A SECOND CHANCE
1167 Words
I woke up with a sharp gasp, my body jerking upright.
The first thing I noticed was the dim glow of countless candles surrounding me, their golden flames flickering against the dark walls of my small room. The scent of melted wax and incense filled the air, thick and suffocating.
I blinked in confusion, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Was this what being dead felt like?
My fingers curled around the soft white fabric draped over my body. I was dressed in a simple elegant white dress. The dress my stepmother and I had picked for my funeral.
I ran a shaky hand through my hair, trying to piece together what had happened. I had kissed a stranger. I had felt my life slipping away. Then… nothing. Just darkness.
Was I dead? What was going on?
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, but in my haste, my foot caught on the leg of a candle stand.
It toppled over with a loud crash.
Hot wax spilled onto my bare leg.
I braced myself for the sharp sting of pain but nothing happened.
I stared at the molten wax as it slid down my skin, completely unfazed. Not even a bruise or scar to show something had happened there.
Frowning, I reached for a nearby candle and hesitantly hovered my palm over the dancing flame. The fire licked at my skin, wrapping around my fingers like a living thing.
Still, there was no pain.
I pulled my hand back sharply, my breathing unsteady. This was wrong. I should have been screaming, writhing in agony. Instead, I felt nothing.
This must be what death felt like.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
I had underestimated how peaceful death actually was.
I shook the eerie feeling off and pushed myself off the bed. There were bigger things to worry about.
The moment I stepped out of my room, my breath caught in my throat.
The entire house had been draped in black silk and white roses had replaced the colorful flowers in the vases.
Candles lined the walls, their flames casting eerie shadows that stretched and twisted like scary beings.
Heavy, suffocating silence filled the air.
They were preparing for my funeral.
My stomach twisted, nausea creeping up my throat.
I was definitely dead.
Even in death, I had no peace. I had to be forced to watch my own funeral.
I moved through the dimly lit corridors, the marble floors cold against my bare feet. I followed the soft murmurs of voices until I reached the main hall.
There, my stepmother stood in a mourning dress, directing the maids as they arranged more white roses and funeral garlands.
“Make sure the flowers are fresh. This is an important event,” she instructed sharply. “I don’t want a single thing out of place.”
A heavy weight settled in my chest.
She spoke of my funeral like it was one of her random parties.
I took a shaky breath and stepped into the large hall.
I watched silently from a corner until a loud scream tore from one of the maids.
She had turned, her eyes locking onto me.
Her face drained of all color and she dropped the large vase in her hands.
She staggered back, her hands trembling violently as she screamed.
“Ghost!! ghost!!!”
She screamed wildly.
Panic erupted through the hall.
The maids scattered like frightened birds, their shrieks echoing through the house.
My stepmother spun around, eyes wide. Her gaze landed on me and for the first time in my life, I saw pure terror on her face.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Then, with a strangled gasp, she fell to the ground unconscious.
A sharp, cold voice cut through the chaos.
“What is the noise about?”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall.
I turned just as my father stormed into the room, his guards following closely behind him, their swords drawn.
As soon as his eyes landed on me,his entire body went still.
Silence stretched between us.
I held my breath.
I waited for him to say something. To demand an explanation. To acknowledge that his only daughter, the one he had prepared to bury was standing right in front of him.
Instead, his face twisted into something unreadable.
“Someone, check her immediately,” he ordered.
The guards and maids hesitated.
“Now!” His voice cracked like a whip.
After several minutesof hesitation, two maids stepped forward, their bodies trembling violently as they inched closer to me.
They surrounded me, their hands hovering over my skin, their lips muttering prayers and incantations.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding, as they pressed their fingers against my pulse, checked my temperature, examined every inch of me.
"My lord, Mariella is alive." One of the maids shouted in excitement
"What do you mean?" Father snarled.
“The curse…” the maid whispered. “It must have been broken.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
My father’s jaw clenched. “ that is impossible.”
“It’s the truth, Your Grace.” The maid swallowed hard. “She is no longer cursed. Whatever had plagued her for years, it has vanished.”
Something flickered in my father’s expression. Relief? Fear? I couldn’t tell because he wasted no time masking it behind his usual cold expression.
“How is this even possible?” he demanded.
The maid hesitated. “There is only one explanation...”
Before she could finish her statement , the doors burst open.
A rush of cold air slammed into the room, blowing out half the candles.
Heavily armored soldiers flooded the hall, their black cloaks billowing behind them. Their swords gleamed under the flickering candle light.
The air felt heavy with the weight of their presence.
I barely had time to react before chaos erupted.
They moved swiftly, smashing vases, knocking over furniture, tearing down the black drapes. The maids shrieked and scrambled for safety.
A soldier grabbed my stepmother’s unconscious body and tossed her aside like a rag doll.
I tried to run, but strong hands seized me, and pulled me back.
"Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing wildly as I kicked and scratched the soldiers.
My father stepped forward, rage flashing in his eyes. "Who dares..."
Before he could finish, the largest of the soldiers removed his helmet.
A thick scar ran across his face, his golden eyes sharp and merciless.
"Alfred," my father called to him
"We’re under orders, my lord," he said, his voice icy like steel.
"Orders from who?" my father spat.
The soldier lowered his voice. "From the Alpha."
My blood ran cold.
The Alpha?
What had we done to make him send people to destroy our home?
My heart pounded violently against my ribs as the soldier turned to me, his grip tightening.
"You," he said, his voice low and filled with cruel amusement.
"You are in so much trouble."
- Writer
