The Rebirth Of a Goddess

"Congratulations! You have died!"

The words echoed in Elara's mind like a cruel joke.

What the actual hell?

Who in their right mind would congratulate someone for dying? And who—or what—owned that eerie, systematic voice? Was she imagining things in her last moments? Maybe it was just a hallucination brought on by the agony of death.

But something was wrong.

Instead of her consciousness fading away into the abyss, it felt like she was being pulled back... like she was regaining it.

No, that wasn't right. She was waking up.

Pain—sharp, unrelenting pain, shot through her body, forcing her back to awareness. Her entire being ached, and there was a dull, throbbing sensation in her skull, making it hard to think. Voices whispered in the background, the words muffled yet venomous enough to be understood.

"I don't think the Miss will survive."

A meek voice spoke hesitantly, only to be followed by a harsher one filled with scorn.

"Well, whether she does or not, I couldn't care less. She brought this upon herself by being vicious and trying to harm the Second Young Miss. She deserves it!"

"And let's not forget—" a third voice chimed in, laced with disgust, "—someone with dark, cursed powers like hers should be dead. It would be better for everyone."

A wave of nausea crashed over Elara as she processed their words. What was happening? Who were they talking about? And why did they sound so certain she deserved to die?

Before she could make sense of anything, another sharp pain sliced through her, making her body jolt involuntarily. A strangled groan left her lips as her eyes flew open—only to be assaulted by the blinding brightness of the room. The sudden light sent a stabbing pain through her skull, and she instinctively squeezed her eyes shut again, panting heavily.

A stunned silence filled the room.

Elara could feel it... the tension thick, the air suffocating. The maids had been standing there, expecting her to die, and now that she had awoken, they were too shocked to react.

Her mind was spinning.

She was alive?

But… how?

She remembered it all too vividly. The betrayal. The blade piercing her back. The explosion she had triggered, engulfing her in roaring flames. She had accepted her death in those last moments, certain there was no escaping it.

So why was she breathing?

Why was she lying on something soft, instead of the cold, blood-stained ground of the apocalypse?

This wasn't hell.

But it wasn't her apocalyptic world, either.

She forced herself to open her eyes again, this time squinting against the brightness. As her vision adjusted, her gaze landed on the group of women standing nearby..... maids, judging by their uniforms. Their expressions were a mixture of shock and, was that disdain?

They weren't even trying to hide it.

Elara's chest tightened.

Where the hell was she?

Before she could even attempt to move, a sudden wave of splitting pain tore through her skull. A flood of memories—blurry, fragmented—crashed into her mind, overlapping with her own.

Dizziness hit her like a tidal wave. She gasped, gripping the sheets beneath her as she fought to stay conscious.

The realization dawned on her like a cold slap to the face.

She had transmigrated.

She wasn't just alive. She was in a new body.

And from the way these people spoke about her… this body didn't belong to someone well-liked.

The scattered fragments of memories were too unclear to grasp fully, but one thing was obvious—whoever this girl was, she was hated.

A villain?

A cursed child?

Elara's fingers curled into fists as she inhaled deeply, forcing herself to think through the chaos in her mind. She didn't even know her own identity in this new world, yet these people already wished for her death? The very people who were supposed to be taking care of her?

The cold, merciless instincts she had honed in her past life surged to the surface.

Her eyes snapped up, fixing the maids with a piercing glare.

The shift in atmosphere was instant.

The maids flinched, their backs stiffening as an overwhelming chill filled the room. Their hearts pounded in fear as they took an unconscious step back, their earlier arrogance replaced with uncertainty.

Those eyes.

This wasn't the same weak and pitiful Miss Elara they knew.

Feeling the weight of her gaze pressing down on them, they instinctively lowered their heads and bowed.

"Y-Young Miss…"

Elara barely spared them a glance. Her body ached, no, it burned. She felt like she had been crushed under a mountain, every limb sluggish and heavy. Even breathing felt like a chore. A fever raged through her veins, and a sharp headache pulsed behind her eyes.

She was sick.

No, more than sick, this body was barely hanging on.

How pitiful.

She needed answers.

Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke, the effort alone making her throat feel like it had been scraped raw. "Bring me a mirror."

The maids hesitated, exchanging wary glances. But one of them, after a moment of hesitation, rushed to fetch a small, polished mirror.

When the object was finally placed in her trembling hands, Elara braced herself and slowly lifted it.

And then—she froze.

The girl staring back at her was breathtaking.

Even with her ghastly pale complexion, there was no denying the sheer beauty of this face.

Golden hair cascaded down her shoulders like molten sunlight, though dulled from illness. Her eyes, large, piercing, were an ethereal shade of emerald green, framed by thick, dark lashes. Her features were delicate yet striking, exuding an almost otherworldly allure.

But despite her beauty, the fragility of her current state was painfully evident. Her lips were dry and cracked, her skin far too cold to the touch. The moment her fingers brushed against her own cheek, she realized just how weak this body truly was.

A lump formed in her throat.

This was real.

She had truly transmigrated.

And with that realization came an overwhelming surge of emotions, pain, regret, betrayal…. and something else. Something raw and unfiltered.

Relief.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she broke.

A choked sob escaped her lips, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. Tears spilled over, hot and unrelenting.

In her past life, she had never cried.

Not when she watched her comrades die.

Not when she was hunted by the monsters in the apocalypse like an animal.

Not even when she was betrayed by the one she trusted most.

But now—now, as she stared at her own reflection in this unfamiliar world, she let herself grieve.

Not just for the life she had lost, but for the second chance she had been given.

She had been foolish before.

She had trusted too easily.

She had cared too much for the wrong people.

But no more.

This time, she wouldn't make the same mistakes.

This time, she would live—for herself, and no one else.

The maids, witnessing her tears, whispered amongst themselves.

"Hah, look at her. Trying to gain sympathy now?"

"Pathetic. Does she really think she can fool the Alpha with fake tears?"

Elara didn't care.

She let the tears fall until there were none left. Then, with a slow exhale, she wiped her face and steeled herself.

A sharp pain suddenly tore through her skull, forcing a groan from her lips. Her body felt like it was on fire, her fever worsening by the second.

Poison.

Her instincts screamed it.

But she didn't react. Not yet. She needed information first.

Fixing the maids with an unwavering gaze, she spoke.

"Now tell me—" her voice was cold, commanding, "what the hell did I do to make you common maids look at me with such disdain? And what caused this accident?"