Seraphina Voss blinked her eyes open, staring at the familiar ceiling above her.
It was cracked in that same old way, with a water stain shaped like a crooked heart right in the corner.
The room smelled musty, like old books and forgotten dreams.
Her head throbbed, a dull ache that spread from her temples down to her neck.
She sat up slowly, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of fire.
It felt heavier than usual, tangled and wild, as if she hadn't brushed it in days.
[Where am I? This... this is my old room. But how? I remember... dying. The pain, the betrayal. It can't be real.]
She rubbed her big blue eyes, trying to shake off the fog in her mind.
The sheets were rough against her skin, the kind her stepmother always bought—cheap and scratchy.
Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a golden glow on the worn wooden floor.
Everything looked exactly as it had years ago, before everything went wrong.
Before the industry chewed her up and spit her out.
Before she became "The Eye," the assassin no one saw coming.
Seraphina swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor.
She was wearing a simple nightgown, white and faded, with lace at the edges that had seen better days.
Her heart raced as fragments of memories rushed in like a storm.
In her past life, she had been tricked by her stepsisters, Isolde and Morgana.
They stole her ideas, her scripts, and left her for dead in some dark alley after a botched job.
She had climbed so high, only to fall because she trusted the wrong people.
[No, this has to be a dream. Or... am I back? Reborn? People talk about that in stories, but...]
A strange voice echoed in her head, clear and mechanical, yet somehow soothing.
"Congratulations on your rebirth, Host. Welcome to the Astra Codex System. I am here to assist you in achieving your destiny."
Seraphina froze, her breath catching in her throat.
She looked around the room, but there was no one there.
Just her old dresser with a cracked mirror, a few dusty books on the shelf, and a poster of a famous movie star—Vivienne Thorne, smiling down at her with that perfect, glamorous grin.
"Who... who said that?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
She pressed her hands to her ears, but the voice came from inside her mind.
"I am the Astra Codex, your personal system. You have been granted a second chance to rewrite your fate. Use my abilities wisely. Would you like to view your status?"
Seraphina stood up, pacing the small room.
Her mind spun. Status? System? This sounded like those novels she used to read late at night, escaping her miserable life.
But it was real. She could feel it, a faint hum in her chest, like a new energy waking up.
[If this is true... I can change everything. No more being weak. No more letting them walk all over me.]
"Okay," she said aloud, her voice gaining strength. "Show me."
A translucent screen appeared in her vision, floating like a hologram only she could see. It read:
********************************************
Host: Seraphina Voss
Age: 22
Skills: Writing (Intermediate)
Singing (Advanced)
Combat (Expert - Hidden)
Health: 100/100
Wealth: Hidden Assets Available
Missions: Pending
Rewards: Initial Boost -
Strength +10
Health Regeneration Unlocked
******************************************
Seraphina touched the air where the screen hovered, but her fingers passed through it.
A warm sensation spread through her body, making her feel stronger, more alive.
The ache in her head faded away.
"Where did you come from?" she asked the system.
"How do you know about my past?"
The voice was silent for a moment. Then, "Information restricted. Focus on your path, Host."
[Restricted? Fine. I'll figure it out later. Right now, I need to get out of here.]
She glanced at the mirror.
Her reflection stared back—big blue eyes, wide and innocent-looking, framed by thick lashes.
Her red hair fell in waves down to her waist, shiny and vibrant.
Snowflakes? No, those were from a different time, a dream perhaps.
She shook her head.
People always mistook her for weak because of her looks. Cute, they said.
Fragile.
But inside, she was a storm.
Downstairs, she could hear voices.
Her stepmother, Gertrude, barked orders.
Her stepfather, Victor, grumbled about work.
And the stepsisters, Isolde and Morgana, giggling about something—probably their latest scheme to break into the movie industry.
Seraphina dressed quickly in a simple dress, black with a fur trim at the collar—something warm for the chilly morning.
She slipped on earrings, dangling crystals that caught the light.
No snowflakes, just plain ones.
She needed to look composed, not like the broken girl from before.
As she descended the creaky stairs, the smells hit her—burnt toast and cheap coffee.
The kitchen was small, cluttered with dishes.
Gertrude stood at the stove, her back to Seraphina, stirring something that looked like oatmeal.
"Well, look who's finally up," Gertrude sneered without turning around.
"Sleeping in like a princess again? We don't have time for your laziness, girl."
Seraphina clenched her fists. In her past life, she would have shrunken back, apologised. Not today.
"I'm not lazy," she said calmly, her voice steady. "I've been thinking."
Isolde, the older stepsister with her sharp features and dyed blonde hair, looked up from her phone.
She was scrolling through social media, probably stalking celebrities.
"Thinking? That's a first. What, about how to mooch off us more?"
Morgana, younger but just as vicious, with dark curls and a smug smile, laughed.
"Yeah, Seraphina. You're useless around here. Why don't you go find a job instead of dreaming about writing movies? As if anyone would read your trash."
Victor sat at the table, newspaper in hand.
He grunted. "Girls, enough. But they're right, Seraphina. You need to pull your weight or get out."
Seraphina felt the anger bubbling up, hot and fierce.
Memories flashed— them stealing her first script, claiming it as their own.
Getting small roles while she starved.
[Not this time. They think I'm the same girl. Let's show them.]
She stepped closer, her big blue eyes narrowing. "Useless? Is that what you think? After all these years of me cleaning, cooking, and listening to your insults?"
Gertrude turned, spoon in hand. "Watch your tone, young lady. We took you in when your real family abandoned you. Be grateful."
"Grateful?" Seraphina's voice rose. "For what? For treating me like dirt? For stealing my ideas and pretending they're yours?"
Isolde stood up, her chair scraping the floor. "What are you talking about? You're delusional."
Morgana smirked. "Yeah, get over yourself. You're nothing. Just a pretty face with no talent."
Seraphina's hand moved before she could think.
She slapped Isolde across the face, the sound echoing like a crack of thunder.
Isolde stumbled back, hand to her cheek, eyes wide in shock.
"You bitch!" Isolde screamed.
Seraphina turned to Morgana, who was frozen.
Another slap, sharp and satisfying. Morgana yelped, tears springing to her eyes.
Victor jumped up. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Gertrude dropped the spoon. "Get out! Get out now!"
Seraphina smiled, cold and dangerous. "Gladly. I'm done with all of you."
She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door, slipping it on.
It was white fur, soft against her skin.
She didn't look back as she walked out the front door, the cool air hitting her face like freedom.