THE COPPER TASTE OF FATE
380 Words
The last thing Lyra Thorne felt was the bite of cold steel and the even colder realization that her life had been a lie. As the poison from Julian’s blade clouded her vision, she saw her sister, Elara, leaning over her, eyes dancing with a cruel, triumphant light.
"Don't worry, sister," Elara had whispered, her voice a silk ribbon strangling Lyra’s last breath. "I’ll take excellent care of your crown. And your husband."
Then, darkness. A vast, echoing silence where time felt like water.
Gasp.
Lyra’s eyes snapped open. She wasn't lying on the freezing stone of the palace dungeons. She was sitting upright in a plush, velvet-backed chair. The air didn't smell of damp earth and blood; it smelled of expensive jasmine and beeswax.
"My Lady? You’ve gone quite still. Is the corset too tight?"
Lyra’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. she looked into the vanity mirror. A younger, unscarred version of herself stared back. Her skin was luminous, her hair pinned up with pearls. There were no dark circles under her eyes from years of psychological warfare.
She looked down at her hands. They were trembling, but they were whole.
"The date," Lyra rasped, her voice sounding foreign to her ears. "Mina, what is the date?"
The maid blinked, confused. "Why, it’s the fourteenth of Mid-Summer, My Lady. The night of your engagement banquet. Are you feeling quite well?"
The fourteenth. Three years ago. The very night she had pledged her soul to a monster.
A wave of nausea hit her, followed by a searing, white-hot rage. Fate had given her a second chance, or perhaps she was in hell, forced to relive her greatest mistake. Either way, she would not be the lamb tonight.
"I’m fine, Mina," Lyra said, her voice stabilizing into something sharper, like a whetted stone. "But we’re changing the dress. Bring me the crimson silk. The one Julian said was 'too bold' for a future princess."
"But My Lady, the Prince prefers you in white—"
"The Prince," Lyra said, standing up and catching her own gaze in the glass, "is about to learn that I am no longer interested in what he prefers."
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