Chapter 8
Elia’s body that was drifting with the wind, was pulled into the darkness. But she couldn’t close her eyes. The ground suddenly trembled, and an image appeared before her.
‘What is that?’
Elia stared in shock at the sight. It was a vision of herself, holding a golden holy sword covered in blood, stabbing Cyrone’s heart.
‘What is that sword?’
As the holy sword pierced Cyrone’s heart, it split it in two, and a flash of light burst out from the wound.
It was then that Elia’s vision was flooded with light.
* * *
“Ugh…”
Her head felt like it was about to split open. It felt like her neck was cracking. Groaning, Elia suddenly opened her eyes. A blinding light poured in all at once.
‘Where am I? Is this the heaven I’ve heard about?’
The sudden brightness stung her eyes. Squinting, Elia looked up at the ceiling. Wallpaper with reindeer drawings, the familiar chandelier… Everything was too familiar to be called heaven.
Elia’s gaze slowly swept across the window. It was definitely her room, the one where she could see the rose garden from the window.
‘Why is this my room? I’m sure I died.’
Elia gently brushed her hand over her chest. She distinctly remembered being pierced by the poison arrow and collapsing right there. The memory of blood dripping down her face, mixing with her tears, was vivid. Yet, she felt no wound, no pain whatsoever.
‘I remember it clearly. Why do I feel so fine?’
Elia sat up, as if trying to clear her mind. The familiar sensation of the soft carpet beneath her feet felt too real. Every sense told her this wasn’t heaven, it was the reality she knew.
“Heaven looks exactly like my room.”
Elia crossed her arms, speaking in a detached tone. She had expected to be greeted by angels playing trumpets, but instead, everything here was just too ordinary.
No, it was so ordinary it was boring.
“The mirror is exactly where it always was.”
The first thing she always did after waking up was sit at the vanity. Everything; jewelry, the comb, the position of the mirror, was exactly as it had been in her life.
“My goodness…”
Elia stared at her face in the mirror. She urgently touched her face, unable to believe what she was seeing.
“It’s still me.”
Her vibrant red hair, her pale green eyes, her nearly translucent white skin. Elia was still looking back at herself just before she died.
It was then. A soft knock sounded at the door, followed by it opening. It was Susan, the maid, peeking her head in.
“Miss, you’re up already?”
Seeing Elia awake so early, Susan smiled brightly. She nodded as if she understood completely.
“Well, of course. You wouldn’t be late on a day like this, Miss.”
Susan gently placed a sky-blue dress on the bed. It was an elegant dress, with delicate lace and faintly colored jewels that blended together beautifully.
“Wait, this is…!”
Elia’s eyes widened as she looked down at the dress. It was the same dress she had been wearing just before her death. Reflecting on her last memories, she recalled the sky-blue dress soaked in blood, stained a deep red.
But now, the dress in front of her had no trace of blood, not even a hint of the stain.
“Susan. Where’s the blood that was on this?”
Elia distinctly remembered blood gushing from her chest, staining the hem of her dress, but now… nothing. Susan, who had been spraying perfume on the dress, blinked in confusion.
“Blood? This is the new dress you’ve been saving for today.”
A new dress? What was going on? Elia looked at Susan with wide eyes, completely baffled. The only explanation she could think of was that she was losing her mind. Or perhaps Susan had lost hers.
“Susan, what date is it today? No, no, what day is today?”
Susan, who found Elia’s strange behavior odd, pouted her lips and muttered in frustration.
“Miss, why are you acting like this today? You’re usually so precise with your memory, especially when it comes to the prince’s matters.”
With a frustrated huff, Susan slapped her chest lightly and raised her voice.
Today is…
“The day of the Prince’s Crown Prince coronation ceremony!”
Elia froze, her eyes going wide as if struck. Her pale green eyes slowly filled with disbelief, becoming almost blank.
“This… this doesn’t make sense…”
Elia muttered, as if in a trance. Her gaze drifted slowly toward the clock, her long, thick eyelashes trembling.
So it was exactly as it had been. It was the morning of the day she died.
* * *
The first time Elia had met Rias was at a tea party at the palace. That had been four years ago.
The first Empress, Loran, the cornerstone of the new aristocracy, had been deposed by the noble families, and the second Empress, Astana, followed her.
After the coronation ceremony, the first invitation from Empress Astana quietly went out only to the children of the noble families and key royals. There was still a lingering sympathy for the deposed Empress Loran, so the gathering had been humble and quiet, designed to honor her legacy.
Elia, the daughter of one of the five leading Ducal families in the Empire and the only child of one of the three prominent noble families, always had a seat in the most prestigious and closest position to the front.
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