The sky was bleeding the day I died.
Crimson clouds gathered above the execution square, rolling like thunder made of fire. The scent of smoke and burning lavender filled the air my family's crest, turned to ash behind me. I stood in chains, head held high, dressed in silk robes no longer fit for a noblewoman, but too fine for a criminal.
The crowd watched with wide eyes and hushed voices. Whispers of "poisoner," "witch," and "traitor" curled through the cold wind.
But I ignored them.
Instead, my eyes locked onto the man standing atop the execution platform, dressed in silver-trimmed royal armor the he man who once whispered vows into my hair, who once promised he'd protect me from every enemy.
Crown Prince Kael Virelion.
His jaw was clenched, knuckles white around the hilt of the ceremonial blade. His violet eyes did not meet mine, not even when I stepped forward, unafraid of the end.
I smiled at him, the kind of smile only a dying woman could afford.
"Will it satisfy you?" I asked softly. "To kill the wife you once claimed to love?"
A flicker of something regret? doubt? passed over his face. But it was gone in an instant.
"The Empire cannot forgive treason," he said coldly. "Lady Seraphina von Aurelian, you are sentenced to death for the attempted murder of Princess Alira."
The crowd roared in approval. I stood tall, even as my knees trembled.
I never poisoned her.
I never harmed a soul.
But the truth didn't matter—not when my name was already written i history as the "Rose of Thorns."
A villainess. A monster. A cautionary tale.
"Do it," I whispered.
The blade came down.
And then—
I woke up to the scent of roses and ink.
Gasping, I sat up in a canopy bed too familiar to be real. My hands clutched silk sheets embroidered with gold thread. My body felt whole. My chest was not bleeding. My head was not rolling.
I was... alive?
A quick glance around confirmed it: the room was mine but it hadn't looked like this in years. The cherrywood desk was still stacked with books on etiquette, not war. The vanity mirror was uncracked. The vines climbing my bedroom window hadn't withered in fire yet.
My heart thundered in my chest as I staggered toward the mirror.
And there she was.
A girl eighteen at most with long auburn hair, crimson eyes too sharp for her soft face, and skin untouched by pain or prison. My reflection.
My younger self.
"This is impossible," I whispered.
Then the pain hit me not in my body, but in my mind. A searing memory, ancient and terrifying, rushed forward: a circle of glowing runes… blood on a page… a spell I never understood… cast in desperation just before my death.
A Spellweaver's cry.
"Please," I had begged fate. "Give me another chance."
And fate listened.
I fell to my knees.
I had been reborn.
Back before my engagement to Kael.
Back before the war.
Back before my downfall.
My second life had begun.
And this time, I would not be a villainess.
This time, I would survive.
Even if it meant destroying everything that once destroyed me.
So… I died.
Then I woke up eighteen teen again, in the same cursed empire that cheered for my execution.
But this time? I'm not playing by their rules.
I'll keep my distance from Kael. I'll avoid the backstabbing nobles. I'll burn that cursed engagement contract before it touches my hand.
But what happens when the prince starts looking at me like I'm someone new?
And why is the magical mark on my back glowing like it's alive?
This isn't just revenge.
This is redemption.
And the real game is only just beginning.