It began with silence.
Not a peaceful silence. Not the kind that wraps around you like a warm quilt. This silence was heavy, strange. It crackled at the edges, like a storm waiting behind velvet curtains.
Seraine Amoréil felt it before she opened her eyes.
Then came the weight. Silk against her back. A coldness seeping up from the marble floor beneath the bedding. The scent of rosewater, so thick it stung.
She opened her eyes slowly.
At first, nothing felt wrong. But nothing felt right, either.
She sat up, sluggish and confused. Her fingers dug into the sheets. They looked pale. Narrow. Not hers.
Her heart thumped. Once. Twice.
Her eyes caught movement.
A mirror stood across the room, framed in golden vines. A girl sat on the bed, stiff as a statue. Her long black hair spilled around her shoulders like ink. Her lips were a soft coral pink, her skin smooth and untouched. She looked like a delicate maiden from an ancient book.
Seraine stared.
And the girl stared back.
Slowly, shakily, she turned her head to the side.
The reflection did the same.
She looked back at her hands. Thin. Fine-boned. Lighter than her own. Her gaze dropped to the delicate golden anklet resting on her skin. Symbols she didn't recognize glinted in the dim light.
Her breath caught.
The girl in the mirror wasn't her.
But she was her now.
A knock echoed once. The door creaked open.
A tall woman entered, her face half-hidden beneath a thin black veil. Her voice was sharp, practiced, and emotionless.
"Elira Valein. You're awake."
Seraine blinked. She didn't answer.
The name hung in the air like perfume.
Elira Valein.
The veiled woman stepped closer. "You are to remain silent until summoned. The ritual begins at dusk. Do not dishonor yourself. Do not run. We don't chase brides in the palace"
Two maids trailed in behind her. One was pale and flinching. The other—taller, dark-skinned, her eyes as cold and unreadable as glass—watched Seraine too long.
The taller one didn't smile. But she tilted her head just slightly. As if she already knew a secret.
"Prepare her," the veiled woman said. "And lock the door after."
She left without another word.
The maids moved in silence.
They led her to the bath. Warm water. Rose petals. Oiled skin. They scrubbed her as though trying to erase someone else. Maybe they were. Maybe they thought they were cleansing Elira.
But the girl in the mirror had no past. And Seraine—
Seraine had only memories.
Fire.
Blood.
Her brother's screams. The sword swinging down. Her own cry swallowed by the sound of steel.
She had died. She had died.
Hadn't she?
Dressed in a white gown so sheer it nearly vanished in the light, she was returned to the bed.
No one spoke.
The dark maid glanced back before closing the door. Her eyes met Seraine's.
And for a second, just one second, the world felt still.
When the door shut, Seraine looked at her reflection again.
The girl in the mirror didn't blink.
Seraine touched the skin just beneath her collarbone. It ached.
Her mother's voice echoed faintly:
"You must survive, even if I don't."
Seraine didn't know where she was.
She didn't know whose body this was. Or what the ritual was. Or who the King even was.
But she knew one thing.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
She was not in hell.
Or heaven.
Where am l ?