They buried the wrong girl

They buried the wrong girl.
By midnight, she was already dead.
At least that's what the world was told.
A car lay upside down at the bottom of the ravine, metal crushed like paper, smoke rising into the dark sky. Police lights flashed red and blue. People stood far away, whispering.
"No one survives that."
"Poor child."
"It's over."
The fire kept burning.
Like it was making sure.
By morning, the headlines were ready.
HEIR OF AWADH DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT.
Flowers outside the gates.
White clothes.
Fake condolences.
Business rivals pretending to grieve.
Relatives pretending to cry.
A dying fire.
No one looked back.
No one checked.
Because powerful families don't ask questions when the answer is convenient.
Dead is easier than alive.
Dead people don't inherit.
Dead people don't fight back.
Dead people don't threaten empires.
So they burned her to ashes fast.
Before sunset.
Before doubts.
Before truth.
Six feet under.
Name carved in stone.
Case closed.
Except-
miles away, in a dark unfamiliar room, a girl woke up choking on air.
Alive.
No funeral.
No family.
No memories that made sense.
Just pain.
And the strange, terrifying feeling that someone, somewhere... would be disappointed she survived.
Because this hadn't been an accident.
Accidents don't have timing.
Accidents don't have witnesses who disappear.
Accidents don't make powerful men relax.
Someone had planned this.
Someone had watched the fire.
Someone had waited for confirmation.
And somewhere in the shadows-
someone believed she was gone for good.
They were wrong.
Very wrong.
Because the girl they tried to erase...
was still breathing.
Still running.
Still alive.
And when the dead start walking again-
kingdoms fall.
Secrets bleed.
Families burn.
And graves?
Graves don't stay closed.
They burned the wrong girl.