Someone was speaking, their worlds stumbling over each other in a low murmur.

“--much to do--”

“--barely enough time--”

“Wake up, Milady!”

I gasped, clutching my chest. I was shaking as I tried to figure out how I was alive and what in the world was going on. My eyes were assaulted with color as I stared at what was above me.

Above my head was a bed canopy. A pastel blue canopy. A canopy I hadn’t seen in years.

“What the fuck?” I whispered, breathing starting to quicken. Jerking my gaze to see what else surrounded me made things worse.

Yiranna Darney was bustling about, a dress in hand and a bright smile on her face.

Yiranna Darney died three years ago, accused and convicted of coveting a noble’s property.

“What the fuck?” I repeated, my voice so soft I could barely hear it.

Yiranna noticed I was sitting up and her smile impossibly brightened.

“Milady, I was beginning to worry you would sleep the whole morning,” she gently chastised, folding the ornate dress over the arm of the couch. That couch had been sold two years ago when my father died.

My father.

I jerked the covers off and scrambled out of bed. The blankets tangled around me and I hit the ground hard, teeth slamming together painfully. I tore at the constraints that dared to get in my way.

If Yiranna was alive in this heaven-sent dream, then surely my father was too. He had to be, if Yiranna was. I cared for her, yes, but he was my father.

If he was not here, then this was just one last way to torture me before scattering my consciousness and giving me a final death.

“--ady! Milady, what’s wrong?”

Yiranna was there, hesitant when she saw my face. I don’t know what she saw that made her still like that, but I did not care. I threw off the last of the cursed bedding and stood.

Then I promptly lost my balance, my vision going black momentarily as I swayed dangerously. Yiranna caught my arm and gently, but firmly, pushed me back to the bed. When she touched me, I flinched and she drew back, frowning.

“Milady, are you feeling well enough to attend the party today?” she asked, concern softening her features. I had forgotten that expression, it had been so long.

“What party?” I said. My voice did not rasp or crack. My throat did not stretch painfully. The words came out easily and there was only a hint of an Insolarian accent.

Yiranna’s frown deepened. “It is his highness’s thirteenth birthday today, are you feeling alright? You’ve been looking forward to this for quite a while.”

My blood ran cold.

What?

A hand touched my forehead and I jerked back automatically, moving away from the potential pain.

“Milady, you’re burning up!”

I flinched at her words. She stood, then walked towards the door quickly, sending worried looks over her shoulder.

“I’m getting the doctor. Don’t move a muscle.”

My hands shook as I brushed my fingers against my jaw. The small scar I gained in a spar because of misplaced footing when I was thirteen was still tender and puffy. If Yiranna was to be believed and this was not just the way for life to get the last life, I… I was thirteen again.

Seven years before my execution.

Five years before my father died.

Three years before I went to the academy and everything started to go downhill in my life.

I choked back the sob that bubbled from my chest, desperately trying to keep my tears inside.

This was too much.

I remembered the way that flames had just ravaged my body, the smell of my burning flesh was etched into my memory just like my father’s had, nerves were fried, my skin melted off of me.

I remembered everything, cursed by my unfailing memory.

To wake up in this bed was too much, the possibilities--this was too much for me to process.

Too much, too much, too much.

My body shook, phantoms of flames and kisses of fists reminding me of every moment of excruciating pain.

The door opened and I hastily tried to wipe away my tears. My vision was blurred as I tried to find the words to placate Yiranna.

The words died, quicker than I, on my tongue.

The Traitor stood there. Lucas stood there. His face was full of false concern that wouldn’t last as he said words that I couldn’t hear over the roar of fire in my ears.

This was all too much.

I tilted forward and met the floor with my face once more.

-,-

I was burning.

It was hot, so hot, the heat was all around me and burning every inch of skin.

I couldn’t breath, choking on the smoke that rolled off my flesh.

I tried to claw at my throat to open up my airway but my hand was trapped.

I struggled to open my stinging eyes, needing to see what was keeping me from clean air.

Black eyes bore into mine, the warmth of his hand an oppressive heat. It made its way down into my bones, cracking and peeling back layers of flesh, exposing nerves, exposing bones, exposing marrow that never should have seen the light of day.

