The world was quiet.

Too quiet.

No screams. No fire. No scent of ash lingering in the air. Just… stillness. Peaceful, unnerving stillness.

Mari’s eyes remained closed, but her senses began to awaken. The softness of a velvet quilt beneath her fingers. The warmth of sunlight gently brushing her cheek. The faint scent of lavender and honey lingering in the air.

It didn’t feel like death.

But it didn’t feel like life either.

Her lashes fluttered open slowly.

Above her, a silk canopy stretched in elegant folds, dyed pale rose. Soft curtains swayed at the window, filtering the morning sunlight into a golden glow. A plush rabbit doll rested beside her pillow.

This room…

Her heart began to race.

Mari sat up abruptly, staring down at her small hands—tiny, delicate, the hands of a child. She scrambled from the bed and ran to the standing mirror in the corner of the room. What stared back was not the broken, weary woman she had become—but a six-year-old girl, wide-eyed and trembling, with sleep-mussed hair and flushed cheeks.

She lifted a hand to her face.

“I’m… back,” she breathed. “Again.”

And then the tears came—sudden, hot, and soundless at first. Her knees gave out and she fell to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

Not again.

Please, not again.

She had died.

She remembered it—clearly. The flames. The sword through her chest. The last scream she couldn’t get out. The desperate wish she'd made in her final moment: "If I have one more chance, I’ll save them… I’ll save them all."

And now… here she was.

Alive.

Six years old.

The beginning had come again.

Before she could pull herself together, the door to her room creaked open, and a cheerful voice rang out.

“Good morning, sleepyhead! Father’s been waiting for you at breakfast!”

Her breath caught.

That voice.

She turned slowly.

Her older brother stood there, grinning, his hands on his hips like he always used to. He looked exactly the same. Messy brown hair, sun-kissed skin, those lively eyes that always teased her.

Alive.

Real.

For a moment, Mari could only stare, as if afraid he would disappear if she blinked.

Then she ran.

She flung herself at him with a force that nearly knocked them both over. Her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her face pressed into his shirt.

He froze. “Whoa! Mari? What’s with the attack hug?”

“I missed you,” she whispered, barely audible through the tears that started falling again. “I missed you so much…”

She didn’t care if it made sense. She didn’t care if he didn’t understand. Her heart ached with love and regret, and the weight of too many lifetimes crushed her tiny chest.

Her brother blinked in surprise, then slowly knelt and hugged her back.

“You had a nightmare again, didn’t you?” he murmured, rubbing her back gently. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

He thought it was just a dream.

But Mari knew better.

This wasn’t the first time she had woken up in this moment. She had lived this life before—again and again. At first, she had embraced it. A second chance. A fairy tale rebirth inside her favorite romance novel. No longer the orphaned, unloved girl of her past life, but the noble daughter of a powerful duke. With a doting father. A protective brother. A luxurious life. A future marriage to the handsome Crown Prince. It had seemed perfect.

She had smiled. Danced. Played her part.

Until the story took everything.

Her father—assassinated. Her brother—murdered. The villain she thought was heartless had burned their lands. And through it all, she had followed the plot, blindly chasing a “happy ending” that led her to the throne… alone.

She became the Empress.

And she wept in silence.

Even death had not freed her. Again and again, she had returned to this point—six years old, with the chance to change everything.

And every time… she had failed.

She thought she could alter the events. Warn them. Protect them. Betray the prince. Befriend the villain. Escape the plot.

But nothing ever worked.

She always lost them.

Always.

Mari pulled away slowly from her brother’s arms, her tears drying on her cheeks.

“Tell Father I’ll be down soon,” she whispered.

Her brother smiled and ruffled her hair. “Alright. Don’t take too long or he’ll come marching up here in his nightclothes.”

He left with a laugh, closing the door behind him.

Mari turned toward the window.

The sun was rising. The sky was soft and blue.

It looked the same.

But she was not.

Not anymore.

She had tried to follow the story. She had tried to rewrite the ending.

Now, all that was left… was to break it.