CHAPTER 01: BACK AGAIN

Once upon a time, in a realm veiled in mist and ancient whispers, lived a child cloaked in misery. A paradox, she was. Rich, yes, with silks and satins whispering against her skin, with tables laden with delicacies that could tempt the gods themselves. Her family, a name whispered with reverence and fear in equal measure, held sway over vast territories. Yet, this opulence, this gilded cage, did nothing to soothe the gnawing emptiness within her.

Born into a world of privilege, she had always felt profoundly alone. A solitary figure in a crowded hall, a silent observer in a boisterous feast. The echoes of her own heartbeats seemed to drown out all other sounds, a relentless reminder of her isolation. Amidst the clamor of her opulent life, she yearned for a single, precious thing: love. A love that transcended titles and fortunes, a love that would fill the echoing chambers of her soul.

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""Samantha, darling, what's clouding that beautiful face?"

The question sliced through the music and the murmur of conversation, a firm yet delicate voice that held a comforting familiarity. Samantha turned, her gaze settling on Mamita Argeannah, her manager, the woman who had been her unwavering anchor since the dawn of her existence.

Mamita, a whirlwind of controlled energy and sharp wit, was the only constant in Samantha's life, a beacon in the swirling vortex of her privileged yet lonely existence.

"Tonight's about celebrating Maya's success. Let's not let shadows steal the joy."

Samantha offered a bitter smile, the gesture a stark contrast to the glittering façade of the exclusive club. She lifted the champagne flute, the delicate crystal cold against her fingers, and slowly sipped the effervescent liquid. The taste was as flat and unfulfilling as her life often felt.

"Just… memories, Mamita. Things I wish I could forget." she murmured, her eyes betraying the reluctance with which she revisited those memories. The past was a shadowed landscape, a place she desperately tried to avoid.

""Some memories are best left buried, sweetheart." Mamita said, her tone serious, her gaze unwavering. She took a slow sip of the amber liquid in her glass, the ice clinking softly.

The scent of expensive whiskey mingled with the sharp tang of her cigarette smoke, a potent perfume of success and defiance.

"Especially the painful ones. The past will only drag you down, back to the mire you struggled so hard to escape." She exhaled a plume of smoke, her eyes gleaming with a fierce determination. "I've seen it happen. I was there, in that hell you speak of. But I clawed my way out. I built this life, this success, by leaving it behind. Forget it, darling. Let it go."

"Yes, Mamita," Samantha replied, her voice subdued, her nod obedient. The words were a mantra, a promise she repeated to herself daily. "I have no intention of returning to that dark hole."

Mamita smirked, a fleeting expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared. She engaged in conversation with a man, her words sharp and precise, the language of power and negotiation.

Samantha watched, a detached observer in her own life, as Maya, another model in Mamita's stable, approached their table, her face alight with excitement. Samantha felt a pang of something akin to envy. Maya's life was a vibrant tapestry of success, a stark contrast to her own muted existence.

"Mamita, I just talked to that producer Darius introduced me to," Maya announced, her smile radiant, infectious. "He wants me to sign another huge contract! To star in his upcoming series! It's massive!"

"Really, darling?" Mamita rose, her chair scraping against the polished floor. "Where is he? We need to talk to him immediately!"

Without a backward glance, they disappeared into the pulsating heart of the club, leaving Samantha alone at their table.

The music swelled, a relentless tide of sound, but Samantha felt strangely detached, as if watching a movie rather than participating in the scene.

She nodded curtly to her friends, a silent farewell, and excused herself. A strange feeling, a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, compelled her to leave. It wasn't the usual predatory gaze of a stalker, nor the hostile glare of an enemy. This was different, unsettling.

"I need some air," Samantha murmured, escaping the suffocating atmosphere of the party. Her friends barely registered her departure, their attention fixed on the swirling dance floor.

The elevator's ascent was a silent journey inward. The feeling of being watched had faded, but a lingering unease remained. Was it real? she wondered. Or was I just letting my anxieties get the better of me?

She pressed the button for the rooftop, and as the doors opened, a wave of frigid air washed over her. It was brutally cold, the chill seeping through her thin spaghetti-strap dress.

"Damn, I should have brought a coat," she muttered, already turning to retrace her steps. But then, she stopped, transfixed. The city sprawled before her, a breathtaking panorama of lights twinkling like a million fallen stars.

The cityscape was breathtaking. A tapestry of light woven against the inky canvas of the night sky. Each building, each street, each bridge, glittered with an ethereal beauty, a spectacle that stole her breath away.

It was a breathtaking display, a mesmerizing dance of lights that mirrored the sparkling chandeliers of the Royal banquet hall, each light a tiny jewel reflecting the city's pride and vitality in the darkness.

Samantha knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within her soul, that this world was beautiful. She had made the right choice, escaping into this vibrant, dazzling world. Or so she thought.

Then she saw him. An old man, his face etched with the map of a thousand lifetimes, stood beside her, his presence as stark and silent as a winter storm. He was the source of the unsettling gaze she'd felt earlier.

"Who are you?" Samantha demanded, her voice edged with a warning. "What do you want from me?"

The old man's appearance was a study in weariness. His skin was a roadmap of wrinkles, his eyes clouded with a melancholic weariness that spoke of years spent battling the relentless march of time. Yet, despite his age, a strange familiarity tugged at her, a sense of recognition that defied logic.

"It seems you've forgotten me, haven't you?" he said, his voice low, a tremor of anger vibrating beneath the surface.

Samantha racked her brain, desperately trying to place him, to recall a single shared moment, but her memory offered nothing.

"I don't know who you are," she insisted. "Just tell me what you want."

"Were you happy...?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, a question that hung in the frigid air like a shroud. "Did you have a good life?"

"What?" Samantha's surprise was palpable. The question felt jarring, out of place, as if plucked from a different reality.

"I asked," he repeated, his voice gaining strength, "Did you have a happy life, even though you destroyed our world? For selfish reasons?"

"What?" Samantha's confusion deepened, her voice laced with disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

She turned to leave, but something in his words, something in his gaze, stopped her. She slowly turned back, her eyes meeting his.

"What did you say...?" she asked, her voice barely audible, a tremor of fear creeping into her tone.

"Lady Astheir Maenhel De Marillo," he said, his voice resonating with a chilling certainty. "Daughter of Duke Faehrel De Marillo, who disappeared twelve years ago, destroyed our world, and is now… happy."

"How did you know that?!" Samantha gasped, her voice sharp with alarm. "Who are you?!"

"Were you happy?" he repeated, the question hanging heavy in the air, a judgment, an accusation.

Samantha took a hesitant step towards him, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. But as she moved, a dizzying wave of nausea washed over her, her vision blurring, her legs giving way beneath her.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice weak, her body trembling. "What have you done to me?"

"You should have been happy," the old man said, his voice a chilling whisper. "Because today, you are going back. To restore everything you destroyed."

"What…?!"

Samantha's last coherent thought was a gasp of disbelief, a silent scream lost in the howling wind. Then, darkness swallowed her whole.

She felt herself falling, tumbling through an endless void, until she landed with a jarring thud on a cold, unforgiving expanse of snow, the biting wind a cruel kiss upon her face. She lay there, half-conscious, the icy grip of the snow slowly claiming her, the weight of her forgotten past pressing down upon her like a suffocating blanket.

The world she had escaped, the world she had destroyed, was waiting.