I yanked my hand back, pulling at my collar and trying to let myself breathe through the smog. Seams ripped as I choked down gasping breaths.

Over the flames, I heard forced concern. I looked back towards the man I wished would disappear from my sight, eyes stinging and watering.

“Lynne, how can--”

“No,” I growled, my voice barely human. I flinched at the sudden rush of heat from him. I stared through the haze and snarled, “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Did he even react? I couldn’t tell through the tears and smoke. I sneered and dragged myself farther away from, putting the much needed space between him and I.

“Let me help you,” he said with his lying mouth. His false words, false promises cracked in my ears and I shied even farther away.

“Never,” I whispered harshly, coking on the smoke. My coughing turned into a violent thing that shook my entire body. A burning hand touched my shoulder and I jerked back.

I hadn’t realized how close to the edge I was. My hands met air and I fell backwards. My head hit something solid.

The last thing I saw must have been a hallucination.

The Doll had never looked at me with that much emotion in my entire life.

-,-

Something cool settled over my forehead, fighting back the heat rolling in me. A deep voice rumbled soothingly next to me. Fingers softly rubbed circles on the back of my hand. The hand that held mine was cool and touched me like I was something to treasure.

That… was strange, having someone touch me so gently.

“--should have been here sooner. I’m sorry I was late. I’m here now, don’t worry little Lynne.” He continued with his soft assurances, the gentle rumble bringing stinging and disbelieving tears to my eyes.

I squinted my eyes open, scarcely wanting to let myself hope.

But my ears hadn’t been wrong. My father was sitting next to me. He noticed my gaze and smiled, leaning forward to brush a stray hair out of my face.

“Feel any better, love?” Father asked. Now that he was here and was holding my hand, I let the tears roll freely down my face and I nodded. He was alive. Alive and by my side.

I didn’t have to be alone anymore.

“Can I have a hug, papa?” I whispered, hesitant about asking for it because the last time I asked for affection the Traitor had rejected me so thoroughly my heart still aches. I couldn’t even remember the last time someone had hugged me.

Maybe it was before my father died.

Father smiled and he leaned closer, helping me to sit up. His arms wrapped around me and I felt safe for the first time since… Well, let’s just say it’s been a very long time.

I rested my head against his chest and listened to heartbeat. Strong and unyielding it brought tears to my eyes. I was an ugly crier and soaked his shirt, but he just held me. He didn’t tell me to stop crying or that I was weak for allowing my emotions to show. His arms were barriers against the world that hated me. My fingers twisted in his shirt, clutching at him to prove to myself that this was real. He was real and warm under my hands.

I sobbed, “Papa, I’ve missed you.”

His death had nearly broken me and after it, I still woke up from nightmares screaming for him.

“I’ve missed you too, darling,” he replied, his hand petting my hair. He said it so easily, as if it was natural to long to be in my presence. “I’m here now.”

That’s one of the things that I loved about my father. He didn’t know why I was crying or why I missed him so, but he said exactly what I needed to hear. He didn’t make an excuse or pry, all he did was love me.

I held him much longer than society told me I should have, but you have to understand that I couldn’t help myself. Now that I held him in my arms, letting go was out of the question. If I let him go, he might die again, far from my reach, alone in his cooling blood. I’d be left alone again, left alone with the Traitor for company.

“Would you like any visitors?” Father asked, his voice rumbling through his chest comfortingly. I shook my head roughly, the fabric of his shirt scratching at my face but I refused to move away.

“No one?”

“No one.”

He paused and I felt his considering gaze on me.

“Lucas has missed you too,” he said, almost chiding and I couldn’t help the way my fingers tightened and the way I began to shake. I pulled back to look him in his eyes because I had to make him understand.

“No,” I begged, eyes burning with tears anew. “No, please, only you, please Papa, please, please.”

My voice shook and cracked as the shadows of a burning woman danced on the wall. I shut my eyes and buried my face in his chest again, trying to forget the glare and bite of flames and tried to block out the sounds of my death screams.

Father didn’t say anything else and just held me tighter. The sounds started to fade after a while, after I started to calm myself. The shivers faded completely as my father sang a lullaby.

“Smile, my child, don’t miss out, the world is made to be yours. Hush, my child, don’t be scared, for you the world endures.”

