The sound of bells echoed through Avalora's capital, their golden chime rolling over marble towers and winding streets as though announcing not celebration but judgment. The entire city gathered outside the palace square to witness the trial of the infamous villainess—Lady Seraphina Valmoré.
Seraphina stood on the dais, her hands bound in iron cuffs that felt heavier than stone. Her violet eyes, sharp as amethysts, scanned the sea of jeering faces below. Nobles and commoners alike crowded to see the downfall of the woman who had once been promised to the kingdom's crown prince. Their voices blended into a single hateful chorus, one that tasted of betrayal and hypocrisy.
"Witch!"
"Snake!"
"Schemer!"
Each word struck her like a lash, but Seraphina's face remained regal, her chin lifted in defiance. Tall and slender, with auburn hair cascading down her back like spilled wine, she refused to let them see her break.
At her side, Evelyne Valmoré, her golden-haired stepsister, pretended to cry into a lace kerchief, her delicate frame trembling with perfectly rehearsed fragility. Evelyne looked every bit the angel the crowd adored—sweet, innocent, victimized. No one seemed to notice the triumphant curve of her lips when her face tilted just enough away from the light.
On the throne sat Crown Prince Lucien Avalora, resplendent in white and gold. His emerald eyes avoided Seraphina's gaze as though she were nothing more than dust beneath his feet. Only days ago, he had called her his beloved. Now, he sat with Evelyne's hand resting lightly on his arm, as if she had always belonged there.
The herald's voice boomed: "Lady Seraphina Valmoré, you are charged with conspiring against the Crown, attempting to poison Lady Evelyne Valmoré, and plotting treason against His Highness the Crown Prince. How do you plead?"
The court's silence was absolute.
Seraphina's lips curved into a smile, not sweet, not broken—but cold, sharp enough to draw blood. "I plead guilty," she said. Gasps rippled across the chamber. She continued, her voice clear as crystal: "Guilty of one thing—loving a man too blind to see the truth."
Lucien stiffened, his perfect mask cracking. Evelyne buried her face in her handkerchief to hide her smirk.
Moments later, the judgment was pronounced: execution at dawn.
When the blade fell, Seraphina did not scream. She closed her eyes, and the last thought in her mind was not of Lucien, nor of Evelyne's treachery, but of the injustice that had branded her as villainess.
"I will return," she vowed silently as darkness consumed her. "And when I do, none of you will escape my reckoning."
---
The sound of birdsong woke her.
Seraphina opened her eyes to find sunlight streaming through velvet curtains, dappling her chamber in gold. Her chamber. The familiar canopy of her bed towered above her, embroidered with the Valmoré crest. She sat up abruptly, her breath caught in her throat.
Her hands—no iron cuffs. Her neck—no scar from the blade. Her body was whole, alive.
She stumbled from the bed to the looking glass, gripping the carved frame as though it might shatter. Staring back at her was a younger face. Her skin glowed with youth untouched by grief. Her hair shimmered in auburn waves, uncut, unsoiled by prison. Her violet eyes—those same eyes that unsettled nobles and made courtiers whisper—burned with disbelief.
"This… this can't be…" Her voice trembled.
But it was. Somehow, impossibly, she had awakened years before her downfall.
The door creaked open. Evelyne entered, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. She was younger too, her smile sweet as sugar. "Sister, are you awake? The Crown Prince's carriage is arriving today for the banquet. You mustn't keep him waiting."
Seraphina's blood ran cold. Today was the very day her engagement to Lucien would be announced—the first step on the path to her ruin.
But this time, she would not be blind. This time, she would not play the fool.
Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Thank you, Evelyne. I won't be late."
For Evelyne, it was merely a polite reply. But Seraphina heard the venom in her own tone, the silent promise that the game had changed.
She would no longer be the victim.
---
That evening, the palace gleamed with light. Chandeliers spilled gold over silken gowns and polished boots. Courtiers whispered behind jeweled fans, their eyes darting between Seraphina and Evelyne, between Lucien and the shadow of politics hovering over the hall.
Seraphina walked into the ballroom, her violet eyes calm, her gown a deep crimson that glowed like embers against her pale skin. Every step echoed with the weight of her knowledge. She saw it all clearly now—the false smiles, the hidden daggers in people's words, the way Evelyne's gaze lingered too long on Lucien.
Lucien approached, handsome as ever, his golden hair shining under the chandeliers. He took her hand with the charm that once made her heart flutter. "Seraphina, you are radiant tonight."
Once, those words would have melted her. Now, they rang hollow. She dipped her head, her lips curving politely, but her eyes were ice. "Your Highness flatters me."
From across the hall, Evelyne watched, envy flickering behind her angelic mask.
And then—he appeared.
At the edge of the hall, towering, dark, dangerous—Prince Kael Drakoria.
Clad in black and crimson, his raven hair framing a face carved of stone, Kael stood apart from the Avaloran nobles, his storm-gray eyes scanning the room with ruthless indifference. He was the enemy prince, Avalora's most feared rival, present only as an envoy. Whispers followed him like shadows.
Seraphina's gaze met his across the ballroom. For a heartbeat, the world fell silent.
Those eyes—cold, merciless—locked onto hers as though piercing through her very soul. She felt her breath hitch, not with fear but with a strange, undeniable pull.
In that instant, she knew: her second life would not follow the same path.
And Kael Drakoria would be the key to her survival… and perhaps her undoing.