I woke up knowing something was wrong.
The bed was too soft, sinking under me in a way my old mattress never did.
The air smelled faintly sweet, like flowers I didn't own.
For a few seconds, I just lay there, staring up, my mind foggy and slow.
This wasn't how my mornings usually started.
I opened my eyes.
White fabric hung above me, drifting slightly as if caught by a breeze. Sunlight spilled in from tall windows I definitely did not have in my apartment. The room was big—too big—and painfully elegant.
My heart skipped.
"…Where am I?"
I pushed myself up and felt silk slide against my skin. I looked down and froze.
A deep red nightgown. Soft. Expensive. Not mine.
My hands didn't look like mine either. Slimmer. Paler. When I flexed my fingers, they moved easily, like they were used to being admired.
A dull ache throbbed behind my eyes, and then—memories crashed in all at once.
My life.
Staying up too late. Lying in bed with my phone inches from my face. Reading the last chapter of a fantasy novel I couldn't put down.
The Saintess's Promise.
I remembered thinking the villainess deserved better, even if I didn't like her.
Then I remembered the rain.
The crosswalk.
The sound of a horn.
Headlights.
My breath caught in my throat.
I closed my eyes not wanting to relive that moment.
The realization settled heavily in my chest. There was no panic at first—just a strange, hollow certainty. I knew that moment. The impact. The sudden nothing afterward.
I swung my legs off the bed, my movements unsteady, and crossed the room on instinct alone. A tall mirror stood against the wall.
I stopped in front of it.
The woman staring back wasn't me.
She was beautiful in a sharp, intimidating way. Long dark hair. Cold, confident eyes. A face I recognized instantly, even though I'd only ever seen it described in words.
"Elara Viremont," I said quietly.
The villainess.
My stomach dropped.
"No," I muttered. "No way."
But the floor was cold beneath my feet. The reflection didn't change no matter how hard I stared.
A knock sounded at the door.
"My lady?" someone called gently.
I didn't answer.
In the book, this was the beginning. The calm before everything fell apart. The point where the villainess started making choices that led straight to her execution.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart race.
I'd already died once.
I wasn't planning to do it again.