[This chapter contains graphic violence and foul language. All characters, cultures, and events are purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.
Reader discretion is advised].
Chapter 1.
The Lust Witch of Elora.
"Huff... sob. Why? Why me?"
Priya, thirty years old and breathless, tore through the labyrinthine alleys of the Mumbai slums. The earth beneath her feet had turned into a treacherous slick of mud under the relentless downpour. Every stride was a gamble; the roads were choked with thick, stinking sludge, yet Priya could not afford to falter.
Her clothes were no longer their original color, now sodden and heavy with gore. Despite the biting chill of the monsoon air, her skin burned, her blood boiling from the sheer terror of the hunt.
Close behind, the heavy thud of boots splashed through the mire. The thugs followed, a pack of predators armed with an assortment of jagged steel and blunt force. One brandished a razor-sharp blade that caught the dim light; another gripped a stained baseball bat.
Save me, please. Where are you? Priya's mind screamed into the void.
Tears spilled from her eyes, mingling with the rain until her face became a mask of watery grief. The fusion of salt and storm-water only heightened the sheer horror etched into her features.
Without warning, a baseball bat whistled through the air. Hurled with lethal precision, it connected with the back of Priya's skull with a sickening crack. She collapsed instantly, her face buried in the filth of the earth.
Blood welled from her palms where they scraped against the gravel, though the sting was a mere whisper compared to the agony racking her body. She was a map of bruises and lacerations, but it was her leg that betrayed her now. As she tried to shift, a white-hot flash of pain shot through her hip. The bone had snapped clean upon impact.
"Ahh... it hurts... s-somebody please save me," she whimpered, her voice a broken mumble lost to the wind.
She clawed at the mud, trying to heave herself upward, but her strength had vanished. Defeated by her own anatomy, she began to crawl, dragging her useless limb behind her. Her breath hitched in ragged, rhythmic hitches—the unmistakable sound of a soul staring into the abyss.
The circle closed in. The thugs surrounded her, their shadows lengthening over her broken form like vultures. One man stepped forward, a heavy iron rod balanced in his hand.
"Bitch... you sure can run, can't you?" he panted, a jagged, hideous grin splitting his face. He leaned down, mockingly tapping the cold iron against her temple a few times before swinging with a guttural grunt.
The rod slammed into her head.
Priya let out a strangled groan. A dark, visceral crimson began to leak into the muddy puddles around her. Her vision fractured; the world dissolved into a gray, watery blur as her eyelids grew heavy.
Her life had never been the fairytale she'd dreamt of as a girl. There were no loving parents to shield her, no loyal friends to hold her hand. Her path had been paved with humiliation and scrap-metal survival. Yet, even in her darkest hours, she had never imagined a death this wretched.
The men erupted into coarse laughter, feasting on the sight of her tremors. One of them reached into his waistband and drew a pistol, pressing the cold muzzle directly against her chest.
Priya went numb. The shivering stopped. Her tears finally ran dry, replaced by a faint, ghostly smile. She knew the end had arrived; there was no one left to reach into the dark and pull her out.
"Your biggest mistake, you bitch, was falling in love with that motherfucker."
The gunman squeezed the trigger.
Bang.
The lead tore through her heart. Her breathing slowed to a shallow, stuttering rhythm.
"Let's go, guys," the leader barked.
They vanished into the rain, leaving her to bleed out alone in the muck.
Priya lay there for what felt like an eternity, her life force ebbing away with every heartbeat. Then, through the haze of death, a voice reached her—soft, desperate, and familiar.
"Priya... Priya, can you hear me?"
It was a voice that had been the only fragrance of flowers in her thorn-choked life. A figure knelt beside her. Though her eyes refused to focus on his face, she felt him gather her into his arms. Warm, salt-heavy tears fell onto her cold skin.
"Priya, I am sorry... It's all my fault. Don't worry, I will save you," the man sobbed, his voice breaking.
She could feel his entire frame trembling against her. A final smile touched her lips. At the very least, she was grateful that one person in this cruel world found her departure worth grieving.
Her lips parted, moving without a sound. She tried to speak, but the air wouldn't come. The man lowered his ear to her mouth, straining to catch her final wish.
"K... kiss me," she whispered.
He pressed his lips to hers—a final, silent goodbye.
"I love you, Shi—"
The name died in her throat. Before she could finish the name of the man who was her only heaven, Priya's world went dark.
***
"La... dy Elisa... wake up."
Elisa nirvana, twenty two years old, lay tangled in her silk sheets. Dried salt tracks stained her cheeks as her eyes snapped open. Before her stood her maid, Sia, who was quietly setting a tray of morning tea on the bedside table.
"Good morning, Sia," Elisa murmured, her voice thick with a yawn.
Sia, only nineteen, approached with a silk handkerchief. She leaned in, gently dabbing away the lingering tears from Elisa's face.
"My Lady, please do not weep so... it breaks my heart to see you this way." Sorrow was writ large on the young girl's face.
To the world, they were mistress and servant, but to Elisa, Sia was the younger sister she never had. They had been raised in the same halls, their lives woven together since childhood.
