Ch. 2 - The Witch Returns

Moments later,

Behind the garden of the Duskbane Estate,

[Rina P.O.V]

I woke to a crushing weight on my chest.

It was a violent separation of soul and void, a sensation like being pulled through a keyhole while made of glass. My mind surfaced into crushing pressure that made my lungs feel filled with lead.

The air was stagnant and sickeningly sweet - smelling of cloying lilies, expensive satin, and wet, decaying wood.

A desolate, high-pitched wail scraped against the inside of my skull. Raw grief, inches away, the final jolt that snapped me awake.

I couldn't breathe.

Panic flared. I thrashed, limbs heavy and uncoordinated. My knuckles struck a smooth, freezing surface just above my face. The horrifying truth slammed into me: I was sealed inside a narrow, velvet-lined box.

A coffin?

I tried to scream, but the sound died in the vacuum of oxygen. I pulled my shoulder back, channeling every ounce of survival adrenaline I possessed. I slammed upward.

The old wood groaned, a deep, structural protest. A sliver of gray light pierced the dark like a lifeline.

With one final heave, I burst free. The lid ripped away with a sickening crack. White lilies and wood shards cascaded onto my face as I scrambled out, half-climbing and half-falling from the satin-lined hell.

The world was a blinding chaos of white marble and black silk. I was in a cemetery garden. A small group of figures, dressed in formal black, stood frozen around an empty hole in the ground - the hole meant for the box I had just vacated.

The wailing stopped instantly. A deathly hush fell over the garden. Every head turned slowly to face the filthy, trembling figure emerging from the grave. I stood amidst the trampled lilies, my white burial gown smeared with dark soil.

A man in the distance whispered one chilling word:

"Ghost!"

Before fear could register, a blur of rustling black silk surged toward me. The elderly woman whose despair had woken me crashed into me, catching my swaying body in a desperate, bone-crushing embrace.

"My Lumira," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "You're alive... the gods have heard me!"

'Lumira? No. I'm Rina Vale.'

But as the woman held me, a violent flood of fragmented memories washed over me. They weren't like thoughts; they were like burns.

Memories of a girl who lived in the shadows of her own power. Memories of the noble contempt she'd endured. Memories of the moment she let go of a stone railing because the world was too hateful to bear.

"A mirror," I rasped. The voice was reedy and unfamiliar. "Now!"

The old woman - Lady Elara Duskbane, Lumira's grandmother, whom I somehow knew - pulled back.

"Butler Finch!"

The butler appeared instantly, producing a small, silver hand mirror.

I snatched it. My hands shook so violently the image blurred, but when it settled, my heart stopped.

It was not my face.

It was hauntingly beautiful. Pale, heart-shaped, with features carved from moonlight. My eyes were now wide, striking, crystalline purple. My hair was a chaotic mess of white-blonde silk. I was looking at the face from the story I'd been mourning momments ago.

Lumira Duskbane.

"No," I whispered. "This can't be real."

My grandmother pulled me into a secure hug. "My dear, it's the trauma. You are safe now, and you are home."

But I knew the truth. I was inside the continuation. I was inhabiting the body of the girl the world had failed to save. The clock hadn't been reset. The tragedy had just found its new protagonist.

I surveyed the funeral. It was a pathetic sham. Aside from a few relatives and freeloaders, the garden was empty. The White Witch had saved the world, and this was her reward: a bargain-bin burial.

Only two faces mattered from what I remembered: Beta Mason Hale and Seraphina Angelis.

Mason stood tall, genuine relief battling deep-seated shame in his amber eyes. Beside him, Seraphina - the soft "chubby angel" - was weeping honest, messy tears.

Mr. Finch approached them, after dispersing the rest. "Master Hale, Miss Seraphina. You must take your leave now."

Mason stepped forward, his gaze locking on mine.

"Lumira," he said, his voice thick. "I am truly sorry for all that happened on the roof. I should have fought harder."

"I-it's okay," I stammered, hating the weakness in this new voice.

"No, it's not," Mason insisted, his face hardening. "Most of our class isn't here because they're at the Great Hall for Alpha Jaxon's wedding party. It's starting now." He glanced at his wrist. "Precisely 3:00 PM."

The wedding.

That bastard Jaxon was clinking glasses while the girl who burned her soul to save him was being lowered into the dirt. He hadn't even waited for her body to get cold.

A spike of pure rage flared within me. It wasn't just Lumira's betrayal anymore; it was mine. We had both died for nothing.

Suddenly, a massive eruption shook the ground. A plume of black smoke curled into the sky above the city center. Moments later, the faint sound of screams reached us.

Mason's head snapped up. Warmth vanished, replaced by the Beta's duty.

"Emergency. That's near the Great Hall. I have to go! Seraphina, stay with her!"

He was gone in two strides.

"Come, child." My grandmother took my arm. "We must get you inside."

I didn't resist. But as I walked toward the gothic spires of the Duskbane Estate, my heart was no longer sinking. It was hardening.

The explosion in the city... that was the new plot starting. The message had said I could change the story. The strange child with the ancient eyes had said the story was mine.

I wasn't a bystander anymore. I was the protagonist of a rewritten tragedy.

I am Lumira Duskbane. And I'm not dying for anyone this time. If they want a monster, I will give them a nightmare.

But first, I needed to wash the graveyard dirt off my face.

I had a sequel to rewrite.