Three Years Earlier
1164 Words
Aria woke with a gasp.
Her lungs burned as if she’d been drowning, and for a long, disorienting moment, she couldn’t tell if she was breathing or dreaming. The air was cool against her skin, heavy with the faint scent of lavender and oakwood — her favorite blend. One she hadn’t smelled since before… before she died.
Her heartbeat thundered In her ears as she sat up sharply.
Soft morning light spilled through lace curtains, painting golden stripes across her bed. Her gaze swept the room — the carved wardrobe with the moon insignia, the silver-trimmed mirror, the old writing desk cluttered with parchment. And by the window… a vase of wildflowers. Selena’s flowers. Fresh. Untouched by time.
Her throat closed. “No,” she whispered.
Her trembling fingers traced the sheets — whole, not torn or burned, not soaked in blood. The silver scars that had marred her wrists were gone. Her skin was smooth, unbroken, alive.
“Moon Goddess,” she breathed, voice shaking. “What is this?”
Memories crashed over her like a storm: Damon’s cold eyes as he turned away. Selena’s tears that weren’t really tears. Marcus’s mocking smirk. The sear of silver. The scent of her own blood on the stone courtyard. She remembered dying — the pain, the betrayal, the darkness that swallowed everything.
So why could she still feel her heartbeat?
She swung her legs off the bed, toes brushing the cool floorboards. Her reflection in the mirror made her flinch. She looked younger — softer, untouched by cruelty. Her eyes were brighter, her hair longer, curling down her back like liquid gold. She looked like the girl who still believed love could save her.
That girl was dead.
Aria stumbled to her dresser, her hands rifling through drawers until she found her small wooden calendar. Her gaze froze.
Lunaris 14th.
Three years ago.
Her pulse spiked. Tomorrow was the full moon — the night Damon would mark her as his mate, binding their souls forever. The night she had surrendered her will, her power, and ultimately, her life.
Her breath came in shallow bursts. “No… no, no, no.”
She backed away from the dresser as if it might burn her. The familiar walls felt like a trap closing in — beautiful, familiar, deceiving. Her mind spun. Was this a dream? A cruel illusion? Or had the Moon Goddess truly sent her back?
Her knees gave way, and she sank to the floor. “Why me?” she whispered hoarsely. “Why now?”
For a long moment, she could only sit there, trembling, clutching the edges of the rug as if it might keep her anchored. Then, faint and distant, she heard it — a whisper, soft as breath.
“Use it wisely.”
Her heart stilled. That same voice had spoken to her just before she died.
The Moon Goddess.
Aria pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heart’s wild rhythm beneath her palm. This wasn’t a punishment. It wasn’t a trick. Somehow, impossibly, she’d been given another chance.
Her second life.
A shaky laugh slipped through her lips — half disbelief, half terror. “You’re serious,” she murmured to the unseen Goddess. “You actually sent me back.”
The room offered no answer, only the rustle of wind through the open window.
Aria rose slowly, her mind clearing with every heartbeat. The panic didn’t fade, but purpose began to form beneath it — sharp and cold as steel. If this was real, if she truly had twenty-four hours before the night that destroyed her, then she had a choice.
This time, she wouldn’t let them win.
Images flashed through her mind — Selena whispering with Marcus when she thought Aria slept. The silver dust in her tea, the way Damon brushed off her fear with a smile. The look in his eyes when the blade struck.
They’d played her for a fool.
Her hands curled into fists. “Not again.”
She crossed to the window and threw it open. Morning sunlight spilled across the courtyard. The Silvermoon estate stretched below — peaceful, unaware. Warriors trained in the yard, their voices echoing faintly. The scent of fresh bread and pine filled the air. It looked exactly as it had before the nightmare began.
Somewhere out there, Damon was probably preparing for the bond ceremony. Smiling. Charming. Rehearsing his vows to the woman he’d later betray.
Aria’s lips curved into something between a smile and a snarl. “Enjoy your last day of peace, my king.
She turned away and scanned her room with new eyes. Everything here had been part of the illusion — the silks, the flowers, the soft colors Damon had chosen for her. It all screamed obedience. Submission.
No more.
Aria crossed to her closet and threw the doors open. Her dresses hung in neat rows — pale pinks, blues, whites. Soft colors that made her look delicate. She reached for a dark emerald gown instead, the one she’d once deemed “too bold.”
As she slipped it on, she met her reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back looked like a queen in the making — not Damon’s puppet, but something sharper. Wilder. Alive.
“You died once for trusting the wrong people,” she whispered to herself. “This time, they’ll be the ones who bleed.”
She brushed her fingers through her hair, tying it loosely behind her neck. Every motion steadied her breathing, bringing her focus back. She needed to think — to plan. If she was going to stop the ceremony, she’d need allies, and fast. But who could she trust?
Her mind sifted through names: Elder Rowan, who’d always watched Damon with wary eyes. The healer, Miri, who had warned her once about poisoned tea. And Kael — Damon’s second-in-command, fierce and loyal… but loyal to whom?
A flicker of doubt wavered through her, but she pushed it down. She couldn’t afford hesitation.
If she played the part of the obedient Luna one last time, she might learn what she needed — the proof of Marcus and Selena’s betrayal, the truth behind Damon’s ambition, and the reason the Goddess had brought her back.
Outside, the morning bell chimed across the grounds. The day had begun.
Aria stood straighter, drawing a slow breath. “All right,” she whispered, her voice steadier than she felt. “Let’s see what destiny has planned this time.”
Her eyes burned with resolve. Tomorrow would not mark her surrender.
It would mark her awakening.
She walked to the window once more, the wind tugging at her hair, carrying her vow into the trees.
“I won’t die quietly again.”
And for the first time in three years — or perhaps, the first time in forever — Aria smiled. Not with hope.
With purpose.
Tomorrow would not mark the rise of a Queen.
It would mark the beginning of her revenge.
- Writer