I let the deep tones of his voice soothe me and chase away my memories. I started to drift off, my body growing heavy, but I didn’t fight it. It was the first time I had fallen asleep in a long time and I wasn’t afraid of what might await me when I woke up.

-+-

I became aware of the world slowly, sleep reluctantly releasing its claws on me. There was softness beneath me instead of stone, almost decadent despite its simplicity.

The pale blue that assaulted my eyes irked me irrationally. Perhaps it was just because it seemed like it had been picked out by a different person, a different me. Or maybe, it was because it was the Traitor’s favorite color.

Stolen novel; please report.

I pushed away that thought before it could hurt. I had better things to do.

I pushed myself up to a sitting position, eyes darting over the room. No one was here and silence greeted my ears. Tension slowly bled out of my shoulders. No need to mask my expression or fake emotions if there was no audience.

This was the third, perhaps the fourth, time I had woken up. Everything before this moment had faded into one fuzzy mass in my memories, bleeding into each other so seamlessly it was hard, for even me, to understand what had happened. It wasn’t a dream, I was reasonably sure. The softness of the pillows on my skin, the song my father sang, the subtle smell of sweat, and--I winced--the pain I felt when I fell was all too vivid for a dream.

However, that begged the question, what the fuck happened to me? I definitely died. To deny that would be akin to denying that the sun hung in the sky. It was a simple fact that had to be accepted.

My fingers twitched, drawing my attention to them. I smiled a bit ruefully, hoping that getting adjusted to having all my fingers again wouldn’t take too long. I let myself stare at my hands, marveling at how they responded quickly when I wanted to move, how there wasn’t any pain or deep aching, and how the skin was a normal color, only marred by an old burn. Mundane things to admire, but it was something I had taken for granted for most of my life. There were many things like that, things you only realize were wonderful once they were gone.

I sighed and sank back into the bed, relishing in the comfort it provided me and letting my mind wander now that I knew I was reasonably safe.

Execution was quite the punishment, even for attempted murder. One might even say, one underserved, despite my circumstances. I was from a ducal household and that should have afforded me some protection, even if my only worth stemmed from my womb. But, with the head of the house deciding that he didn’t want anything to do with me, it seemed I was worth about as much as a pile of dirt. Thanks Traitor, real kind of you. But even then, I had a feeling there was more to it. A public execution was reserved for the worst of criminals. Even if I had killed Estelle, it wouldn’t have warranted being burned alive. Someone else, someone with quite a bit more power than four heirs, wanted me dead. An example to people, but I had no idea what sort.

I closed my eyes. How very lovely.

Just why had I come to the past? Was this a gift from the god I had long stopped praying too? Were the past seven years just some sort of wicked dream?

My legs throbbed and ached at that thought, as if to remind me the pain was very real. Gritting my teeth, I curled into the fetal position to try and rub away the pain. There was nothing outwardly wrong with them, but the phantom pain refused to abate, a vicious denial to thinking that it was a dream.

But how? A miracle? A fluke of fate? What was I to make of this? My memories weighed on me like an anchor, threatening to drag me into melancholy and despair.

I gently pinched my cheek and sat up. I refused to wallow, that was for lesser people. There were more important things I had to do, I had plans to make.

The doorknob twisted and I schooled my face into practiced neutrality even as my body tensed. My father smiled as he walked in, coming towards my bed. I forced my arms, at least, to relax. He’d be able to tell something was off if I was too stiff.

My smile didn’t have a muscle out of place. It took slightly more effort than usual to keep it placid, my younger facial muscles not as trained to be contorted at the drop of a hat.

“How have you been, Father?” I asked as he sank into the chair next to me. My voice was surprisingly smooth with no accent. I reminded myself that I hadn’t been choked yet nor was I sick, so it should be smooth.

Father frowned and it took a great deal of effort to not react to that besides tilting my head slightly in concern.

“I should be the one asking you that, Jacqueline,” he said, eyes searching my face for any sign of discomfort. He would not find it. “You…you had a fever high enough that the doctors were afraid that…”

He had to take a steadying breath. My mask had long been perfected, ever since his funeral. His sadness affected my heart, yes it always did, but all that was on my face was a slight furrowing of brows and a reassuring smile.

