It was supposed to be just another Wednesday.

Aria Lin stared at the glow of her phone screen, the page of her favorite fantasy novel flickering with the last few lines of Chapter 67. Her lips curved into a smile, one that ached with bittersweet fondness. Crimson Wings of the Crown was her obsession, her escape. The rich world of Elarion, the stormy-hearted heroine Lysandra Valeborne, and her tragic spiral into greatness had lit Aria’s imagination like fire.

But more than anything, Aria had hated — and loved — the villainess.

Eris Valeborne. The older sister. Regal, cruel, sharp as a blade. She was the poison in Lysandra’s life, the first and fiercest enemy in her rise. Readers reviled her for her manipulations, her arrogance, her betrayal. And yet Aria saw the cracks in her armor, the sorrow behind her smirk. She always believed there was more to Eris than the novel revealed.

If only the story gave her a second chance.

Thunder cracked outside Aria’s apartment, startling her out of her thoughts. Rain splattered across the window like a warning. She glanced at the clock. 2:11 a.m.

“I need to sleep,” she murmured. “Big day tomorrow.”

The words were hollow. There was nothing waiting for her. No job interviews, no classes, no messages from friends. Her university life had faded into a string of unfinished semesters after her father’s illness. She’d drifted ever since, a ghost in her own life, finding solace only in stories like Crimson Wings.

She set her phone on the nightstand, pulled the blanket to her chin, and closed her eyes.

And then the world shattered.

It began with a jolt, like lightning striking directly through her skull. Her body convulsed, heat flooding her veins, and she tried to scream but no sound came. The air turned viscous, heavy, until she couldn’t breathe.

This is a dream, she thought, as colors exploded behind her eyelids — gold, violet, black, crimson.

It has to be a dream—

Then silence.

---

When Aria woke, it was to the scent of roses.

Not the weak perfume of synthetic petals from cheap bath products — real roses. Sharp, living, and overwhelming. Her eyes fluttered open to find silk curtains framing a tall window, sunlight spilling through like liquid honey.

She sat up too fast, her heart thundering. The bed beneath her was enormous, blanketed in ivory and wine-red. The room was palatial — polished marble floors, towering bookshelves, gold-laced sconces. Her gaze landed on a mirror.

And her breath caught.

The girl staring back at her wasn’t Aria Lin.

She was younger, maybe sixteen. Her hair, once dark and wavy, now fell in straight silvery-blonde sheets over her shoulders. Her skin was porcelain, her eyes a clear, startling violet.

Aria knew that face.

No — not just from the novel. From every fan wiki, every page illustration, every villainess aesthetic board she’d ever browsed obsessively.

It was Eris Valeborne’s little sister.

Aria Valeborne.

A background character barely mentioned in the first half of the book, known only for her sickly constitution and tragic death just before her sister's descent into villainy.

“No way,” Aria whispered, lifting trembling fingers to her reflection. “This… this isn’t real.”

But when she pinched herself — hard — the pain bloomed sharp and undeniable. She scrambled from the bed and rushed to the window, throwing it open. A lush garden sprawled below, fountains glimmering in the morning light. Far in the distance, the white spires of the imperial city reached for the sky.

Elarion. This is Elarion. The capital. The Valeborne estate. The start of the novel…

She doubled over, her breath catching.

“I died,” she whispered. “I actually died, didn’t I?”

The last memory surfaced like a ghost: the honk of a horn, the blinding headlights, the sound of shattering glass. She hadn’t even screamed.

Now, somehow, impossibly — she was here.

---

There was a knock at the door, soft and hesitant.

“My lady?” A gentle voice called. “May I come in?”

Aria froze. Her voice—was she expected to answer with nobility? Did she need to use titles? What would Eris’s little sister even sound like?

She decided to play it safe. “Yes,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal a maid in a black and silver uniform. She looked young, no older than Aria herself, with flushed cheeks and wide blue eyes. She curtsied quickly.

“Oh! You’re awake. Thank the stars! We were so worried, Lady Aria.”

“Worried?” Aria echoed. “Why?”

“You fainted during your walk in the garden yesterday. The physician said it was your constitution again.” The maid’s expression turned gentle. “But it seems the rest helped. You look radiant today.”

