Chapter 2
In that instant, her head began to spin violently.
Poison. Her precious father had given her poison.
Why? Why would he do such a thing?
And thenâthe name he had spoken.
âMe? Iâm Aila?â
Roderick and Opheliaâs only daughter. The child they had lost more than a decade ago. That Aila wasâŠ
She wasâŠ
âWho would doubt youâre Roderickâs daughter? Youâre just as stupid. You take after your father, after all. Every time I looked at you, I was disgustedâthose blue eyes, the same as his. Your hair, like my Opheliaâs, was tolerable, at least.â
Byronâs mouth spewed out unbelievable words.
She had trusted him her whole life. She had lived only for her father. She had even killed for him.
And nowâhe wasnât her father at all.
The man she had killed was her real father.
She wanted to grab Roderick and ask if Byronâs words were true, but the dead donât answer.
âAila, Aila. Thank you. Thanks to you, my revenge is complete. I kidnapped you, raised you as my daughter, and made you kill your own father with your own hands. That was my revenge against him.â
It was impossible to accept, but if Byronâs words werenât true, why else would she be dying like this?
She coughed hard, and another mouthful of blood burst up her throat.
Her chest burned with rage and grief. She was spitting blood because of the poison, yesâbut even without it, her heart would have been tearing itself apart.
âThink of it as my last kindnessâletting you die the same day as your father. Donât worry about your mother, either. My Ophelia will be happy at my side.â
His mocking voice rang in her ears. She tried desperately to remain standing, but her legs gave way.
Aila Heiling Weishafen collapsed beside her father Roderick.
It was pitiful.
Worse than death itself was the torment of realizing she had been deceived her entire life. She was furious, resentful.
That sneering man was a devil. No one but a devil could do such things.
Even in death, she swore she would never forgive him. Aila vowed she would remain as a vengeful spirit if she had to, cursing him again and again.
The price of deceiving and using her would be his life.
She made that vow as her last breath left her.
âAila!â
A figure ran toward her, calling her name. Her blurred vision made it hard to tell who it wasâbut soon she knew.
Mother.
The mother she had longed for her whole life without ever seeing. Ophelia.
The last thing she saw was those gentle violet eyes brimming with tears. And then Ailaâs breath stopped.
Aila Heiling Weishafen had died.
There was no mistake.
She had been deceived by the man she trusted most, forced to kill her true father with her own hands. And when she had served her purpose, that man poisoned her.
The agony still lingered in her memoryâthe searing pain in her throat, the feeling of every vein in her body tearing apart.
And yetâŠ
Why was she alive? Why was she breathing?
Not only thatâshe felt no pain at all. The venom that had stolen her life should have left her with nothing. How could she be alive, whole, without a single aftereffect?
Gasping for breath, she bolted upright. It felt like waking from a nightmare.
But it wasnât a dream. She wished it were, but the memories were far too vivid.
Roderickâs warm eyes, never once resenting her even as she struck him down. Byronâs scornful gaze as she lay dying.
And Opheliaâs tear-stained face at the very end.
How could such memories be a dream?
She steadied her breath and looked around.
Ancient stone walls mottled with moss. Sparse furniture.
What is this?
Where was she? Why wasnât she dead? And why was she alone in this unfamiliar place?
Noâwas it really unfamiliar? Somehow, the scenery tugged at her memory. She had seen places like this countless times, when she was a child wandering with Byron, that devilâŠ
At that momentâ
âYouâre awake, milady.â
The old wooden door opened, and a familiar face appeared. Her maid, Laura.
Laura had cared for her since childhood, traveling with Byron, and when Aila entered the dukeâs household as a lady, Laura had followed in disguise, serving at her side.
Though now, Aila realized, Lauraâs role had been more as a watcher than a servant.
âHurry and wash up. You need to do your morning training before dining with the master.â
Laura spoke curtly, setting a basin of water on the bedside table with a sharp thunk.
Aila stared at her, struck by a strange realization.
Laura looked youngerâcloser to her late teens than her twenties. And her words⊠morning training?
Aila had trained her whole short lifeâfor Byronâs revenge.
Rising at dawn to build her stamina, learning to wield daggers, practicing archery until she could strike tiny targets from afar.
She had trained on lifelike mannequins to learn where to cut for a swift kill, and studied the use of poisons.
But that had all been before her sixteenth year, before she entered the dukeâs household. After that, Laura had never once woken her for training.
Though she had secretly exercised in her room, fearful of letting her body weaken, it had been her own decision.
âWhy are you staring? Wash up and change quickly,â Laura snapped, then left the room as if she were the mistress instead.
Left alone, Aila thought blankly as she watched her maidâs retreating back.
It was as though she had gone back in time.
Impossible. SurelyâŠ
She looked down at her hands. They were plump, small, like a childâs. Her arms and legs were short, too.
There was no mirror, so she leaned over the washbasin. Reflected in the water was a young girlâs faceâbarely twelve or thirteen.
She had been eighteenâon the eve of her birthdayâwhen she drank Byronâs poisoned wine and died.
That night had been meant to be the day of vengeance.
The next dayâs banquet was a major event for the Weishafen dukedom. It was to celebrate their long-lost daughter Ailaâs eighteenth birthday, and to announce her as the official heir.
The household had been bustling with laborers brought in for the preparations, and gift-bearers streaming in from all over the Pelles Empire.
Despite heightened security, gaps had openedâand Byron had struck.
But the face in the water wasnât that of a young woman about to come of age. It was a childâs face.
Aila stared for a long time, dazed.
âHave I⊠gone back?â
Had she truly returned to her childhood?
She knew it was impossible. Time cannot be reversedâthat is the law of nature. But everything pointed to it.
Laura, treating her as though nothing had happened. Her childish face and body. All things that could only be if time had turned back.
She didnât know how or why, but this was a gift from the heavens. A chance to punish the man who had deceived, used, and discarded her.
AndâŠ
Mother. Father.
For two short years, they had loved her more warmly than anyone ever had. This was her chance to see them again.
Their affection had shaken even her, who had lived solely for Byronâs revenge.
At first, she had mocked them. The dukeâs family, giving their whole hearts to her, unaware she had come to assassinate Roderick.
But over time, guilt gnawed at her. She began to wonder if Roderick was truly an evil man who deserved to die.
And every time, Laura had whispered in her ear, like a spell: âDonât forget what that bastard did to the master.â
But now she saw the truth.
The foolish one had been her. She had failed to recognize her own parents even when they were before her eyes, and in the end, deceived by a devil, she had killed her own father.
Tears fell into the basin, rippling the reflection.
How had she not seen it?
Now, staring at her own face, she could see it clearly. She could not possibly be anyone but Roderick and Opheliaâs daughter.
Her sharp eyes and proud nose mirrored Roderickâs exactly, along with the sea-blue eyes that seemed cool but held warmth within.
Her face shape, her small lips, her silvery hair that gleamed like melted silverâall of it was Opheliaâs.
FatherâŠ
She remembered his gaze, warm to the very end, even as he died by her hands.
How could she have killed such a man?
She looked at her hands. Still the hands of a child, unstained by Roderickâs blood. But she did not intend to keep them clean.
The only blood these hands will bear from now on⊠will be that devilâs.