“I’m still here,” I said, steeling myself. I reached out, hands not shaking, and touched his hand. Pride laced through me when I didn’t flinch at his hand covering mine. He kept staring and his frown deepened.

“Jacqueline.” There was the tone he used when he thought I was lying. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

I tilted my head again and brightened my smile comfortingly. “I feel just fine, Father, thank you for worrying about me. How long have I been asleep?”

Asleep not unconscious, a softer and kinder word that hopefully framed this little...mishap as a less serious occurrence.

His flat gaze told me that he didn’t believe the artificial healthiness I was radiating.

“A week.”

I blinked. Oh. That was...a slightly significant amount of time. It explained the wariness in his gaze and why I felt so weak.

“Have I missed anything important?” I asked, ignoring his gaze. Father stared a moment longer before sighing and rubbing a hand down his face.

“Well, you missed his highness’s birthday,” he said, his face scrunching up in the way it did when the Stranger had done something particularly annoying.

I bit the inside of my lip, holding back the jab of, so I didn’t miss anything important then. I had to act as normal as possible to get any sort of freedom to do what I wanted. But as I held back my retort, my father’s eyes narrowed.

“Lynne, are you sure you’re doing alright?”

Well...whoops. I had missed the opportunity to be sad over missing the party or to ask what annoying thing the Stranger did.

I raised an eyebrow at him, forcing teasing irritation to dance around my words. “Father, have your ears stopped working while I was asleep? I’m quite sure I already answered that question.”

My teasing made him raise an eyebrow and sigh in response, but I saw the way he was trying to hide a smile. His hand came out to ruffle my hair suddenly, and I really did try to hide my flinch at the movement. Father’s hand stilled on my hair and his blue eyes stared at me in concern. My breathing grew a little unsteady and my smile was strained, despite my best effort. His hand shifted to press the back of his palm against my forehead. His frown returned and then he gently pulled me forward to press our foreheads together, something that had my lungs stalling. I didn’t have time to gasp for air before he pulled back, his expression dark with worry. I got my breathing under control with a sharp breath but my eye was twitching.

“Jacqueline.” He said my name with worry and love, like it made him happy to say and it wasn’t just an easier way to make insults hit. “I’m going to get someone to look over you again. You’re not warm, but…” He let out an irritated breath, his eyebrows drawing together. “Something’s wrong.”

“Father,” I said, slightly desperate, “I swear I feel alright."

I knew my words were being undermined by my shaking eyelids but I had to try.

He looked at me again, with the gaze that had gotten me to spill so many secrets in my childhood. But I wasn’t a child anymore, for all that I was his daughter still. That sort of look doesn't work once you’ve experienced death. I stared back, hoping that he’d give in.

My hopes were dashed as he spoke.

“I’ll be back,” he said, standing. Father hesitated, but he reached out to pat my head and pull me into a hug. It took me longer to register what was happening to me, but I relaxed into the hug and relished in the affection. If this truly was a redo of my life, loving my father would be something I would not be afraid to do. He pulled back and I let go reluctantly, hands falling softly into my lap.

“I’ll be back,” he repeated and left.

Alone once more, I blinked at the silence. I sighed. Well, I had always been told I inherited my stubbornness from him, so it was unlikely I could have swayed him. My father was… protective of me, to say the least, though I understood where it came from. Blood pooled underneath the cooling body, running in red rivers that stained my shoes. Terrified eyes bore into mine and I opened my mouth to say--

No.

I forced the memories away from my mind. Dwelling on that specific instant would bring me nothing but pain. The person I had fought for wasn’t worth the effort.

Getting my legs over the side of the bed took more effort than I thought it would, though I did recognize that I had been unconscious for a week. That still seemed like an awfully long time. What exactly had happened to my body for me to slip into a small coma like it was no big deal?

My toes sank into the plush carpet as I thought, and I held onto the bedpost to stay steady. Standing, fortunately, did not make me black out this time, but I kept a hand out to catch myself if I fell.

The mirror at my desk was my goal. It was a short walk regularly, but there was nothing I could grab onto on the way. Silly me, not planning for this. Mentally, I made a note to invest in some sort of comfortable chair to go in that empty space. I had taken a deep breath and prepared myself to let go of the bedpost when there was a knock on the door.

A wave of elegance and nobility washed over me, my shoulders straightening and my face showing no signs of exertion.

