The palace lay shrouded in stillness that night, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Adira sat on the stone bench in the inner courtyard, moonlight spilling over her delicate frame. Her eyes were distant, hollow. She had barely eaten since arriving. Every corner of this palace reminded her she didn’t belong—not in the silks, not in the golden hallways, not even in her own body. Her heart longed for her mother, for freedom, for a life where she could have chosen for herself.
Footsteps echoed across the corridor. Quick. Sharp. Familiar.
Mayuka appeared in the shadows, dressed not in royal grace, but in wrath. Her anklets were silent tonight, her presence cloaked in purpose. There was no warning, no cruelty in her expression—only the calm of a decision already made.
“I told you not to come here,” Mayuka said softly, her voice like venom wrapped in silk. “But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
Adira stood slowly, fear blooming in her chest. “Sister… please—”
“You’re not my sister,” Mayuka hissed. “You’re a stain. A mistake Father refused to erase.”
Before Adira could speak again, Mayuka stepped forward with a single, fluid motion—and pushed.
Adira’s body fell into the marble pond behind her, her head striking the edge with a sickening crack. No scream, no struggle—just silence, followed by the soft ripple of water.
Above the palace, the sky roared.
In another world—another time—Saanvi’s blood pooled beneath her as thunder split the heavens. The cab lay overturned in the floodwaters. Her eyes fluttered weakly as the glow of streetlamps blurred through the downpour. Her phone buzzed in the distance, lights flickering, then dying.
A blinding streak of lightning split the sky—and struck the road inches from her.
In that second, the storm swallowed her whole.
When Saanvi next opened her eyes, everything was wrong.
The scent of jasmine and old incense filled her lungs. Her body ached. Her limbs felt lighter, smaller. She blinked up at a painted ceiling adorned with ancient lotus murals. Her fingers curled instinctively over silk sheets.
“What…?” she whispered hoarsely, trying to sit up. Her head throbbed.
The door creaked open. A maid in traditional attire rushed in and gasped. “My lady! You’re awake! We thought…”
Saanvi froze. “My lady?”
She scrambled to the mirror across the room, nearly stumbling over her lehenga. Her reflection stared back—not her own, but a girl with tear-shaped eyes, soft features, and braided hair threaded with pearls.
A voice screamed inside her mind.
This isn’t me.
But the world around her refused to shift back. Somewhere, deep within, memories that were not hers stirred—of a woman named Adira, of fear, of sorrow, of drowning silence.
And yet… Saanvi was alive.
Trapped in a body that wasn’t hers. In a time she didn’t know. In a palace that whispered of danger.
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