The Woman Wearing My Face

Elara woke to the soft rustling of silk sheets and the filtered glow of morning light pouring through stained-glass windows. But the warmth that kissed her skin wasn't familiar. It wasn't the servants' dormitories. It wasn't even the east wing.

It was… the royal chambers.

Her royal chambers.

She bolted upright.

Polished obsidian floors gleamed beneath her. Velvet drapes bearing the phoenix crest of House Ravaryn hung from walls she remembered decorating herself. The four-poster bed was carved from heartwood and rimmed with gold. Her heart thudded.

Had she returned to the past again?

No. Something was wrong.

The air smelled too clean. The furniture too pristine. There were no signs of occupancy no books out of place, no parchment trails of her rebellion, no runes hidden under floorboards.

This wasn't her past.

It was a reconstruction of her life.

The door creaked open.

Elara reached for a weapon instinctively but found none.

A servant entered, head bowed, tray in hand. "Good morning, Lady Valeblume. Your bath has been drawn."

Lady Valeblume?

Not Thalia. Not a maid. Not a prisoner. Not even a traitor.

"Where am I?" she asked sharply.

The servant blinked. "The palace, my lady. In the queen's wing. As always."

"Queen?" Elara's voice cracked.

The servant glanced up, confused. "Yes, Your Majesty. Is something wrong?"

Elara's breath caught.

She walked to the mirror across the room, dreading what she'd find. Her reflection stared back beautiful, regal, flawless. But her eyes… they were colder, darker. Her hair was pinned in an elaborate updo she'd never worn. And around her throat rested a necklace she knew she never owned a phoenix set in obsidian, its wings dripping blood-red rubies.

It pulsed.

Alive.

This was not the woman she had become.

This was someone else… wearing her life.

"Elara?"

The voice froze her mid-step.

Not from the servant. Not from a memory.

From behind her.

She turned slowly.

Standing at the doorway, dressed in a flowing crimson gown, was a woman.

Her.

Down to the last strand of hair. The same eyes. The same posture.

But everything else the aura, the smile, the presence was foreign.

And terrifying.

"I was wondering when you'd wake," said the other Elara. She walked in casually, as if she owned the room. She did own the room.

"Who what are you?" Elara asked, voice shaking.

"I'm you," the Queen said softly. "The one who made the right choices."

"Elara destroyed the fracture point. She ended you," Elara whispered.

"Did she?" the Queen smiled. "Or did she simply… trade places?"

A chill ran down Elara's spine.

"Don't look so frightened. This is what you wanted, isn't it?" the Queen continued. "To be respected. Obeyed. Feared. To sit on the throne you were born for."

Elara took a step back. "You're a remnant. A fragment."

"I'm a truth." The Queen's smile faltered, revealing sharp edges beneath the poise. "A truth you buried. But now, thanks to your little ritual, I've returned. And unlike before, this time, I'm not just in your mind."

She gestured to the room. "You gave me a body, darling. A world."

Elara shook her head. "I didn't mean to"

"No," the Queen cut in, eyes gleaming. "But the fracture couldn't be destroyed. So it was transferred."

Elara's knees buckled. "I released you."

"You freed me," the Queen said. "And now, I'll do what you couldn't. I'll protect this kingdom with absolute power. No doubts. No hesitations."

"You'll enslave it," Elara said bitterly.

"That's one word for peace."

A long silence fell between them.

Elara's eyes flicked to the door.

The Queen noticed. "Run, if you like. You won't get far. Not in my palace."

Elara moved anyway. Bolted past the servant, down the hall. The guards hers? stood at attention and didn't stop her. But their eyes lingered, curious. Judging. Empty.

She tore through the corridor. Statues of herself lined the halls. Tapestries showing her face slaying monsters she'd never fought. Paintings of her seated on a golden throne, smiling beside a faceless consort.

The history had been rewritten. Twisted.

She reached the balcony and burst into sunlight.

And gasped.

The city beyond was not Ravaryn.

It was something else.

Perfect. Sterile. Lined with black obelisks bearing her name and etched in runes that pulsed faintly with enchantments.

Hovering banners of her face fluttered in the wind like holy relics. Streets curved with impossible symmetry. Every building bore her crest.

And in the courtyard below, hundreds no, thousands of people stood in eerie silence. Eyes upturned. Waiting.

Waiting for their Queen.

The one wearing her face.

Elara stepped back from the balcony, heart pounding in her throat.

This wasn't the past. It wasn't a vision.

It was a constructed realm.

She turned, hoping to find a trace of a seam in the illusion. A crack. A door.

Instead, she was met by the Queen again. Calm. Patient.

"I rebuilt everything you lost," she said softly. "And they worship you for it. Don't you see? I didn't trap you. I gave you eternity."

"This isn't eternity," Elara whispered. "It's a prison."

"No, darling," the Queen corrected. "It's your coronation."

A bell rang in the distance low, echoing like a knell.

And above the palace spires, a second moon shimmered into view.

Cracked. Bleeding crimson light. Pulsing with a magic too deep for Elara to comprehend.

"That's where the real world is now," the Queen said. "Floating just out of reach. Unaware you're missing."

Elara's voice trembled. "How do I get back?"

The Queen smiled.

"You don't."