"𝒮𝐸𝑅𝒜𝒫𝐻𝐼𝑀 𝒦𝑅𝒴𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒩𝒪𝒰𝒮 " || ٭◉☆ʳᵉʷʳᶦᵗᵉⁿ☆◉٭ ||

ᥴһᥲ⍴𝗍ᥱr 3- ᥲᥴᥴᥱ⍴𝗍ᥲᥒᥴᥱ

Veronica stood there, staring at the unfamiliar yet oddly familiar room around her. The small bed, with its worn blankets, the wooden desk in the corner littered with books and papers, the window that overlooked the bright garden outside—it was all so foreign, yet she could swear she had seen it a thousand times before.

She turned, eyes scanning every corner, her chest tightening as a sense of déjà vu washed over her. The walls—pale and adorned with pictures of what seemed like her family—her parents, her younger self—each photo like a fragile memory she hadn’t yet touched but somehow knew intimately.

This is... my home?

But how could that be possible? Nothing made sense. She felt like a stranger in her own body, yet these walls, this room, felt like they were hers. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, a comfort, a detail that she hadn't realized until now. The smell was so familiar, like she had spent countless hours here, as if this was the place where she was meant to be.

The more she took in, the more everything felt like a puzzle. A maze she should have known how to navigate, but now that she was here, she didn’t know where to start.

Her gaze fell on the small wooden chest near the foot of the bed. She walked over to it, her tiny hands brushing the carved surface. She felt an urge to open it, but hesitation lingered. What would she find inside? Her heart raced with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted the lid, and inside, there was a collection of trinkets, mementos of her childhood. A locket—her mother’s, a small, delicate thing—and a drawing of a mansion, a place she knew like the back of her hand. The mansion from her memories, the one where her family had once lived.

She blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the growing swell of emotion. I know this place. This was my home. But it’s... gone now.

The reality of her parents’ deaths hit her like a wave. She hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Not again. It felt like a scar that was never fully healed, reopening all over again.

But the room was full of more than just memories. There was something else—an energy that buzzed around her, something that whispered at the edges of her mind, urging her to remember things she didn’t quite understand yet.

It’s like I’m here... but not really here at all.

She looked back at the walls—no longer just foreign objects, but pieces of a life that she was now supposed to navigate. The questions burned at her, piling up in her mind. Who had she been before? What was expected of her now? What did she have to do?

But, strangely, she didn’t feel the crushing weight of confusion anymore. She didn’t feel as lost. Her fingers brushed the small trinkets in the chest, her hand instinctively moving to a particular spot. There, under the soft velvet lining, was a letter, its edges frayed from time.

It was addressed to her. To Veronica Kyra Le Fay.

She opened it with trembling fingers, unfolding the delicate paper inside. The words written were in her mother’s handwriting.

“My dear Veronica, we may not always be there to guide you, but know that our love for you will never fade. You are strong, you are capable, and we believe in you.”

The words were simple, but they pierced through the fog in her mind, grounding her. Her mother’s love, even if it had been torn away from her too soon, was still a part of her, echoing through the memories and the emotions that filled her heart.

With a shaky breath, Veronica sat down on the floor, her back against the chest, letting the reality of it all sink in. She was Veronica Kyra Le Fay—once a child in a mansion surrounded by love. And now, she was here, once again, forced to live through a life she didn’t fully understand.

But one thing was clear—her parents’ love, their guidance, would always remain with her. She wasn’t alone. Not now, not ever.

The weight of her past and present settled into a fragile balance in her heart. She wasn’t the same person who had stood on the edge of that truck, waiting for death. She wasn’t the same person who had lost everything. But she was still Veronica. She was still strong.

And now, she had a second chance to live. And she would make sure she lived it—no matter how foreign or strange this world felt. She would find her way.

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