"So I lost you to death again."
Helena Blackmoore opened her eyes and gasped, and cold sweat broke from her forehead. She sat on the bed and touched her chest. There was no sword impaling her heart.
"Am I dreaming? But it was so real."
Helena stared at her bedroom and realised something was wrong. She had renovated her plain bedroom once, yet everything reverted. There was no fleur-de-lis wallpaper on the wall, no crystal chandelier on the ceiling and paintings and statues made by well-known craftsmen.
She stepped down from her bed and walked to the balcony. The wind blew gently at her long, straight black hair as she opened the door. Her moonstone grey eyes stared at the blue sky. The estate of Blackmoore was beautiful; the sun shone brightly above the manor, the landscape was green and lush, and the garden was full of flowers.
Her eyes were wide open. The season was not autumn but spring.
Helena had returned to the past.
Again.