orning did not arrive gently it crept.
The first pale light slipped through the crimson drapes, like an intruder testing the edges of a forbidden dream. The air was cold, carrying the faint perfume of lavender and dying embers. Pillyse sat where she had been all nightby the hearth, unmoving.
Her new body felt foreign still. The pulse in her wrist beat too delicately, the breath in her chest came too easily. Yet the mind that filled this borrowed flesh sharp, analytical, hungry was entirely her own.
For hours she had stared into the dying fire, dissecting what had happened. Death.Revival.Another woman's body.
Each idea should have shattered her but Pillyse had long learned that grief does not always scream. Sometimes, it studies. Sometimes, it waits.
Outside, the rain had faded to a mist. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed softly, each note echoing through the hall like a memory.
She rose, her white gown whispering across the floor. The hem edged in black lace trailed like mourning smoke. When she opened the curtains, light bled into the room, spilling over carved furniture and polished glass. Beyond the windows stretched a garden of wilted roses and marble angels bowing under moss. The beauty of it was haunting, like something still in love with its own decay.
"You didn't sleep."
The voice was gentle, threaded with a sadness that made her chest tighten.
She turned. Elarion stood by the doorway, half in shadow, the morning sun catching on the silver thread of his waistcoat. He had shed the stiffness of the night before his hair now loose around his shoulders, his eyes tired but luminous.
"I couldn't," she said simply. "Dreams require peace, and I've forgotten what that feels like."
He smiled faintly, stepping closer. "You speak like the scholar you once were."
Her brows lifted. "Scholar?"
He nodded. "Before all this before death and sorrow you studied philosophy. You questioned the gods themselves."
A ghost of pride warmed her voice. "Then I suppose I still do. Because right now, I'd very much like to question whatever god decided this was mercy."
His expression softened, admiration flickering beneath the grief. "You always had a sharp mind, even when the world tried to dull it."
She met his gaze, steady and fearless. "Sharp minds survive. Dull ones obey."
For a moment, silence filled the room, thick with something neither of them dared to name. Then she asked quietly, "Whose life am I living, Elarion? This body… it's not mine."
His smile faded. "Her name was Denova Ravenscroft."
Pillyse repeated the name, tasting it like a memory she couldn't claim. "Denova…"
"She was a noblewoman," he continued softly. "Brilliant. Curious. She built this house with her own inheritance, filled it with books, paintings, and secrets. But she was lonely too much heart, too much mind. The world punished her for both. When her mother died, she turned her grief into knowledge. She studied the ancient arts of transference, life beyond life. The last words she wrote were, 'Let me awaken in a freer soul.'"
Pillyse's chest constricted. "And she found me?"
"She found death," he said, voice trembling. "And in that void, you were near enough to take her place."
Her hand brushed the wall, tracing the cracks in the wallpaper. "So she wanted freedom… and I became her cage."
Elarion stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking. "No. You became her continuation. She was fading, and you were falling. Two lost souls crossing paths."
Pillyse turned to him, eyes blazing with both logic and ache. "You make it sound poetic. But what you've done it isn't salvation, Elarion. It's theft."
He flinched but did not look away. "I know. And yet, if you saw what I saw the light fading from your eyes that night. I would have stolen eternity itself to bring you back."
The room seemed to still.
His words, heavy with desperation, hung between them like a prayer.
And despite herself, she felt her heart move.
Her voice softened. "You speak as if I'm still her. As if I'm someone you lost."
"You are," he said simply. "You were my wife."
The words struck her like a physical blow. She blinked, breath trembling. "That's impossible."
"Nothing about us was ever possible," he murmured. "You were Pillyse Varra queen of my heart, ruin of my reason. We lived, loved, and died beneath the same cursed sky. And now, the stars have brought you back to me."
She stared at him, her mind a storm of disbelief and longing. Fragments of something music, laughter, candlelight flashed behind her eyes. The touch of a hand. The warmth of a voice whispering her name in another lifetime.
"I remember… fragments," she whispered. "A ballroom. A waltz. You smiled at me as if the world didn't exist."
His lips curved sadly. "Because when you were near, it didn't."
Her throat tightened. "And yet… I died."
"Yes," he said softly. "You burned, and I followed you into the ashes."
Silence fell again long, aching, endless. Then she asked, "So now what? You've found me, you've pulled me back from death… what do we do with the living ghost of another woman?"
Elarion's gaze was unwavering. "We heal what was broken."
"And if I can't?" she whispered.
"Then I'll stay beside you until you can."
Her breath hitched. For the first time, she couldn't hide the way her heart trembled in her chest. His devotion terrified her it was too pure, too enduring, too consuming. Love like that did not save, it devoured.
She turned away, needing air. "You speak of love like it's eternal."
"It is," he said behind her. "But eternity is cruel. It demands payment."
"Then what's the price, Elarion?" she asked, facing him again. "For this second life? For us?"
His eyes darkened. He shook his head, gaze intense yet gentle. "Don't ask me about the cost… that is not for you to bear. What matters is that I would accept anything, endure anything, just to see you again."
Her stomach twisted. "You… you mean… you'd do anything for me?"
Elareon stepped closer, his voice soft but unwavering. "Yes. I've crossed lines, made choices, faced truths that I cannot speak of. All of it… all of it was for you. My heart… my purpose… everything is yours."
She searched his eyes, torn between awe and confusion. "Even if it's… dangerous? Even if it… changes everything?"
He gave her a small, bittersweet smile. "If it means I can see you again, feel your presence… then yes. I would accept it all. Nothing else matters, Pillyse. Only you."
Her chest tightened as she looked at him, the weight of his devotion pressing on her heart. She didn't understand the depths of what he had done, or what he had risked, but she felt the truth in his eyes pure, unwavering, and entirely hers.
Elarion stepped toward her, his voice trembling with both fear and desire. "All i want is for you to be happy. Your nothing like you thought you are....Your everything to me"
She looked up at him this man who spoke like poetry carved from pain. His nearness filled the air, his sorrow mingling with hers. Without thinking, she reached out… and though his touch was ghostly, for an instant, warmth bloomed between their palms.
It was enough to make her believe in miracles.
"Elarion," she whispered, her eyes glistening, "if love truly defies death, then let it also defy regret."
He smiled faintly, his voice breaking. "Then let it be so."
And when he vanished like mist folding into shadow the house seemed to exhale. The candles flickered back to life, the walls sighed softly, and in the great mirror by the stairwell, Pillyse caught sight of a reflection not her own.
A woman stood behind her.Pale. Beautiful. Wearing the same white gown.
"Denova" Pillyse breathed. "You're real."