“You may come in,” I said, voice calm and noble.

Yiranna pushed the door open with her back, her hands busy with a tray of food. She paused when she saw me standing.

“Milady, I’m so glad you’re feeling better!” Her smile was like the sun. It hurt to look at directly, but I wanted to steal glances, to paint the sight so that I would never forget it.

“Thank you.” Internally, I steadied myself. I had an image to uphold. Plus, if my father found out I had collapsed mere minutes after he left me, I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it. I let go of the bedpost and strode across the room, ignoring each shake of my legs as I walked. I pulled the chair out and sat. “Yiranna, please bring the food here.”

“Of course, Milady.”

She placed the tray down and cleared off the desk of useless trinkets. A lonely glove, a well-worn fan, a book on the complexity of Meisan grammar. Things that had matter to me before--I hadn’t want to throw away the glove even without its pair because I loved it and there was still a chance I could find its match; the fan was on its last legs but it had served me well so I used it gently; the book that I had to obtain because I refused to let a mere language barrier to stop me in the pursuit of knowledge. But, now, I knew that they didn’t truly matter, none of it did. The glove would stay lonely, the fan would soon break, the book had already been read and memorized but the knowledge was never used.

I stared at my reflection for the first time in several years, at the young face that stared back at me, one that had cared about all the little things, who had unnecessary and sentimental attachment. The face was almost a stranger, but familiar in the way a dream was the morning after you wake--the outline was clear but the details had faded with time. A nose that was strong and true that the face hadn’t quite grown into yet, no signs of past breaks--yet. Eyes framed by long, almost black lashes, tints of red in the dark brown irises. My cheeks and chin were about to sharpen, my baby fat in the beginning of fading. Brown curls hung freely, framing my face, softening the emerging sharpness. I looked…

I looked almost happy, untainted by the reality of the world. The face that stared back seemed so strange to me, but I found comfort that the look in my eyes was still the same. Ready to challenge the world despite the odds stacked against me.

Yiranna’s face appeared next to mine in the mirror with a smile, startling me out of my self study. I gripped my nightgown tight in my fists to prevent me from lashing out. She placed a bowl of porridge and a plate of sliced apples in front of me. I looked at the porridge for a long moment, bland and grainy porridge shoved down my throat tasting better coming back up than going down, disgusting, disgusting, the only food I was allowed to eat, disgusting, and reached for a slice of apple.

“Would you like me to do your hair?” Yiranna asked, oblivious to my inner thoughts and torment. I met her eyes in the mirror and nodded, taking a tentative bite. Sweet juice flowed over my tongue and I resisted the urge to groan in pleasure. Had apples always that good? Hey, god, I’d like to say you did a good job in creating this apple, it’s literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten.

Yiranna’s movements were more exaggerated than usual, telegraphing every move deliberately and watching my face intently. I appreciated her actions, but I couldn’t figure out why she was acting like that. Perhaps my father was involved.

“How would you like your hair done?”

I paused. When I was this age the first time, I focused on functionality so as to not get teased by my friends, either trying it back with twin braids or leaving it loose, with a few hair clips to tie back my bangs.

“Do you know the portrait of my mother in the main hall?” I asked, voice soft. My mother had died before I had formed any memories with her. Her portrait was the only true memory I had of her, her soft smile looking over the household benevolently, a model of nobility and the standard that all tried to live up to. I had been afraid when I was younger to be too much like her and have people draw comparisons between her and I, and then find me wanting. Now though, I knew who I was and I don’t find myself caring much about how others and their judgements. If they told me their opinions, I would be hard pressed not to tell them exactly where they could shove their words. I will not be afraid to connect with my mother in this small way, and this is the first regret I would rectify. Yiranna’s hands stilled, but she nodded as she looked at me. “Like that, please.”

“I can’t guarantee it will look good if I do it, milady,” Yiranna said, regret and hesitance clear in her voice. “I never worked with your mother’s hair and I don’t know if I’m skilled enough.”

I took a small breath and braced myself.

“If you could be so kind as to find someone who could do it, I would…” I trailed off, not knowing exactly what to say or how to explain myself without giving myself away. “I would greatly appreciate it. Yiranna, I…”

“No need to say more, milady.” Yiranna was smiling again. It suited her. “I understand.”

