Bloodline of cursed thrones

CH 1

The air was thick, warm, almost suffocating. Eveline's breath hitched as she gasped for air, her eyes snapping open to an unfamiliar ceiling. The rich velvet canopy above her was deep crimson, its edges adorned with golden embroidery. She blinked once, twice—each breath sending a wave of dizziness through her.

Where am I?

Her heart pounded in her chest, too fast, too loud. This wasn't right. The last thing she remembered was the sharp, excruciating pain—her body crumpled to the ground, the warmth of blood spilling around her. Her death. She was certain she had died. I should be dead.

Eveline sat up slowly, her hands trembling as they gripped the sheets beneath her. Panic clawed at her throat, but she swallowed it down. The room around her was a far cry from the world she had known—opulent, regal, a space fit for royalty. Her eyes darted from the towering windows, draped in silk, to the grand mirror standing in the corner.

Something was deeply wrong.

Her hands—she glanced down at them. Pale, delicate, with long, slender fingers. They weren't hers. These hands were foreign, softer, more fragile than her own. She flexed them experimentally, watching as they obeyed her commands but felt utterly disconnected.

This isn't my body.

A sharp pang of fear cut through her. She swung her legs off the bed, the cold floor beneath her feet grounding her in the reality of the situation. But nothing about this felt real.

Eveline's POV:

I was supposed to be dead. The thought echoed in her mind, over and over, drowning out everything else. I died. I felt the life drain from my body. How... am I here?

Her gaze fell on the mirror, a pull she couldn't resist. Slowly, she stood, her legs unsteady as if she hadn't used them in years. Step by step, she approached the mirror, dread curling in her stomach. She wasn't sure she wanted to see what lay on the other side.

When she finally reached it, her breath caught in her throat. The reflection staring back at her was someone else—a stranger. Long, raven-black hair framed a sharp, regal face, her skin as pale as moonlight, her eyes cold and piercing. She had seen this face before, many times, but always from a distance, always with fear in her heart.

The queen. The evil queen.

Eveline stumbled back from the mirror, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She couldn't comprehend it. How had she—how was she in the queen's body? This woman had been the bane of her existence, the tyrant who ruled with cruelty, the one whose downfall had been the source of every storybook's cautionary tale.

"No..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "This can't be."

Her mind raced, searching for some explanation. A dream? A nightmare? But the chill in the air, the solidity of the ground beneath her feet, the pulse in her chest—none of it could be dismissed as a mere illusion.

How did this happen? Who did this to me?

Eveline's POV:

Anger bubbled beneath the surface, hot and suffocating. I'm her? No. No, no, no. The queen was a monster, a woman despised by all, known for her cruelty and treachery. Why her? Of all people—why would I be brought back as this wretched queen?

She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. This was wrong. Everything was wrong.

Her head spun with questions, each one more maddening than the last. Who did this? Why me? What am I supposed to do?