𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 (𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃)

Chapter 5: Window to the Past

I opened my eyes to the same, deep-maroon curtains of my canopy bed. The same, soft pillows beneath my head and the same, warm quilt covering my body. At the recognition, the frustration hit me all at once and I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Earlier this morning, in my semi-unconscious state, I had vaguely overheard Eli and Mary talking next to my bed.

"There is something definitely not right about Her Majesty ever since the day after the banquet," Eli had said.

"I know," Mary had replied. "But you shouldn't say something like that, Eli. It'd be disrespectful to Her Majesty."

"You're right, Mary. But I'm just... I'm just worried about Her Majesty's mental state. What if—"

I had lost my consciousness again right at that moment so I didn't hear what Eli said after that. But it wasn't hard to guess what they must have thought of me.

Great. Now they think I'm insane, I scoffed, throwing the blanket off my body.

"It's all our fault that Your Majesty fell into the lake. We should have... we should have followed Your Majesty no matter what," said Eli in between sobbing.

"Your Majesty was so lucky some guards happened to be patrolling at the time," Mary added. "They heard the splash and immediately came running. If not—" She didn't get to finish her words and just burst into tears again.

I had been hearing Eli and Mary crying and repeating the same words over and over again for the past two hours and it did nothing other than add to my aggravation.

But still, I didn't bother to correct them. It would only be a bother if they asked how I fell into the lake. It was not like I could just casually tell them, Oh, don't worry, I was just trying to take my own life. It was surely only going to lead to another uproar.

But seriously, why do I have to wake up again? I'm so sick of this.

I felt a terrible sense of emptiness, and I didn't know how long it would last. I just wanted to end it once and for all, but I couldn't even do that. Tsk... God must really hate me.

I sighed for what must have been the thousandth time that morning. Mary heard and immediately poured me some water. "Please drink something, Your Majesty," she said. "We can't risk you catch another cold and—"

I didn't hear the rest.

Before the glass could touch my lips, my breath hitched. A violent shudder went through me, and a drop of water splashed onto my hand. I didn't move, but my surroundings vanished under the weight of a sudden, blinding vision.

In my mind's eye, I was no longer propped up against silk pillows. I was slumped over a cluttered desk, my eyes straining against the harsh, blue glare of a computer monitor. The crystal goblet in my hand was replaced by the phantom sensation of a sweating aluminum can of beer.

Park Hanbyeol.

The name struck my brain like a physical blow. Thirty years old. Seoul. A music producer with a thriving career and a bank account I had bled to build. The realization poured into my consciousness like opening a floodgate—these weren't just random images; they were my past life memories.

With the identity came the final, suffocating vision of how that life ended. The midnight walk home from the studio after working on a track for Cho Sarang—one of the most popular idols in Korea. The sickening crunch of sneakers on gravel behind me. The paranoia turning into a blind, breathless sprint, a slippery dock, and the black, freezing weight of a lake closing over my head.