Just what she understood, I had no idea, but I nodded like I did anyway and smiled appreciatively at her.

“It will only take a moment to find someone,” she promised. She moved faster than I thought she could, I blinked and then she was gone. Well. I might as well continue to eat, right? The food was brought for me, after all. Green grapes were a pop of freshness in my mouth, and the peaches were divine enough for me to consider praying.

The door reopened at an inopportune time, my mouth full of bananas. I swallowed quickly as Yiranna and three other maids walked in. Yiranna unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile at the swell of my cheeks, moving towards me to pick up a brush.

“We’re ready to tackle milady’s hair!” Yiranna said, and the other three maids followed suit, picking up various hair styling tools. They steadily attacked my hair, smoothing out the curls so it would be more malleable as I continued to snack on fruit. It was always fun to see how much my hair would poof up when it was combed dry, it seemed to expand three times in size. One of the maids covered her hands in an oil that helped to keep my hair in place after they finished a section. It smelled vaguely fruity but not unpleasantly so, strong enough to be smelled but faint enough to be forgotten once I was used to it. It also inspired me to keep eating.

I kept my head still, trusting them to do their job well, even if I was a little stiff from their hands being so close to my head.

At the end, the work was impeccable. I hadn’t known my hair could look so beautiful. Two stray curls framed my face, tickling my cheeks. One part of my hair was done in a fishtail braid threaded with beads and wrapped twice around a bunch of curls that seemed to defy gravity on the back of my head. Loose spiral curls brushed the back of my neck, flowing freely down my back.

My breathing was only a tad unsteady. If my hair was blonde, I almost felt like I would be staring at a younger version of my mother.

“Milady…” One of the maids said, Susanna I think, her voice breathless with awe. “You’re beautiful.”

I nodded idly, watching the way the curls bounced at the movement.

“It’s only natural,” I said reflexively. “Thank you for your work.”

Yiranna clapped her hands. The sudden sound made me tense as she turned to the others. “Alright, thank you for helping me. I know you’d love to stare at milady’s beauty, but Mr. Aaron said I could only steal for a little while.”

I managed to relax as they bid me goodbye, curtseying. I thanked them again, truly appreciative of what they had done for me. It seemed to make them especially happy and they sent me bright smiles.

“It’s probably too much to do this everyday, isn’t it?” I said regretfully once they were gone. The hairstyle made my young face seem older, more refined and regal. More like my mother.

Yiranna hummed, and her finger tapped on her chin as she studied my hairstyle. “Probably not, but I think I could practice.”

“Well, until then, could you use my hair pins to pull my hair back?” She nodded and I was satisfied. I’d see if I could learn how to do it by myself so I didn’t have to rely on anyone. It’d probably take a long while but it would keep people’s hands away from me.

I bit into another apple. How much fruit in one serving was back for me again? I didn’t recall learning that, so I didn’t care. It was tasty and that was that.

“Could you prepare my clothes for the day?” I asked. Yiranna hesitated, opening her mouth quickly and closing it, as if she could hide the movement from my notice. “What?”

Yiranna fidgeted. “The Duke said that you were to be resting when you awoke, to make sure that you don’t fall ill again.”

Irritating but understandable. I sighed. My father was becoming a larger obstacle than anticipated but there was nothing I could do. His actions came from a place of love instead of deliberate malice.

“Fine,” I said. “Will you fetch me more fruit, then?”

Yiranna brightened at being able to do something and left quickly. I stared at the door for a moment more before looking back at my reflection. Yiranna was roughly fifteen years older than me, and frequently acted like something more akin to an older sister or an aunt rather than a maid. I had… missed her and mourned her death. It was strange to see her alive again. I wonder just when I’d get used to it.

Well, now it was time to attempt standing again. I stood, my hands hovering over the back of my chair. Alright, I could do this. It wasn’t that far to the bed.

And, of course because life loves me, I tripped and fell halfway to the bed. It wasn’t a hard fall and I was winded more than hurt, but it was embarrassing not being able to walk. It was so simple and yet I had managed to ruin it.

I sighed and decided crawling was the safer option. After another embarrassing moment of crawling, I finally made it to the bed and crawled back into it. Now that I was comfortable, it was time to plot and plan for the future.