Aria blinked. Right. Aria Valeborne had a fragile body and often collapsed from exhaustion. That explained the setting. The fainting. The bedrest. It also meant she could fake weakness and confusion while figuring things out.

She gave a nod. “Yes… I feel much better. Thank you.”

The maid beamed. “Shall I prepare your morning tea? Lady Eris has asked to see you when you’re ready.”

Aria’s heart jumped. Eris. The villainess herself. Her older sister now.

She swallowed. “Yes, I’ll be down shortly.”

---

The halls of the Valeborne estate were a dizzying maze of arches, velvet carpets, and portraits so lifelike they seemed to breathe. As she followed the maid, Aria kept her face composed, but her mind raced.

What did she remember about this period in the novel?

This was before Lysandra’s powers awakened. Before Eris betrayed the Crown Prince. Before the Valeborne family fell from grace. Back when everything was just beginning to rot beneath the surface.

And Aria — the original one — had died just after this point, crushed beneath a collapsing tower during a fire that broke out mysteriously during a royal banquet. Her death pushed Eris further into bitterness and cruelty.

If Aria wanted to survive, she had to change that fate.

And fast.

---

The sitting room where Eris awaited her was suffused with warmth, light streaming in through stained-glass windows. Books lay open on a table beside a tea set, untouched.

Eris stood at the window, arms crossed. Her hair gleamed like liquid obsidian, her gown dark as midnight, trimmed with silver. Her beauty was undeniable, but there was something colder than ice in her presence.

Then she turned.

Her eyes — the same violet shade as Aria’s — were piercing. Calculating. But they softened, just slightly, at the sight of her.

“You’re awake,” Eris said, and her voice was low and commanding. “I was beginning to think you'd play the invalid for the rest of the week.”

Aria felt a strange swell in her chest. Here she was. The villainess herself, standing just feet away. Not ink on a page. Not pixels on a screen. Real.

“I’m sorry to worry you,” Aria said cautiously. “I just… I’ve been feeling strange.”

Eris raised an eyebrow and walked toward her. “You always feel strange. You're made of paper and glass. It's a miracle you’ve survived this long.”

Aria flinched.

Eris sighed. “I didn’t mean that cruelly.” She gestured to a chair. “Sit. Drink something before you fall over again.”

Aria obeyed, heart pounding.

“You really do look different today,” Eris murmured, watching her closely. “Sharper. Less… doll-like.”

“I suppose nearly dying will do that to a person.”

Eris blinked. For a moment, her expression cracked — a glimmer of something like guilt. “Don’t joke about that.”

So she cares, Aria thought. She hides it, but she does care.

They drank in silence for a moment before Eris set her cup down.

“I have a question for you,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”

Aria hesitated. “Not clearly. Just the garden. Then darkness.”

“Nothing before that?”

“No…”

“Odd,” Eris muttered. “You were talking strangely before you fainted. You called yourself a ‘reader.’ You said something about... pages.”

Aria froze.

Eris leaned in. “Tell me, Aria. Do you remember who you are?”

A cold sweat broke across Aria’s back. She suspects something.

But she forced a laugh. “You’re reading too much into it. I was delirious. Probably dreaming.”

Eris didn’t look convinced. But she let it go.

For now.

---

That night, Aria lay awake in her opulent bed, staring at the ceiling carved with constellations.

She was truly in the world of Crimson Wings of the Crown. As Aria Valeborne, a girl doomed to die too early, whose only legacy was the grief she left behind.

But now… everything had changed. She had knowledge. A future unwritten. And a role to play.

She didn’t know how she’d died, or why she ended up here.

But one thing was clear:

She would not let this be the story of her end.

She would survive.

And she would find out what really lay behind Eris Valeborne’s fall.

Even if it meant changing the fate of the entire kingdom.

---

End of Chapter One

---

The next morning arrived far too quickly.

Aria had barely slept. The velvet sheets that once felt luxurious now felt suffocating. Her thoughts spun endlessly — timelines, deaths, betrayals, fire, survival. She was caught in a storm of what-ifs and half-remembered plot points from Crimson Wings of the Crown. And one fact above all weighed heavily:

She was living on borrowed time.

The fire that would kill the original Aria Valeborne would happen within the next two months — maybe sooner. Its cause was never truly revealed in the novel, but Eris had suspected foul play. If Aria wanted to live, she had to find the truth before it found her.

