Chapter 3 – Sprout

Ariana was wandering through the darkness.

A cold, suffocating void.

The air itself felt heavy, pressing down on her as she forced one trembling step after another. How long had she been walking like that before she finally saw it?

The light in the distance.

Was that what she had been searching for all along in this endless dark?

The moment she reached out toward the light…

“Lady Ariana, it’s time to wake up now.”

A gentle, soothing voice called to her.

A voice she had heard so many mornings before, rousing her from sleep.

“Rosa?”

The darkness melted away, revealing a woman with neatly pinned auburn hair standing beside her.

A smile lingered at the corners of her eyes. It was Rosa, the maid who had once cared for Ariana in the past.

“Why are you here?”

Her sharp tone came out before she realized it. Startled, Rosa flinched, her hand hesitating midair as she wiped Ariana’s forehead with a damp cloth.

Avoiding the maid’s touch, Ariana barely managed to raise her limp, heavy body, and leaned against the headboard, scanning the room.

Just moments ago—no, before she wandered through into the darkness—she had been standing on the scaffold, facing a jeering crowd with her neck laid bare beneath the guillotine.

What in the world is this?

‘Molbion’s royal palace… my chambers.’

For a vision of hell, it was far too warm and cozy.

‘Though if Rosa’s here, hell wouldn’t be a surprise.’

Her gaze flicked toward Rosa, who froze in place, still clutching the wet cloth, neither daring to move nor to withdraw her hand, her expression cautious and tense. Ariana clicked her tongue.

Seeing the maid again was far from pleasant. Back when Ariana was still in the palace, Rosa had always stayed close.

She was sharp, calculating, and adept at playing the part of a loyal servant. Ariana had valued her for that, unaware she secretly had a knife aimed at her back. She was a traitor, working for the second prince.

It had bothered her that she’d never gotten the chance to punish Rosa before fleeing the palace. Perhaps someone, out of twisted kindness, had decided to grant her that opportunity. Even here in hell.

“P-Princess? What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

“A dream?”

Impossible.

What she’s had to live through is in no way a dream.

It wasn’t something that could be brushed aside with a soft, meaningless word.

A wave of anger rose up inside her, fueled by everything she’d been through, and by Rosa’s attempt to reduce it all to nothing more than a dream.

“What’s going on?”

A calm, low voice interrupted.

It belonged to Maia, her chief lady-in-waiting. The woman who had always remained by her side, expressionless and steadfast.

Her neatly cropped bob of deep violet hair swayed softly as she moved.

“Maia?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“What are you doing here?”

Ariana could accept that she and Rosa were people destined for hell, but Maia was not one of them.

So why was she standing here, before her eyes? Confusion clouded Ariana’s thoughts.

“Didn’t you ask me to wake you this morning, no matter what, because you needed to get up and move today?”

“Ah…”

“Even though your fever was dangerously high last night, I told you several times to rest completely. But you insisted you must rise, so I had Rosa attend to you as usual… Rosa, what happened?”

“I-I’m not sure either…”

Maia turned her gaze toward Rosa, who had been nervously watching the tense exchange between her and Ariana.

When their eyes met—those unreadable violet eyes—Rosa quickly averted her gaze.

It was always that way.

There was a force of spirit in Maia’s eyes, something that made very few people capable of meeting them head-on.

And as Ariana watched her, the realization began to sink in. This wasn’t hell. This was reality.

No, she couldn’t deny it any longer.

The soft fabric of her nightgown and blanket and the faint floral scent drifting through the room.

Most of all, the sharp sting in her thigh as she discreetly pinched herself beneath the covers was real.

“Maia.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“What day is it today?”

“It is the 19th of April, Year 524 of the Imperial Calendar.”

It was exactly one week before her eighteenth birthday.

‘How is this possible?’

She remembered it clearly. The days leading up to her birthday banquet, when she had fallen terribly ill with fever and spent several days bedridden.

Ariana ran a trembling hand over her face and bit down on her lip.

This was something that should not be possible.

How could a human possibly turn back time and return to the past?

And yet, she had.