When Elara died, no one cried for her.
Not her husband, who stood stiffly beside the bed with his hands behind his back.
Not her sister, who wiped her eyes without a single tear falling.
Not the servants outside the room, whispering that it had finally ended.
Elara lay very still, her chest no longer rising, her skin already losing its warmth. The scent of bitter medicine lingered in the air, mixing with the heavy curtains drawn shut against the afternoon sun.
So this is how it ends, she thought dimly.
She had imagined death before. In her loneliest nights, when the pain in her body was unbearable and the silence of the manor pressed in on her chest, she had wondered what it would feel like to finally let go.
But she hadn't imagined this—
Being so awake.
So aware.
Trapped in a body that would no longer respond.
Her husband's voice broke the silence.
"Is it done?"
The physician hesitated, then bowed his head. "My lord… Lady Elara has passed."
A pause followed. Just a brief one.
"Good," the man said.
That single word struck harder than any blade.
Good.
Elara wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or cry. But her lips would not move, and her eyes remained closed, sealing her inside her own corpse.
Her husband turned away first. "Make the arrangements. A quiet funeral. There's no need for excess."
"Yes, my lord."
Quiet. Of course. She had lived quietly too—soft-spoken, obedient, easily forgotten. Even in death, she was an inconvenience to be dealt with quickly.
Her sister stepped closer to the bed. For a moment, Elara felt a fragile hope stir.
Would she say something?
Would she pretend to mourn, at least when no one was watching?
Instead, her sister leaned down and whispered, her voice low and calm.
"You should have known better than to dream above your place."
The words slid into Elara's consciousness like poison.
Memories rushed forward, sharp and cruel.
The marriage she had entered with hope in her heart.
The years spent trying to please a man who never looked at her twice.
The trust she had placed in the only family she had left.
Betrayal had come quietly. Slowly. Wrapped in gentle smiles and false concern.
By the time she realized the truth—that her sickness was no accident, that the medicine meant to heal her was slowly killing her—it was already too late.
If only I had been stronger, she thought bitterly.
If only I hadn't been so blind.
Regret flooded her senses, thick and suffocating.
Her consciousness began to sink, pulled downward into a cold, endless dark.
So this is death, Elara thought.
Alone. Unloved. Unremembered.
Then—
A sound cut through the darkness.
Ding.
It was sharp. Clear. Completely out of place.
Elara frowned—or tried to. The darkness around her shifted, trembling like disturbed water.
Ding.
[Life signal detected.]
Her heart—or whatever remained of it—skipped.
What…?
[Host consciousness confirmed.]
The cold receded slightly, replaced by a strange warmth that spread through her awareness.
[Initializing System…]
System?
The word echoed unnaturally, as if it didn't belong in her world.
Elara felt herself being pulled upward, violently this time. Images flashed before her—her wedding day, the bitter taste of medicine, her husband's indifferent eyes, her sister's smile.
"No," she tried to say. "Stop—"
[Initialization complete.]
[Repair System activated.]
The darkness shattered.
Elara gasped.
Air rushed into her lungs, burning as if she had been drowning. Her eyes flew open, and bright light stabbed into them, forcing her to blink rapidly.
She sat up with a sharp inhale, her heart pounding wildly.
"I—"
Her voice was hoarse. Alive.
She looked down at her hands.
They were steady. Smooth. Unmarked by the needle scars that had once littered her arms.
Her body felt… light. Whole. Free of pain.
Elara's breath caught as she looked around.
This room—
It was smaller than the one she had died in. Simpler. Familiar in a way that made her chest ache.
Her old bedroom.
From years ago.
The one she had stayed in before her marriage.
Her gaze snapped to the mirror across the room. She swung her legs off the bed and stumbled toward it, ignoring the way her hands trembled.
The woman staring back at her was younger. Her cheeks were fuller, her eyes clearer, untouched by years of quiet suffering.
Elara staggered back.
"This isn't possible…"
She had died. She was sure of it.
And yet—
Ding.
A translucent blue screen appeared before her eyes.
She froze.
[Welcome back, Host Elara Vale.]
[You have been granted a second life.]
[Objective: Repair your broken fate.]
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
A system.
A second life.
Her reflection stared back at her, eyes wide with shock—and something else.
Something dangerous.
If this was a dream, she would enjoy it while it lasted.
If it was real…
Elara slowly clenched her fists.
"This time," she whispered, her voice steadying, "I won't die quietly."
The screen flickered.
[First task pending.]
And somewhere deep inside her chest, where regret had once lived, a cold, burning resolve took its place.