But first… she had to play her part.

---

“Lift your chin, my lady. Yes, like that. No — no slouching!”

Aria tried not to groan as a maid tightened her corset with what could only be described as demonic glee. Two other maids fluttered around her with brushes, hairpins, and perfume bottles like she was some ancient statue being restored.

“I can dress myself,” she had insisted earlier. “Really, I’m fine.”

But they had gasped as if she’d suggested leaping from a tower.

“Lady Aria, noble ladies must always be presented with dignity!”

“Nonsense — it’s our honor to assist!”

“Your hair would be a tragedy if left to fate!”

Aria had quickly given up.

Now, staring at her reflection, she barely recognized herself. Her long silver-blonde hair was braided with sapphire ribbons, her gown a pale lavender silk trimmed in soft blue. She looked… delicate. Fragile. Every bit the sickly noble girl everyone believed her to be.

But inside, she burned with the fire of a girl who had once lived a life with no titles and no magic — only freedom.

Aria Valeborne had been doomed to vanish.

But this Aria would not be forgotten.

---

The estate's grand dining hall was large enough to host an orchestra. Long windows let in the morning light, casting golden pools on the floor. A breakfast of fruits, pastries, and tea awaited at the head of the table.

Eris was already seated, flipping through a bound ledger with casual elegance.

“Good morning,” Aria said carefully, smoothing her dress as she sat.

Eris looked up, eyes scanning her from head to toe.

“You look like you’ve stepped out of a portrait.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Eris sipped her tea. “A rare one.”

Despite the coldness, Aria saw something strange flicker in her sister’s eyes — a kind of reluctant approval. It made her heart twist.

In the novel, Eris was never cruel to Aria outright. Distant, yes. Sharp-tongued. But there had been hints, always, that she cared. That she had simply never learned how to show it.

“I was thinking,” Aria began, spreading jam on a piece of toast. “Maybe I could spend more time outside today. In the garden.”

Eris raised an eyebrow. “You collapsed in that very garden two days ago.”

“I’ll be careful. I just… I want to feel stronger.”

That was true. If she was going to survive here, she needed more than knowledge. She needed to build strength — socially, physically, politically.

Eris studied her. “You’ve changed.”

“In a good way, I hope?”

“Time will tell.”

There was a pause.

Then Eris added, more softly, “If you do go outside, take Lady Maren with you.”

“The maid?”

“She’s more than a maid. She trained under House Ferrine’s court watchers. Her eyes miss little.”

Aria blinked. “Wait… you’re giving me a bodyguard?”

“A chaperone,” Eris corrected. “And yes. If you must play heroine, at least do it under protection.”

It was the closest thing to affection Eris had ever shown.

Aria’s throat tightened. “Thank you, Eris.”

Eris froze for just a moment, as if the sound of her name spoken so gently had caught her off guard.

Then she returned to her book without another word.

---

The gardens were breathtaking.

Marble statues of ancient kings stood amid rose-covered trellises, their stony eyes watching over still ponds. Vines of starpetal and moonlace curled along white stone benches. Aria walked slowly along the winding paths, feeling the wind against her cheeks.

Lady Maren trailed at a respectful distance, her eyes flicking between hedges and windows.

Aria remembered her now — mentioned once in the novel. A quiet girl who vanished from the narrative after Aria’s death.

Maren might be a valuable ally, Aria thought.

As she reached the orchard, a soft rustling made her pause.

A young boy darted out from behind a tree, tripped, and fell flat on his face.

Aria gasped. “Are you alright?”

The boy scrambled up, cheeks red. He couldn’t have been more than ten. Freckles dotted his nose, and his hair was a mess of copper curls. He stared at her with wide eyes.

“I—uh—I’m sorry, my lady!”

“It’s fine!” Aria rushed to help him up. “You’re not hurt?”

“No, my lady,” he mumbled, dusting his knees. “I was just— I mean, I was running errands for the kitchen, and—uh—berries. I was picking berries.”

Aria tilted her head. “You’re a servant here?”

He nodded furiously. “Apprentice, really. My name’s Kieran.”

Kieran. The name tugged at her memory. Was he in the book? A minor character?

