The sound of bells echoed across the Marquis' estate, soft and distant, like a hymn carried by the morning wind.
Elaine paused, a basket of linens in her arms, staring up at the bell tower above the temple chapel.
The bells of prayer.
They rang every dawn, every dusk—reminding everyone that the Light watched over the Empire.
She knew those bells well. They were the same ones that tolled during Elaine's death scene in the novel.
A cold shiver crept down her spine.
"So… it's really happening," she whispered.
Her memories of the story came in flashes now — not words, but sensations.
The blinding glow of divine fire, the screams of soldiers, the trembling of the earth as shadow and light collided.
And at the center of it all, the maid — her — dying in a blaze of fire meant for someone else.
She dropped the basket, her breath quickening.
For a moment, the scent of smoke filled her nose, and she could almost feel the heat licking at her skin.
"No. No, I'm alive. I'm alive."
Her hands trembled. She pressed them to her heart, forcing the image away.
"Elaine?"
The soft, melodic voice snapped her back to reality.
Standing by the garden archway was Lady Celestine, sunlight dancing across her honey-brown hair.
Her golden eyes—gentle and warm—tilted in worry. "Are you all right? You look pale."
Elaine quickly knelt, bowing her head. "Forgive me, my lady. I didn't sleep well last night."
Celestine's lips curved into a sympathetic smile. "You must rest when you can. The other maids can handle the washing. Come—walk with me."
Elaine blinked in surprise. "Walk… with you, my lady?"
The young noblewoman nodded eagerly. "You always help me with the flowers. I'd like the company."
And just like that, the Saintess-to-be linked her arm with a servant's, dragging her gently along the stone path.
The garden was in full bloom, a sea of white roses and pale violets.
Celestine knelt to touch the petals, her voice soft with wonder.
"Do you ever think flowers are braver than people?"
Elaine tilted her head. "Braver, my lady?"
Celestine smiled faintly. "They open themselves to the world even knowing they'll wither soon. Yet they still bloom."
The simplicity of those words struck Elaine deeply.
In the novel, Celestine had been described as pure and kind, a saintess loved by all. But up close, she was more than that. There was a quiet sadness behind her smile, as though she too was trapped by fate.
Celestine was prophecied to be the next saintess, it was a news that made everyone happy but she seemed quite opposite.
Elaine found herself speaking before she could stop.
"If a flower knew it was going to die tomorrow, maybe it would choose where to bloom today."
Celestine looked up, eyes wide. Then she laughed—a soft, chiming sound. "You speak like a philosopher, Elaine."
"Just a thought, my lady."
But inside, Elaine's heart pounded. If I can choose where to bloom… then I can choose how to live.
******************************************
That night, the mansion buzzed with whispers.
Servants hurried through corridors, gossiping excitedly.
"They say His Highness, the Crown Prince, will visit next week!"
"To meet Lady Celestine, of course—she's rumored to have divine power."
"Imagine being chosen by the gods themselves…"
Elaine stood at the edge of the corridor, frozen.
The visit.
It was starting.
The moment Lucien met Celestine was when their love story began.
It was also when the first tremors of war started.
She pressed a hand to her chest, the weight of the story closing in around her.
"I have a week," she murmured. "One week before everything begins."
If she wanted to change her fate, she had to start now.
******************************************
Later, she sat by candlelight in the servants' quarters, scribbling notes on a scrap of parchment.
Every plot point she could remember—every character, every tragedy.
Crown Prince Lucien: heir to the throne, noble, kind.
Celestine: saintess, chosen by the Light.
The Dark Mage: the villain fated to die at the end.
But in the novel, the Dark Mage's past had always been vague. His motives—unknown.
What if he wasn't truly evil? What if she could find him… and change everything?
The idea terrified her—but it also made her heart race.
She could almost see it: a man with white hair and dark blue eyes, standing in the shadows, waiting for someone to see the truth in him.
The candle flickered, and a gust of wind blew through the window.
Elaine looked up sharply.
For a heartbeat, she thought she saw a faint shimmer—a shadow shaped like a man—standing by the garden wall.
But when she blinked, it was gone.
Still, her pulse wouldn't calm.
"One week," she whispered to the dark.
"Before the story begins."
And this time, she would not die in someone else's tale.