Things had been going smoothly for six months: Eve had her command, the King's hidden favor, and the protective, if volatile, loyalty of her two younger brothers. But that fragile peace was shattered, as the universe seemed intent on ensuring her tragedy.
Eve didn't know the specifics of the Charm Magic Mary used, but its effect was absolute. One crisp autumn morning, she found herself back on the execution platform, surrounded by the hostile roar of a crowd that had once cheered her.
"Eve Morgan has been found guilty of the heinous crime of treason, having raised a private army for rebellion against His Majesty, King Arthur."
Eve stood silent, her hands bound, her silver hair catching the dull, ominous light of the impending morning. She offered no defense, no denial. The shock of being betrayed again, despite her precautions, had rendered her mute with despair.
But this time, her eyes, dead and resigned, weren't fixed on the executioner. They were fixed on the witnesses. And this time, she finally saw the mole—the person whose testimony or inaction had sealed her fate.
"Why won't you say anything, sister?!"
Eren was standing right in front of her, tears streaking his face, his powerful frame shaking with grief and confusion. He didn't believe the charges, yet he couldn't break through the cold, absolute structure of the King's decree.
"Why are you taking all the responsibility alone?!" Dyroth rushed forward, his eyes wild with terror, desperate to pull his sister away.
Eve simply shook her head, a slow, single movement. If she had fought, they would have been implicated. If she had fought, Mary would have found another weapon. Her silence was her last, miserable act of protection.
"Any last word, Miss Eve?" King Arthur stood on a balcony overlooking the square, his face a mask of cold fury, his eyes devoid of the warmth they had held in the throne room. He believed Mary. The heartbreak was instant and total.
"No."
That was the only word Eve uttered—a surrender to the loop. The cold metal sword descended with a clean, surgical finality.
"Sister... sister..." Eren's raw scream was the last thing Eve heard before the darkness took her. His mind, unable to cope with the injustice, snapped, sending him into a deep, magical slumber. Dyroth could only stare blankly at the scene, a silent, broken witness.
That was the end of Eve's second life. Mary had simply leveraged her status, spreading an effective Charm of Malice that made people instantly believe the worst of Eve. But the deeper tragedy was that Eve's very refusal to defend herself confirmed the accusations in the eyes of the King and the public.
The Third Beginning
Once again, Eve returned to the starting point. She woke up in her own bed, the sound of the morning bell replacing the roar of the crowd. This time, it was three days before Mary's arrival. The clock had been reset, but the trauma remained.
At breakfast, the tension was subtle but thick.
"Have you prepared the room for Mary's return, Duchess?" the Duke inquired, his voice formal.
"Yes, I already did," Duchess Rosie replied, but her eyes kept flicking to the end of the absurdly long dining table. Designed to seat a hundred people, the table emphasized the isolation of the last chair, where Eve sat silently eating. Despite a small, persistent cough, her eating posture was impeccable.
"Why are you sitting so far away, Eve?" the Duchess demanded.
Eve didn't answer. She finished her final bite, maintaining eye contact, and prepared to excuse herself.
"I think I asked you a question, Eve Morgan," the Duchess's voice hardened.
Eve halted. Slowly, she turned to face her mother. She lifted her hand and began making small, practiced gestures in the air—a simple, coded hand-sign language.
David, the butler, immediately stepped forward. "Lady Eve says she has caught a debilitating flu and has temporarily lost her voice. That is why she sat far away, to prevent spreading the illness to the family."
Eve bowed shallowly and quickly retreated, feeling light-headed. Back in her room, she collapsed onto her bed, her mind racing.
Why do I keep coming back?
The loop was clear: if she stubbornly stayed, Mary would always find a way to execute her, and she would always die protecting her brothers.
The only way is to run away. I need to disappear before she even arrives.
Two days. That was all the time she had.
She then thought of Anna, the ever-loyal maid. The loyal thorn. The reason Anna was cruelly killed in her first life was her loyalty. The reason Eve died in her second life was because Anna was a mole—not a willing betrayer, but a source Mary used without Eve's knowledge. Mary had a way of charming, coercing, or simply using those closest to Eve.
"I need to disappear as soon as possible, and without Anna's knowledge," Eve muttered to herself. The decision was a cold, brutal necessity—cutting off her one human attachment to survive.
"Then it's decided. Tomorrow is the best time."
Eve moved to her desk, ignoring the pang of guilt. She continued her half-finished work: drafting documents for an anonymous foreign persona, emptying her small hidden safe, and most importantly, forging a convincing suicide note to be found after her escape.