“Nice to meet you, Kieran,” Aria said kindly. “I won’t tell the head maid you were slacking, if you promise to show me where the sweetest berries grow.”

His eyes lit up. “You’re not like the other nobles.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m not.”

---

They wandered into the orchard, Kieran pointing out the ripest bushes. Maren watched quietly nearby, letting them talk.

As Aria bent to pick a bright red fruit, she asked, “Kieran… have you ever heard of the fire that destroyed the east wing years ago?”

He froze. “You mean… the one at the banquet?”

“Yes.”

“My mother used to work here. She said it wasn’t natural. That something dark was brewing under the surface.” His voice dropped. “But no one talks about it now. Anyone who does… they vanish.”

A chill ran down Aria’s spine.

So it had been no accident. And the truth had been buried.

“Do you know who was blamed?”

Kieran hesitated. “A servant. A girl. They said she knocked over a lamp. But Mother said it wasn’t her. She swore it was—”

He stopped. Maren had moved closer, eyes narrowed.

“Enough, boy,” she said gently but firmly. “You’ve said too much.”

Kieran’s face paled. “I’m sorry. I—”

“You’re not in trouble,” Aria said quickly. “Thank you, Kieran. Truly.”

He gave a clumsy bow and hurried away.

---

Later, as the sun began to sink, Aria sat beneath a tree, lost in thought.

Someone had covered up the fire’s true cause. Someone powerful enough to silence witnesses, erase records, and pin the blame on a scapegoat. And that someone had killed her in the process.

In the novel, Eris had never investigated the fire. She had been too consumed by rage and grief. But maybe — just maybe — Aria could.

“I won’t let myself die the same way again,” she whispered.

“Good,” Maren said from behind her. “Because it seems your enemies are already stirring.”

Aria turned. “You believe me, then?”

Maren nodded. “I was there, my lady. The night of the fire. I saw things I shouldn’t have. I stayed quiet. But now… I think perhaps the gods gave you a second chance for a reason.”

Aria stood. “Then help me. Help me find out who started it. Help me survive.”

“I will,” Maren said. “But know this — if you walk this path, you will make enemies. Dangerous ones.”

“I know,” Aria said, her eyes hardening. “Let them come.”

---

That evening, as the stars rose over Elarion, Aria penned her first letter.

It was addressed to Sir Lorian Caelum, a minor noble who had been Eris’s admirer before turning against her. In the novel, he had secretly investigated the fire — and vanished without a trace.

This time, she would reach him first.

---

Somewhere beyond the Valeborne estate, in a high tower of the imperial palace, a black-cloaked figure stood before a mirror of obsidian. Within its surface, images shimmered — flashes of the garden, the orchard, a silver-haired girl laughing with a servant boy.

“She lives,” the figure murmured. “The little sister. Impossible.”

A red ring pulsed on their hand. “She should have died with the fire.”

A pause.

“Then it must burn again.”

---

End of Chapter Two

---

---

Chapter Three: Whispers and Invitations

The letter Aria had sent to Sir Lorian Caelum burned in her mind like a lit fuse.

She had kept it vague — not a full confession, but enough to spark his curiosity. She signed it not as Aria Valeborne, but as a friend of the fallen. It was a gamble, but she couldn’t afford to wait. Every day brought her closer to the banquet. Closer to the fire.

If the story played out like the novel, she had less than six weeks left.

---

Eris summoned her two days later.

It was mid-morning, and the sun poured through the eastern window of the private receiving room like melted gold. The air was thick with the scent of ink and parchment — Eris had been writing letters, her script swift and angular.

“You’ve been busy,” Aria said, trying to sound casual.

Eris didn’t look up. “Nobility doesn’t take holidays. Especially not with the Academy’s Season approaching.”

That made Aria pause. The Academy?

“Wait. Isn’t that where the heir candidates go for selection trials?”

Eris finally looked at her, suspicion flickering behind her lashes. “Yes. You remember that now?”

Aria flushed. Her slip was too fast. “I read about it in one of Father’s books, I think. It just came back to me.”

Eris said nothing for a long moment. Then she slid a letter across the table.

“An invitation arrived this morning. From the palace.”

Aria took it carefully. The seal was unmistakable — the Crown’s crest, a phoenix wreathed in thorns. She broke it open.

