with it came a sound she hadn't heard in years.
A child's voice.
Familiar. Small. Her own.
"Miss Vale, wake up! You'll be late!"
Seraphina's eyes snapped open.
She wasn't lying on marble floors or surrounded by petals. She was in a four-poster bed draped with lilac curtains, her body untouched by poison, her hands smooth and unscarred.
Breath caught in her throat as she bolted upright. Her eyes scanned the room lavender wallpaper, gold-trimmed vanity, a porcelain doll on the shelf. Her childhood bedroom.
She turned toward the mirror.
The face staring back at her was not the Seraphina Vale who'd died at twenty-two. This girl had softer cheeks, rounder eyes, and innocence she no longer owned. Sixteen. She was sixteen again.
Her heart thundered.
"No," she whispered. "This can't be…"
But it was.
The maid standing in the doorway sweet, nervous Elira was still alive. Still loyal. Still smiling.
"You had another nightmare," Elira said gently, walking in with a tray of tea and pastries. "Your father said you'll be attending Lord Deymour's birthday banquet next week. Isn't that exciting?"
Kaelron Deymour. Alive. Not yet her fiancé. Not yet her killer.
Seraphina stared blankly, fingers tightening around the bedsheets. Her soul trembled, not from fear but from clarity.
She had been given a gift. A curse. A second chance.
And this time…
"I won't die a pawn," she said under her breath. "I'll return as the player."