The sun struggled to break through the thick gray clouds that loomed over the execution square, casting a dull, oppressive light on the jeering crowd below. Once a place of bustling commerce, the square was now transformed into a stage for death, packed with a seething mass of faces twisted in cruel anticipation. The air itself felt heavy, thick with the scent of unwashed bodies and the bitter tang of tension. In the center stood the guillotine, its dark wooden frame battered from years of grim service. The blade, sharp as a razor, gleamed ominously as it hung above the block. Every inch of the scaffold seemed to hum with the inevitability of what was to come.
Adaline was dragged to the scaffold by two guards, her feet barely touching the ground. Her once decent looking dress had been replaced by a ragged, tattered gown, her hair matted and dirty. Her face was gaunt and pale, her eyes sunken with exhaustion and despair. Each step toward the guillotine felt like a slow march to her grave, her heart pounding violently in her chest. Her body trembled, not from the cold but from the sharp edge of fear gnawing at her. The crowd’s hisses grew louder. "Traitor!" a voice spat from the mob. "Witch!" Another threw a rotten apple that landed near her feet, the impact echoing in her ears as her pulse quickened. Her eyes desperately scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of compassion, any hint of mercy. But there was none.
Every face she saw was twisted with hatred or hungry for the thrill of her downfall. As her eyes lifted toward the royal platform, her heart clenched. The Emperor sat tall and cold, his face unreadable as he looked down on her. Beside him, the Empress, Seraphina, dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief that remained suspiciously dry. Anastasia stood beside their mother, her eyes swollen and red, but Adaline knew better than to believe her sorrow was real. As she looked closer, she saw it—the faintest curl of satisfaction at the corner of her sister’s lips. It was all a farce. A shared look passed between mother and daughter, a silent communication that sent a chill down Adaline’s spine. Their faces twisted into cruel, satisfied smirks, their eyes glittering with malice.
Adaline’s stomach turned, a wave of nausea washing over her. She had been betrayed, not just by her sister, but by the very family she had once trusted. Betrayal. It gripped her chest like a vise, making her gasp for breath. How could they have orchestrated all this? How could they stand there, cloaked in false grief, while the blade hovered, ready to sever her life? Her body shook with fear and disbelief as she was forced to kneel before the guillotine. The cold wood pressed against her neck as she was pushed down, her face inches from the stained block.
The crowd roared with excitement, their bloodlust palpable. The executioner, cloaked in black with his face hidden behind a dark hood, moved toward her with slow deliberation. The leather strap bit into her neck as he secured her in place, the roughness of it scraping her skin. She flinched as the rough leather pressed into her skin, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. Above the rising noise of the crowd, she could hear the distant cawing of crows, circling overhead in anticipation. Her gaze darted around the square one last time, searching for any sign of mercy, but there was none to be found.
Finally, she looked up at the sky, her eyes filled with tears, searching for some form of solace or sign from above. But all she saw was a sky as gray and unfeeling as the crowd before her. The crowd’s jeers faded to a low hum in her ears as her thoughts turned inward. This was the end. Her end. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her lips moving in a silent prayer. The executioner moved to his place beside the guillotine, his hands gripping the lever that would release the blade. The crowd grew silent, a tense hush falling over them as they waited for the moment, they had all come to see. The blade hung above her, a shining symbol of her impending doom.
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Adaline closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she prayed as if it would somehow save her from this cruel and horrid nightmare, but it was too late. Just as the executioner pulled the lever, a brilliant red light suddenly erupted from the draw of her room, blinding everyone in the square. The crowd gasped, shielding their eyes from the blinding light that seemed to fill the entire space with a burning intensity. The blade fell. But as it did, the light consumed everything, turning the world to a brilliant, blinding red. Adaline awoke with a start, gasping for air as if she had been choking.
Her hands shot to her neck, fingers trembling as they pressed into the soft skin where the leather strap had once bitten deep. The raw sensation still lingered, the phantom tightness suffocating her despite the absence of the binding. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, each inhale scraping her throat as though she were still choking under the executioner’s grip. Her heart pounded wildly, the rapid thrum of panic reverberating through her chest, as if it too was trying to escape the nightmare she had just woken from.
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as though they were trying to purge the terror clinging to her soul. She struggled to sit up, her limbs heavy and sluggish, the weight of the ordeal still pressing down on her. Her surroundings began to take shape—her bed, her room—but they felt distant, like a mirage on the edge of her consciousness.
With a violent cough, she gasped for air, her lungs burning as if they were still trapped in the suffocating haze of fear. It felt as though the very air had been stripped from her body moments ago, leaving her gasping for something—anything—to fill her collapsing chest. The room spun slightly as she gripped the sheets beneath her, the rough fabric grounding her in the present.
Her fingers trembled as they traced the curve of her throat, her skin tender where the strap had been pulled tight. The sensation was still so real, so visceral, as though the leather had never left her neck. Her pulse fluttered wildly beneath her fingertips, a stark reminder of the life that had almost been taken from her. She could still feel the cold bite of the guillotine’s wooden block beneath her skin, the weight of the blade hanging above her like death’s shadow.
Tears blurred her vision further, the world around her flickering in and out of focus as the memories surged forward. Every jeer from the crowd, every malicious smirk from the royal platform, every heart-stopping moment of dread filled her mind in vivid detail. The thunderous roar of the guillotine’s descent echoed in her ears, and her stomach clenched, her body shuddering involuntarily.
"What… what happened?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and filled with confusion. Her whole body shook, muscles tensing in fear as if they still expected the final blow. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as though holding her body together could keep her from falling apart entirely. Her breaths came out in jagged sobs, each one a battle to regain control, to ground herself in the safety of her room and not in the blood-stained square where she had just faced death. Adaline looked around her room, the soft glow of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting gentle light across the familiar yet old and dusty furniture and decorations. Everything was exactly as it had been before… before the trial, before the dungeon, before the execution.
Adaline’s mind raced, struggling to make sense of the impossible. She had felt the cold wood beneath her neck, heard the crowd’s jeers, and seen the blade falling toward her. And then… nothing. Just that blinding red light, and now she was here, alive, with the morning sun just beginning to rise. She touched her throat again, reassuring herself that it was real, that she was real. "Was it… was it all a dream?" she wondered aloud, her voice barely a whisper. But deep down, she knew it hadn’t been.
She had felt the fear, the betrayal, the pain. It had been real, as real as the tears that still wet her cheeks. But if that was true, then how was she here now? How had she returned to a time before her sentence was carried out? Adaline took a shaky breath, her mind swirling with questions and fears. She didn’t know how or why, but she had been given a second chance. And she would not waste it. This time, she would not let anyone take away her small yet peaceful life. This time, she would fight back.
~To be continued~