To Lady Aria Valeborne,

At the pleasure of Her Majesty, you are cordially invited to the Vernal Gala at the Imperial Palace…

Her heart skipped. The banquet. It’s happening sooner than in the book. Three weeks from today.

Her fingers clenched around the letter.

“Why would they invite me?” she asked aloud.

“Because you’re a Valeborne,” Eris replied sharply. “And because they’re watching me.”

Aria looked up. “You?”

Eris’s voice dropped. “The Court watches every potential threat. Even shadows. They think I’m playing some dangerous game with the Council. They want to see if I’ll crack.”

In the novel, Eris did crack — under the weight of court pressure, heartbreak, betrayal. But now that Aria was here… maybe things could be different.

“You’ll attend?” Aria asked softly.

“I must. And so must you.”

Aria swallowed. “That’s where the fire happens, isn’t it?”

Eris flinched. It was so small most would have missed it, but Aria saw it — the faint tightening of her jaw, the way her eyes turned glassy for just a heartbeat.

“Yes,” Eris said. “That’s where I lost you.”

Aria hesitated. “Do you think it was really an accident?”

Eris’s gaze sharpened. “I used to. I don’t anymore.”

Their eyes met — and in that shared silence, a fragile thread began to stretch between them. Not quite trust, but something close.

“I want to help,” Aria said quietly.

Eris blinked. “You’ve never said that before.”

“Well, I’m not who I was before.”

“Clearly.”

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Maren brought her books on court etiquette and historical feuds, and Aria read them with new eyes — looking for patterns, secrets, hidden enemies. Kieran snuck in sweets from the kitchen. Even the estate felt subtly different now, like the air itself was waiting for something to ignite.

That night, Aria had another visitor.

She had just blown out her bedside candle when the knock came. Three soft taps. She sat up, heart thudding.

“Maren?” she whispered.

The door opened slightly, and to her surprise, Eris stepped in.

She wasn’t wearing her usual gowns, just a black night robe and her hair unbound over her shoulders. In the moonlight, she looked younger. Sadder.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Eris said. “But I wanted to ask you something. And I didn’t want prying ears.”

Aria nodded, pulling the blanket around her. “What is it?”

Eris closed the door and leaned against the edge of the bedframe.

“When you woke up,” she said, “you looked at me like you’d never seen me before. You flinched when I touched your hand.”

Aria bit her lip.

“I thought I lost my sister,” Eris continued. “But when you opened your eyes… I wasn’t sure I got her back. So tell me — what changed?”

Aria stared at her sister’s face. So composed. So guarded. And yet so hollow.

If she told the truth, she would sound mad. But if she lied — Eris might never trust her.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Aria whispered. “But I remember things differently now. I see everything like it’s a story I’m not supposed to be in. Like someone gave me a second chance I don’t deserve.”

She didn’t say the word “reincarnation.” She didn’t need to. Eris’s eyes searched hers.

Finally, Eris said, “You’re not the only one who feels like a shadow in their own skin.”

Then she rose, and slipped out before Aria could answer.

---

The next morning brought more than sunlight. It brought a reply.

Maren handed her the envelope with a strange look. “It was slipped under the gates at dawn.”

Aria opened it with trembling hands.

To the friend of the fallen:

If you seek the truth, meet me at the Archives of Thorns. Midnight, three nights hence. Come alone.

— L. Caelum

Aria pressed the letter to her chest. He answered. He’s alive. And he’s willing to talk.

She wasn’t alone.

---

That night, the dream came.

She stood in the burning banquet hall. Flames licked the velvet curtains, the chandeliers melted like wax. Screams echoed off marble walls. Smoke filled her lungs.

And at the center of it all stood a figure in red.

Cloaked. Masked. Their eyes glowed like embers.

“You weren’t supposed to live,” the figure hissed.

Aria tried to run, but her limbs wouldn’t move.

“You’ve already taken her place. Will you take her death as well?”

Then fire consumed her.

---

She woke gasping.

The window was open. Wind stirred her curtains.

And on the sill lay a single black rose.

---

End of Chapter Three

---

I apologize,

I accidentally uploaded Chapter three from another book of mine. I deleted it, and sorry for the inconvenience.

02/07/25