Elisa managed a small smile, patting Sia's cheek. "Don't fret, Sia. It was merely a nightmare."
Sia handed her the porcelain teacup, her brow furrowed. "Don't tell me... was it the same dream again?"
Sia knew every detail. Elisa had first confided in her at sixteen. At first, they were dismissed as mere terrors of the mind, and Sia had been her only confidante. But over the last six years, the vividness had deepened into a haunting certainty. These weren't dreams; they were memories.
"My Lady, even if those dreams are your past life, this life is new. You are a Nirvana now," Sia said, pulling her into a brief, comforting embrace.
Elisa Nirvana—the daughter of a Count within the Elora Empire. She was renowned in high society for a beauty that bordered on the ethereal: silver-white hair that cascaded to her waist and eyes of shimmering gold.
Golden eyes were an impossibility,whispered to belong only to the Goddess Kiana. Though no living soul had seen a deity, the ancient temple scripts and history books spoke of that divine hue as a holy mark.
"This life is no different," Elisa whispered to the empty air, her expression darkening with a localized grief.
"Come, let us go. The bathwater is ready," Sia prompted.
"No... I shall go alone. Just have my dress prepared, Sia."
***
After few minutes.
Elisa stood before the tall mirror in the steaming washroom, wrapped in a simple white robe. She pulled the ribbon loose, letting the fabric slide down her shoulders to pool in a heap at her feet.
She stared at her reflection—the bare, pale lines of her body. She placed a hand over her breast. There, marring the perfection of her skin, was a distinct mark. A gunshot wound.
"This mark... it is the proof that I lived a truly horrible life," she muttered.
A short while later, Elisa made her way toward the dining hall where her family awaited. As she moved through the corridors, she felt the heavy, judgmental stares of the servants. The whispers trailed behind her like a foul scent.
"My God, did you hear? They say Lady Elisa bedded three different men despite being betrothed," a maid named Timi hissed.
"Indeed. And not just any fiancé—Marquis Elferd sansa himself," Rimi added with a sneer.
"Oh my, oh my! It means only one thing. Her Ladyship simply could not contain her lu..oops," Rimi smirked.
"Well, what else do you expect from a girl of a fallen house? Perhaps she sold herself to those men just to keep the lights on."
The barbs didn't sting as they used to. Ever since her engagement was dissolved, these rumors followed her like a shadow. The broadsheets called her the "Lust Witch"—a beauty with "dirty desires."
Elisa ignored them, stepping into the dining room. The air was thick with a deathly silence. Her family sat gathered around the table. Her father, Richard Nirvana, sat at the head, staring blankly at his plate as if his spirit had already departed. Her mother, Kia, sat beside him, trying in vain to offer some semblance of comfort.
Elisa took her seat. "Good morning, all," she said softly.
Across from her sat her brother, Michael, twenty-four, and her sister, Saina, twenty-six. The atmosphere was so heavy with negativity that even the aroma of the food seemed to sour.
"Elisa... our funds are exhausted. We must vacate the manor in a matter of days." Saina's voice broke, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Enough, Saina. Eat. I will handle it," Richard barked. Though he spoke with authority, he was the most broken man in the room.
" But father..tell me what do we do now". Saina said with trembling voice.
" Stop it. Silence and just finish your food". Richard shouted at saina. Though it's not anger it's frustration.
The room felt silent.
Richard had been born a commoner. His talent with a sword had earned him a place in the Imperial Army, and his unwavering loyalty to the previous Emperor, Titone, had elevated him to the rank of Count. Now, a lifetime of sweat and honor was crumbling before his eyes.
Elisa gripped her cutlery, biting her lip. She carried the weight of their ruin. If she hadn't done what she did that day, her family wouldn't be the target of such crushing humiliation.
She pushed her chair back, unable to stomach another moment. "I am finished. I shall be at the training grounds, Father."
"Elisa, finish your meal," Michael urged. His eyes were filled with a protective sympathy that hurt more than the servants' whispers. "Elisa, it isn't your fault."
She offered him a fragile smile that didn't reach her eyes and slipped away toward the training grounds.
***
Thud... Twack.
Elisa swung the wooden practice sword against the straw dummy with frantic, rhythmic strikes. Her shift was soaked through with sweat, her palms raw and blistered from the repetitive friction.
Gasping for air, she finally hurled the sword aside and slumped beneath the shade of a nearby tree. The emotions she had spent days suppressed finally fractured. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with violent sobs.
"Why? Everything was going so well... why did it have to happen again?"
As she wept, a voice echoed in her mind—tender, smooth, and familiar. She couldn't see the man's face or recall his name, but his words were etched into her soul.
Priya, the world is cruel. Sometimes, we must become even more cruel to end the cruelty. You are far too soft-hearted.
"Y. yeah, I am not crying anymore from now on".
Elisa wiped her tears with the back of her hand and stood up, her gaze fixing on the vast, indifferent sky. Her fingers curled into a tight, white-knuckled fist.
"I will have my vengeance," she declared, her voice cold and steady. "On every soul who did this to me."
But what, exactly, had transpired to bring her here? And why-?
Nirvana family is falling.