The Luna's Book of Vengeance | Vengeance Series #1

Chapter 3

𝕊𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥𝕝𝕖: 𝔹𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕓𝕪 𝕃𝕖𝕨𝕚𝕤 ℂ𝕒𝕡𝕒𝕝𝕕𝕚

***

Encircled by golden arrays, fed by the tranquil sustenance of an eternal ocean-sky view, and as light as a feather, a warm feeling encompassed my entire being.

Amid a large meadow, the light that had been dimmed seemed to shine, and warm air met with mine as I touched invisible things and scorched my insides.

In the split second, it took for my hearing to perk up, I could make out the gasps of someone who was struggling for air as the feet that had touched every petal on the ground soared into the faraway depths of an unknown realm.

I clutched my heart tightly from the chest that encased it as the sensation of a burning throat washed over me and the sound that escaped was nothing but ash. The sharp agony shot straight through me, as if an arrow had struck me, or worse, a knife had pierced my chest.

I kept striking my chest till the pain subsided. I glanced around and noticed that the sun was shining from somewhere beyond my old balcony.

This location is quite familiar to me; it was my birthplace when I was eight years old. The floral embellishments embedded in the circle of the golden wreath above had not changed.

The wall was painted a golden hue, each lining reflecting my personal preferences. I still vividly recall how I used to spend the entire night watching the Dream Tree—a tree that blooms only occasionally—just to see it.

When at last my gaze settled on the enormous mirror directly before my bed, my entire face was filled with disbelief.

I saw a young, noble woman dressed in a nightgown, clutching her chest as if in agony, her eyes as big as daisies, her lips as red as strawberries, her hair flowing down to her back, revealing its sheen as the golden mist enveloped her whole person.

Even though everything she valued was there in front of her, I could still see the sinister aura lurking in the back of her mind. It's a picture of a hardly recognizable lady. Her face was filthy, her lips were dried up and puffy, and her skin was rotting. She had a dark greyish hood.

There were two sides to the same living, noblewoman, but I could only think of one thing.

"This is not taking place," I muttered.

Everything stopped the instant the blade reached my neck, including my heartbeat, breathing, and vision. My body was all that was left, and the monsters would consume it. I am aware of it, so why am I here?

I pinch my cheeks to see whether I was harmed, and sure enough, the memory of my cheeks turning red and almost exploding was a small sign that I had returned to the past and that this was not a dream or a place for introspection.

How did this come about?

I tried coming up with ideas on how to make things return to as it was, but it was just too much of an impossibility.

Nobody can go back in time; once something has been done, it is done and cannot be undone.

However, here I am.

Or was everything that I've gone through just a dream? No, more like a bad dream?

If that's the case, it seems too vivid, too fantastical to be a nightmare.

I narrowed my eyes, shook my head, and fiddled with my hair before getting out of bed. Everything fell to the ground when I tried to claim texts that I had never read before, from history to the early empire.

I noticed that every book fell and that my hands were shaking. My legs began to shake, and before I knew it, I merged with the book and toppled over it.