Elara's eyes opened fast, like someone turned on a light in the dark.
She stayed still for a long time, just staring up. The ceiling was plain white with one small crack in the corner. Bright sunlight came through the thin curtains and hurt her head. She smelled something she knew—cheap soap from washing clothes.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
Her throat hurt. Her mouth was very dry. A rough sound came out. "…What?"
The word was quiet. Her head felt slow and full of fog. Her body felt heavy but also strange, like it was not real. She tried to lift her head. The small bed made a creak.
She looked down. Old blue sheets were twisted around her legs. The mattress was soft in the middle. She wore a big T-shirt she knew well—one she used for late practice nights back in training school at Lorien. This was not the river. This was not dark water. This was… a room. A small room she knew.
Her heart started beating fast.
She rubbed her eyes hard. Colors popped behind her eyes. When she looked again, the room was still the same.
Slowly, she pushed herself up. Her arms shook. The blanket fell off. Her bare feet touched the cold floor. She sat there, breathing quick and short, waiting for everything to disappear like a dream.
It did not go away.
Then memories came fast, like a big wave hitting her.
The bright lights on stage that once made her happy now hurt to remember. Relanie's mean quiet words. Livienne's loud, happy laugh that cut deep. Riven walking by like she did not matter. The audition where her voice broke on the high note. The quiet after was worse than any yell. The news called her a failure. Friends stopped talking to her. Messages stopped.
Her grandfather's kind face, full of worry, when reporters came to his house. How sad he looked because of her shame. Then he got sick. He died not long after. She was not there. She was too broken to help.
And the river.
The cold water climbing up her legs, her body, her chest. She let go. The quiet took everything.
Elara put both hands over her mouth. A small, hurt sound came out anyway—like a cry and a sigh together.
"I died," she said in a tiny voice. "I remember dying."
The words stayed in the air.
She looked at her hands. Same fingers. Same small burn scar on her knuckle from an old mistake with a hot tool.
Her heart pounded loud in her ears.
She looked at the wall. Posters of girl groups were there—shiny clothes, big smiles. One had a little red heart drawn by her old roommate.
The desk was the same: music papers everywhere, a water bottle with old lipstick, a broken charger cord.
The closet door was open. Hoodies and practice clothes were piled inside.
This was her old dorm room. From when she was a trainee. From years ago.
She took a long, shaky breath.
"I'm… back," she said quietly. The words sounded foreign in her ears, but real.
She slapped her cheek. First soft. Then harder. It stung a lot.
She made a face. "Not a dream."
A small, weak laugh came out. "Of course not. My life was never that nice."
She closed her eyes. The cold floor helped her feel steady.
The bad memories still hurt inside her head. But something new started growing. Not big anger yet. Not full revenge. Just a strong promise.
She would not let the world call her a failure again.
She would protect her grandfather no matter what.
Elara opened her eyes.
The room looked the same, but now it felt different. Small, yes. But not scary anymore. It felt like something she could control.
She got off the bed and stood. Her legs shook only a little, then stopped.
She looked at the posters—the perfect smiles—and felt no fear.
"I'm not doing any of that again," she said, quiet but strong. "Not one thing."
The words felt solid.
A small, tired smile came on her face. It was not perfect, but it was real.
She took one step.
Then another.
This strange morning—in her second life—had started.
This time, she would make it end better...