My nostrils are pricked by the rusty odor of blood, leaving an aftertaste that will linger with me for the rest of my life.
I've been staring at this cadaver for a long time. I've lost track of time since it broke its declaration to the heavens or his betrayal.
How awful of me to remain silent. I felt nothing aside from the foreboding presence of the grim reaper, who had arrived to collect the creature's broken soul.
"Remove him. From the Plaza, display his head and remains, and inform the populace that their hero...is dead."
I coerced myself with meaningless words and resigned from my throne to tread on it because it was in my way. I take only straight pathways; whoever blocks my way, I step on them.
It grows stronger as I make quick movements to escape his body. My chest, feet, and shoulders are all pressed against one another. Additionally, I felt that something substantial was clogging my throat and lungs. It's challenging to take a big breath and swallow my sorrow.
I discreetly make my way through the corridors, my attendants' meters trailing behind me. The atmosphere remained the same. Nothing changed after he died. Perhaps it added to the situation's weight and darkness.
We're almost there when I pause to appreciate my mother's painting.
My mother, the late Empress Siofra Warlock, was the Empress of all Empresses, who stands utterly apart from the rest.
Concentrating intently on her is analogous to looking in the mirror. We resemble each other so closely that it's as though we're twins. Everything about her is faultless: from her immaculate bow cherry lips to her wonderfully acute-angled nose and jaw-dropping blue eyes. Our variances in color are what distinguish us. I am, without a doubt, her daughter.
I continued on my way, avoiding her and everyone else until I reached my bedroom and shut myself in. I dashed to my mattress and let my eyes pour out the pent emotions. Once shed, my tears convert into magnificent diamonds. As despondency crept in, I curled into a fetal position and clutched myself.
Except for me, nobody in this room is accountable. My responsibility has always been mine. There is no one else in this room capable of crying alongside me. My self-reliance is eroding. There is nowhere else for me to go. This darkness is mine to govern, explore alone, and strangle me as it fades eventually.
My hero, my most beloved, and my foe.
I am incapable of uncovering what went wrong and how it occurred because, first and foremost, my mere existence is the reason why.
None of this would have happened had I not been born, had I not been conceived.
My kin, my empire, and my people.
I put an end to their lives with my hands. I have failed them.
I am a murderer—a murderer who lives in splendor. A serial murderer whose crimes are naked, but no one has captured me; otherwise, they will face the same fate as the others. With my hands soaked in blood and the smell of it... I hope to take my life with the same hands that have taken so many others.
When I opened my eyes after melancholy had drained them, I found myself sitting on a throne above the piled-up corpses of my blood and flesh.
It appears to be the same dream. This domain will live on in perpetuity with me.
I immediately pulled my focus to the sole of my foot. I raise it slightly to avoid stepping on anyone. Despite his bloodiness, my glare grew colder as I recognized his features. He sneers at me and blames me while his eyes are open.
Who would not despise me?
His most cherished wife died in exchange for my life. As if it were an inevitable consequence of my birth.
My mother's death was all my fault. I hurled a priceless and unparalleled precious diamond at her and replaced her with me, a worthless pebble.
I buried my face in my palms as I sobbed hysterically, tears unleashing all of my rage, guilt, and regret.
This is not the life I desire. This is not the life I envisioned for myself. This is not something I intend to repeat. Is there anyone out there who can end me? It is irrelevant how. As a result, kindly... I will accept any death. I beg you.
What they expected when Princess Holy Azarese Elyzena was born was a daydream. She is the third lady descended in a patrilineal lineage; it is her fate to become the next Empress after her mother. However, when Empress Siofra never opened her eyes again after giving birth to her, that is when they knew she was another nightmare.
Princess Holy Azarese was born with sinister magics; all bring death. No one could dare touch her, afraid to meet their end. Her father despised her for taking the love of his life from him. Her brothers avoided her. Her aunts and uncles cannot even look at her. Her family abandoned her as if she was never there. She acted cutely; she tried being clumsy, she did everything to get an ounce of their affection---but they never gave her any, not even a drop.
"Father, I did not ask to be born," she sobbed pitifully in front of her father, who only glared at her with unmeasurable contempt. Since then, she became desperate until she became the person she never wanted to be.
She never asked to be born, and she never asked to be born again. She only wanted to end her suffering. So why, when she opened her eyes, was she back to the time she was born?
With the second chance given to her, will she avoid becoming the wicked Empress again, or will she drop her crown and choose which path to take?