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I've lost track of how long I've been trapped here. I think I stopped counting sometime around my 1534th year. Time means nothing in this place—whether it's spring, autumn, summer, or winter out there, I wouldn't know.
Right before I was imprisoned, I promised my children I'd take them to Earth to see the snow. I wonder how they're doing now... Would they even remember me if, by some miracle, I were freed and returned to them? Who am I kidding—they've probably forgotten me entirely. And why wouldn't they? Who would want to remember a mother who vanished, imprisoned for reasons no one speaks of anymore?
Truth is, I'm forgetting too. Time corrodes everything. Faces I once held dear are fading into fog, their voices silenced, their names erased—only a few nicknames remain like whispers in a storm.
What a tragedy, isn't it? A once-mighty, proud goddess, now reduced to a shadow with broken memories.
As grief struck me again, with nothing to swallow the pain away, I decided to rest. Nothing could bit a long sleep when you're depressed.
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I've been trapped here for too long that I think that I'm hallucinating. Yeah clearly I am because how could you explain what I'm seeing right now. Not like you can see it but... Back to the topic.
You see, I was sleeping soundly when out of nowhere someone was calling for me really loud. Thought it was just my imagination doing things but no it called louder and louder 'till I finally opened my eyes and what a surprise I saw when I opened them.
There was a blinding light shining in all of this darkness and rather than being happy seeing the light for once, I got the opposite reaction.
" Oh my God ! Someone put this fucking light away it's blinding me. " Then like someone heard my plea, the light faded slowly and then a book appeared in its place. What kind of God would play this kind of trick- does someone even know I'm here?!
Then the book descended in front of me and started retelling a story about a woman.
Callianeira: The Bloom of Betrayal
They call her Callianeira, a name that once meant innocence, beauty, grace. But if flowers could lie, she was the softest bloom hiding thorns sharper than any blade.
She was born far from the capital—just the daughter of a countryside baron, a title more honorary than powerful. She watched from cracked mirrors and faded scrolls as others lived the life she craved. She watched her—the Duke's daughter—Thessa. A girl bathed in starlight: noble, regal, beloved by the people, promised to a warrior prince.
Callianeira burned with envy. Not the loud kind. Not the kind that screams. The quiet kind—the dangerous kind. The kind that plots while smiling.
So she left the dusty hills and came to the capital, dressed in humble linens and pity. She played her role perfectly: the lost girl with a kind heart. The so-called heroine.
And like in all those romantic tales, she "accidentally" stumbled upon the prince. Her eyes wide. Her words soft. Her past tragic. She cried on cue. She laughed like wind chimes. She told stories that bent truth just enough.
The court adored her.
One by one, she turned them against Thessa. Whispers in hallways. Misunderstandings planted like seeds. The prince began to doubt. The people began to sneer. The Duke's power weakened.
And Thessa? Thessa stood alone. Screaming the truth with no one to listen. Labeled jealous. Cruel. A villainess.
Until the day came when they dragged her in chains across the marble court, and Callianeira, in her white robes, wept as if she were heartbroken.
Thessa was executed.
And the gods stayed silent.
By the time I reached the end of the book, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. Thessa's story… it was heartbreak in its purest form. A tragedy carved into fate. I don't know why it struck me so deeply — maybe because I saw myself in her? Maybe because I've lived that pain before? Who knows. Even I'm not sure.
And then something strange happened. The chains around my wrists—constant companions for centuries—began to loosen. After all these years, the curse that bound me here started to weaken. But I was so exhausted… so used to being trapped, that the idea of escape felt like climbing out of my own grave.
I held the book in trembling hands and reread it. Again. And again. And again. Until every word etched itself into my bones. I memorized every character, every place, every shift in the wind of that story.
But the book wasn't normal.
Its pages changed each time I opened it. Always the tale of Thessa, always centered on her, but the events shifted. Sometimes there was hope — the characters acted differently, the tides turned. But no matter how the story twisted, it always ended the same:
Thessa dies.
Days passed. Maybe weeks. Time doesn't work here the way it does out there. But eventually, I understood.
This isn't just a story. It's happening. Somewhere out in the living world, Thessa lives. And every time she dies… she reincarnates. Sometimes with memories, sometimes just fragments, but each life alters the story slightly. A cycle. A loop.
And in that loop — I saw my chance.
If I can tap into it at the right moment, with enough strength… I might finally break free.
So to whoever locked me away — start praying. Because I'm coming back.
And this time, no chains, curse, or false lotus will hold me down.