There was no choir of angels.
No welcoming committee of lost loved ones.
There was no echo of the pain from the horrible fall off the cliff that had ended her life either.
There was only this relentless, humming cold.
It was not the gentle chill of a autumn evening, nor the crisp air of a winter morning.
This was a sharp, artificial cold that seeped directly into the bone, a dry iciness that spoke of climate control and modern luxury.
Driven by a reflex she thought she'd lost forever, Elizabeth's eyes flew open.
And were instantly assaulted by the bright, blinding and glittering light and she immediately squeezed them shut again, a sharp gasp catching in her throat as her hand, moving of its own volition, flew up to shield her face with her palm pressing against her closed eyelids and plunging her back into the darkness.
"Am I in heaven?".
"Or is this hell?".
But heaven shouldn't feel so much like a migraine. And hell as it would be was supposed to be louder, filled with screams, not with the familiar melodic strains of a classical piano drifting in from somewhere.
Slowly and cautiously, Elizabeth lowered her hand from her face, letting her eyes adjust to the light.
She was lying in a luxurious bed and above her was a massive crystal chandelier with its countless teardrop prisms refracting the light, creating the blinding glare that had awoken her earlier.
Wait. .
She knew this chandelier.
In fact , she had picked it out herself.
Her heart began to hammer against her ribs frantically, and confusion , thick and disorienting swamped her as she accessed her surroundings.
Wait… this is … why am I back here?
She propped herself up onto her elbows, the luxurious silk of the sheets slithering against her skin.
Her jet black haired head swiveled as she scanned the room, from the floor-to-ceiling windows that had the view of the city's glittering skyline to the minimalist fireplace and the abstract painting on the far wall, everywhere was filled with her imprint.
And at this moment, she needed no seer to tell her where this was.
This was Ezekiel's penthouse.
"Why am I here? ".
"Aren't I dead?".
Everything here felt so real and… alive. But she knew better, she was dead, had fallen off the cliff in a murder orchestrated by her beloved.
As she remembered this , her heart twisted in agony.
A surge of adrenaline shot through her and she immediately scrambled off the bed, her legs tangling in the sheets and sending her stumbling onto the plush, ivory rug.
The impact was solid and … real. She stared down at her feet in awe, freshly pedicured , smooth and clean.
"This had to be a dream".
She pinched the soft skin on her inner arm, her nails digging in with a vicious hope that she would wake up.
"Ah". A gasp was torn from her and she stared at the bright, reddening mark on her arm.
Wait, this is real?.
This pain… it's real.
I'm not dead?.
She ecstatically brought her fingers to her face, tracing the high cheekbones, the smooth expanse of her forehead, the full, unchapped lips.
"I'm not dead". She whispered to the empty room in awe and disbelief. "I'm not dead!"
A hysterical, disbelieved laugh bubbled in her throat, but it came out as a choked sob.
She hit the side of her head with the heel of her palm, as if to knock the pieces of this impossible puzzle into place.
Lost and utterly confused at the turns of events, her gaze darted wildly around the room before her gaze eventually locked on a digital calendar on the bedside table and she immediately lunged forward with trembling hands.
The screen displayed the date in a simple and elegant font.
July XX XXXX.
Elizabeth stared at it for a while, her mind refusing to process the number at first , then it all clicked into place.
This was impossible.
The calendar slipped from her suddenly numb grasp, fluttering down to land soundlessly on the rug.
Her legs could no longer hold her and she slid down after it, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of limp limbs, her back against the side of the bed.
What was happening?!.
The date was two years in the past.
Ezekiel's birthday to be precise.
The day her nightmare of a life began.
Her breath came out in uneven, ragged hitches as she tried to wrestle sense from the impossible.
She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slightly and then, through the storm of her panic, a single, impossible thought rose.
This can't be… this …this is impossible… have I… have I been reborn?
Immediately the thoughts registered in her mind, she scrambled to her feet and looked around the room. Everything was indeed as it was two years.
She frantically lunged for the full-length mirror beside the dressing table, staring at her reflection.
A hysterical laugh bubbled from her chest as she stared back at her reflection.
"I'm not dead". She whispered to her reflection. "I've been reborn."
The hysterical laughter slowly faded, replaced by a slow, steely smile as she clenched her fist so tight, her knuckles turned white.
A single tear rolled down her cheeks as she smiled.
"Ezekiel. Watch out".