Chapter 1: The Withered Blossom

The Valentine mansion burned like a funeral pyre, its once pristine walls crumbling into cinders.

The air was suffocating, smoke curled through the corridors like a living thing, wrapping around her throat, and filling her lungs with bitter ash. The crackle of flames devouring wood and silk echoed through the halls, a cruel symphony of destruction.

Rosellene staggered forward, her trembling hands gripping the scorched walls for balance, the gleam from the fire shone on the side of her face, which was now a grotesque mosaic of twisted, discoloured skin.

The heat licked at her skin, but it was the weight of betrayal that seared her soul.

Her scarred hand pressed against her chest, trembling as she pulled away from her memories.

Her vision blurred as the heat pressed in on her from all sides, but she could still see her...Elenor Valentine, her younger sister.

Elenor stood at the far end of the grand staircase, unfazed by the chaos. Her pure white gown was stained with soot and ashes but otherwise untouched, fluttering lightly despite the stifling heat. The glow of the fire framed her delicate figure, casting her in an almost angelic light.

But Rosellene knew better now. Angels don't wear a smile as cruel as her.

"Elenor!" Rosellene choked out, her voice hoarse from the smoke.

Elenor's frigid blue eyes flickered as they met hers, devoid of the warmth Rosellene had always known. Instead, there was guilt masked by indifference, resentment and hidden satisfaction.

"Why?" Rosellene managed to croak, as she stumbled closer.

Elenor's lips curled into a soft, almost pitying smile. "You wouldn't understand, Sister."

"You've always had everything. Even with a scar so hideous." She said softly, her voice carrying over the flames mixed with resentment. "Yet, you still looked at me with those eyes, as if I am so insignificant, still standing in your shadow."

"Elenor," Rosellene whispered, tears mixing with the soot on her cheeks. "I only ever wanted to protect you."

"Protect me? You're ridiculous, Rosellene. Everything you've had was handed to you on a silver platter while I had to claw and scrape." Elenor laughed then, a brittle, bitter sound. "Even so, you can still hold on to the marquess's family. Why! What do I have? A Viscount's empty promises? I deserve more."

"It's justice," Elenor said softly, stepping back from the flames. "For once, you'll know what it feels like to lose."

"You… you're doing this for him?" Rosellene's voice trembled and asked in disbelief. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees as the flames crept closer.

Elenor didn't respond, but the flicker of unease in her expression said enough.

Slowly, she backed away, disappearing into the smoke and shadows, leaving Rosellene alone amidst the inferno.

For a moment, Rosellene stayed there, staring blankly at the spot where her sister had stood.

The flames grew louder and hungrier as they consumed the walls around her. The mansion that had been her gilded cage, a place she had once called home...was now her tomb.

Then It was there, amidst the shattered remains of a once-magnificent mirror, that she saw herself as she turned her head slightly.

Her reflection stared back at her from the jagged shards of glass.

Bathed in firelight, one side of her face still held traces of the beauty she had once been. But the other half… The scarred, twisted flesh was a cruel mockery of what she had lost. Her once-enviable beauty, the only thing that had ever made her valuable was gone.

The sight filled her with deep, hollow despair as the fire raged and the mansion crumbled around her. She was now nothing but a broken, scarred woman, abandoned by the very people she had once cherished.

As the flames consumed the grand chandelier above her, it crashed to the ground with a deafening roar, scattering embers like fireflies.

She laughed bitterly, her hands trembling as they clutched the hem of her gown. "I tried," she whispered to herself, her voice breaking, a sound so foreign and hoarse it startled even her. "I tried so hard... and still, it wasn't enough."

The fire crept closer, the heat licking at her skin, but she couldn't move.

Her vision blurred as smoke filled her lungs, but through the haze, she thought she saw something or someone. A shadowy figure moving toward her silhouetted against the flames.

She couldn't tell. Her strength was fading, her body growing heavy as the heat bore down on her.

Rosellene slowly closed her eyes. In her final moments, her thoughts were not of anger or revenge, but of a quiet, aching sorrow.

