Fate Does Not Ask Permission
1280 Words
Chapter 4 – Seraphina POV
“What isn’t real?”
The question cut through my thoughts like a blade.
I blinked and focused on the girl standing a little too close to the bed, her expression carefully composed into concern. She tilted her head, brown curls slipping over her shoulder as if the movement itself had been practiced.
Fiora Vale.
The name surfaced in my mind with unpleasant clarity.
In the novel, Fiora was introduced as Vespera Crowe’s closest friend. The girl who walked beside her in the academy halls. The one who laughed at her jokes, shared secrets, and swore loyalty with wide eyes and clasped hands.
She was also the first to leave.
I remembered it clearly now—how she’d switched sides the moment Amara Hart began to shine brighter. How easily she’d justified it. You’ve changed, she’d said. I don’t recognize you anymore. As if betrayal was kindness when dressed in soft words.
I stared at her, really looked this time.
Fiora was pretty in an unremarkable way. Pleasant. Forgettable. The kind of girl teachers trusted and students overlooked. Brown eyes warm enough to seem sincere, lips always curved into a smile that suggested harmlessness.
But I’d lived long enough to know that harmless appearances were often the most dangerous.
“I asked you a question,” Fiora said lightly. “You said something wasn’t real.”
Did I?
My throat felt tight. I tried to remember what I’d said out loud and what had only echoed inside my head. The line between the two felt dangerously thin.
“I didn’t mean anything,” I replied carefully.
She studied me for a moment longer than necessary, then laughed it off. “You’ve been acting strange since you woke up. Are you nervous about today?”
Nervous.
If only she knew.
In the original story, Fiora had been drawn to Vespera for one reason alone: power.
The Crowe family was ancient—one of the oldest noble bloodlines in this world. Their name carried weight, fear, and prestige. For generations, they had produced powerful supers—elemental wielders whose abilities shaped wars and altered history.
They were not to be crossed.
They were among the Top Five Families, and everyone knew it.
That kind of influence attracted people like moths to flame. Fake smiles. Feigned loyalty. Opportunists who mistook proximity for protection.
Vespera had believed Fiora was different.
She hadn’t been raised to doubt kindness. She had been sheltered—kept behind gilded walls, guarded by servants and expectations. She’d never learned the most important lesson of all:
That people stayed only as long as you were useful to them.
I knew better.
I’d learned early—learned when my parents never came back. Learned in cold rooms and colder nights. Learned that even blood could abandon you without remorse.
Vespera’s life, when I looked closely, had been just as lonely as mine.
Her parents had been distant figures. Powerful, respected—but absent. Her mother had dismissed emotional bonds as unnecessary, leaving Vespera’s upbringing to servants. Affection is for normals, she’d said once in the book. As if care itself were a weakness.
Her father had been no better. Silent. Observant. Always watching, never intervening.
And her brothers?
The elder one had been overshadowed by the family legacy, his single elemental ability considered a disappointment. The younger one—spoiled, indulged, adored—had grown into an entitled shadow of a person.
In the novel, he had admired Amara Hart openly.
He had also supported his sister’s execution.
The memory made something twist in my chest.
What kind of family watched their daughter die and called it justice?
If I was truly in Vespera’s body now… did that mean I was meant to inherit everything she’d lost?
The thought made my breathing hitch.
No.
No, no, no.
I had not survived years of hunger, isolation, and quiet despair just to die again—especially not according to someone else’s script.
“Sera,” Fiora said again, her tone sharpening slightly. “You should get ready. We’re already running late.”
Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We all know you’re treated like royalty at school, but some of us need to arrive early to make a good impression.”
There it was.
The resentment.
She laughed as if it were a joke, but the bitterness underneath was unmistakable.
Vespera Crowe was admired. Feared. Envied.
Not just because of her name—but because of her power.
In this world, supers were born with elemental affinities. Fire. Water. Earth. Wind. Most people were fortunate to wield even one.
Some never awakened any power at all.
But a rare few—so rare they were spoken of in whispers—were born with more than one element.
Vespera was one of them.
Fire and earth.
A volatile combination.
Fire was destruction, rage, and passion. Earth was stability, endurance, and dominance. Together, they made her terrifying.
The novel had described it as unnatural. Dangerous. Unbalanced.
I remembered thinking it was fitting. That the world itself had decided she was meant to be feared.
Fiora, by comparison, was a wind handler. Useful, but unexceptional. Agile, but fragile. Quick enough to survive—but never enough to dominate.
I could see now why she smiled the way she did when she spoke to Vespera. Why she stayed close but never too close. Why she watched Amara with growing interest as the story progressed.
She’d known where the wind was blowing long before anyone else.
I turned away without answering her, pretending to focus on the wardrobe as my mind raced.
“Young miss,” a soft voice said gently, breaking the tension. “Please begin preparing. Your parents will not be pleased if you are late on such an important day.”
I looked toward the speaker.
Marian.
The recognition hit immediately.
She stood a little apart from Fiora, hands folded neatly in front of her. Her clothes were simple, her posture respectful—but her eyes held genuine concern.
Marian had been Vespera’s caretaker since childhood. A non-super in a world that valued power above all else. Considered lesser. Replaceable.
And yet, she had been the only one who truly loved Vespera.
In the novel, when Vespera was condemned, Marian had begged. Cried. Thrown herself at the feet of people who didn’t even look at her.
After the execution, she had nearly ended her own life.
The weight of that knowledge pressed heavily against my chest.
“I’ll get ready,” I said quietly.
Marian smiled, relieved. Fiora let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like impatience.
As they turned to leave, I caught Marian’s eye. For just a second, something unspoken passed between us.
Concern. Relief. Affection.
It unsettled me more than Fiora’s false friendliness ever could.
Once I was alone, the room felt too large. Too quiet.
I moved toward the mirror again, my steps slow, deliberate. The girl staring back at me still looked unreal—too beautiful, too composed, too dangerous.
Vespera Crowe.
The villainess.
The girl who died.
“I won’t be you,” I whispered to my reflection. “I won’t follow your path.”
The mirror didn’t answer.
But somewhere deep inside, fear curled tightly around my resolve.
Because stories had a way of resisting change.
And I had a terrible feeling this one would not let me go easily.
Still, I straightened my shoulders.
I would avoid Amara Hart.
I would keep my distance.
I would stay quiet. Invisible.
I would survive.
I didn’t fight my way through one life just to lose another.
Not here.
Not now.
- Writer
