Chapter 7
Moonlight spilled across the stone floor of her chamber, silver and cold, when Elira bolted upright in bed.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Not after what she saw.
But something had pulled her into slumber—heavy and unnatural, like a velvet rope around her mind. And now, something else had woken her.
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Just beyond the door.
She rose without a sound, her feet slipping into soft slippers as she crossed to the door. The moment her hand touched the knob, the footsteps stopped.
She pulled it open.
The corridor outside was empty.
No wind. No servants. Not even the sound of guards on patrol.
But there, lying neatly at the threshold, was a single black envelope sealed with wax.
She bent to pick it up.
The seal was unmarked—no crest, no signature. Just a thin, blood-red circle.
Her fingers hesitated before peeling it open.
Inside was a small, folded letter.
Four words.
"You were never Elira."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She read it again. And again. The handwriting was unfamiliar—elegant, thin, but rushed at the end, as if written in desperation or rage.
She looked down the corridor again. Still empty.
But she could feel something watching. Not just from the hallway—but from inside the letter itself. Her skin prickled.
She closed the door softly and locked it. Then she crossed to her desk and pulled out the scroll Kael had given her earlier—the one detailing her supposed past, the Vexley line, the failed awakening.
Nothing in it contradicted her memory.
But now she wondered if her memory itself had been altered.
"You were never Elira."
What did it mean? Was it metaphor? Was it madness?
Or was she truly someone else?
She tried to sleep, but every time her eyes closed, she saw the mirror again. The version of her with eyes like pitch and a voice full of command.
By dawn, she hadn't slept at all.
When she emerged from her chamber, the manor was bustling again—soldiers patching walls, servants hurrying to replace damaged furniture, whispers of the "phantom attack" still circulating.
She headed to the west wing to find Kael.
But as she passed the grand staircase, something stopped her.
A figure at the bottom.
A girl in white, with hair like hers, standing perfectly still.
Her heart slammed in her chest.
The figure lifted its head—and vanished.
No footsteps. No sound.
Gone.
Elira stood rooted in place. Had anyone else seen it?
Then, without warning, she felt something brush against her mind.
A whisper. Soft as silk. Cold as ice.
"We remember you."
🔮 Next Chapter Preview – Chapter 8: The Name Buried Twice
Elira demands the truth from Kael—but when he finally opens up, he reveals that the original owner of her new body... died twice.
And the second death was never recorded.
He hands her a name from a forgotten grave.
A name that was once hers—
And never meant to be spoken again.