For Elenor, for herself, for the life she had lived and the life she would never have.

And then, there was nothing but darkness.

As if sensing something, Rosellene's eyes fluttered open, her breath shallow as the soft glow of the sunlight filtered through the delicate lace curtains of her room.

For a moment, she lay motionless. She blinked, disoriented, staring at the ornate canopy draped above her bed, embroidered with golden roses. It was the same intricate design she remembered.

A faint scent of lavender filled the air...a fragrance she hadn't smelled in years.

Her fingers gripped the silken sheets as a shiver ran through her body. Slowly, Rosellene sat up in the grand, canopy bed, her cold blue eyes darting around the room, taking in every familiar detail.

The pale morning light spilt across the worn rug, the small vase of roses by the window, and the delicate jewellery box atop her vanity.

The soft silks and velvets that adorned the room were the same ones she had seen countless times, but now they felt wrong, suffocating in their splendour.

Rosellene's gaze fell on the old brass clock ticking quietly on her nightstand. Her breath quickened. The year engraved on the clock's casing told her everything she needed to know: 813H, seven years ago.

She felt her heart pounding against her ribs as her hands instinctively touched her face, trembling as her fingers traced her soft, unblemished skin. It was... unscarred.

The smoothness of her skin was so foreign to her now that she almost couldn't believe it.

"No… impossible," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Rosellene threw off the covers and she stumbled out of the bed, her legs unsteady, as if she had forgotten how to walk. Her bare feet hit the plush carpet, a sensation so familiar yet so foreign.

Crossing the room, she paused in front of the tall gilded mirror.

She stared at her reflection...a girl of nineteen, flawless, radiant with youth and unblemished by time.

Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders like a dark waterfall, gliding with every movement as though kissed by an unseen breeze. It shimmered faintly under the light, framing her face with a natural grace.

It wasn't the ruined visage she had last seen in the shattered glass of the fire—yet it was undeniably her.

The woman who had been once adored, envied and loved by all who gazed upon her.

It was her, Rosellene Valentine, the ethereal beauty who had once been the crown jewel of the Valentine family. Her eyes widened as she stared at herself, her heart caught in a storm of disbelief.

"It's real," she breathed, her voice cracking as memories of the fire, the betrayal, and the anguish washed over her. "I'm back… before it all happened."

Her trembling fingers touched her cheek, her crystal blue eyes welling with tears. She felt the smoothness of her skin, the absence of the hideous scars that had come to define her.

She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms to confirm that this wasn't a cruel dream.

Her heart raced as memories rushed back and she connected the dots.

Seven years ago meant she had yet to be engaged to Edric, the second son of the Marquess of Denford. Elenor was just seventeen and her face hadn't been ruined yet. The betrayal, the fire, the scars, none of it had happened yet.

And she hadn't met him yet, Azriel...his name lingered on her lips.

She thought of the days leading up to it...days spent in the same golden cage, surrounded by luxury and isolation. The Valentine mansion, once her home, now felt like a hollow reminder of a life she had lived in vain.

A knock on the door startled her. "My lady?" came Millie's familiar voice, the maid who had been by her side since childhood, "Breakfast will be ready shortly. Should I bring tea to your room?"

Rosellene froze, her heart pounding. Millie's voice was bright, untainted by the sorrow and guilt she had carried in the later years.

Her chest tightened as she turned away from her reflection.

Her reflection is no longer just a symbol of her beauty but a reminder of her resolve.

"Yes, please," she managed to reply, steadying her voice.

As Millie's footsteps faded, Rosellene clenched her fists, a surge of determination replacing her fear. This was not the end, it was a second chance. God had granted her a new beginning, not to recapture her pain but to change her fate.

The room that once felt like a luxurious snare now felt like a battlefield where she would wage her quiet war.

She clenched her jaw and straightened her shoulders, her cold blue eyes hardening.

"This time, I won't be the fool. I will change my fate. And my dear…" Her voice grew cold, laced with the bitterness of betrayal. "You will regret what you've done."