The Princess Who Died and Woke Up in Another Empire

She woke up breathless.

Her chest ached. Her skin was cold. Her heart pounded like a drum caught in a storm. Arabella sat up, eyes wide, swallowed by darkness. The dream had felt too real—too heavy.

Falling.

A voice whispering.

A push.

She gasped, clutching the silken sheets that tangled around her legs.

Just a dream, she told herself. Just nerves.

Today was meant to be one of the most important days of her life—the celebration before her official coronation. Tomorrow, she would no longer be just a Princess. She would be Crowned princess, heir to the throne, future queen of a land known for its beauty and order.

Everyone expected her to smile, wave, and carry the legacy of generations with elegance. But instead, she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She slid off the bed and stood before the mirror. Her reflection stared back—flawless. Every strand of hair pinned perfectly in place, her gown woven with gold and embroidered with flower patterns in reference to the goddess. Even her crown sat atop her head with careful balance, as if mocking the storm beneath the surface.

Still, something felt wrong.

Arabella pressed her palm to her chest, trying to slow her heartbeat. She couldn't shake the feeling that today was a worrying day, not a festival material.

The grand halls of the palace shimmered in gold, sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Flowers hung from the balconies. Nobles filled the atrium with the soft hum of voices and clinking goblets. Musicians played cheerful harmonies as servants hurried to and fro.

At the far end of the ceremonial corridor, the High Priestess stood beneath the Sacred Tree's image, preparing the coronation ritual. The Crown was within reach—yet it felt miles away.

Arabella walked through the hall among the nobles, slow, solemn. Each step echoed, heavier than the last. The eyes of the all were on her, but none could see the tremble in her hands.

She forced a smile. That was what they wanted, wasn't it?

You're the light of the kingdom.

You were born for this.

But her chest tightened. Her heart raced.

Do I want this?

She doubted herself. She doubted the legacy. She doubted everything that had been handed to her since birth. It was as if her soul was screaming for something else—something she couldn't yet name.

At some point, she paused.

How long has it been?

"I need air," she whispered to the nearest attendant.

No one stopped her. Everyone thought it was pre-ceremony nerves. Who would question the future queen?

She slipped away from the hall, past the velvet curtains and guards, and stepped out onto the balcony.

The air hit her like a rush of cold water. She leaned on the railing, trying to catch her breath.

And that was when she heard it.

"Let me guess..."

That voice.

Arabella turned quickly—and froze.

Brietta.

Her cousin stood in the shadows, eyes glinting in the moonlight. Her expression unreadable, her smile too calm.

"You didn't want the crown," Brietta said as she stepped forward. "Didn't want this life. Not the family. Not the throne."

Arabella stiffened. "Brietta—what are you saying?"

"It's alright," Brietta whispered, reaching out. Her hand gripped Arabella's arm with unexpected strength. "I'll fix it for you."

Arabella's heart dropped. "What are you doing? Let go!"

But it was already too late.

The push was soft, almost delicate. But the power was not.

Arabella stumbled backward.

Then the world tilted.

She fell.

And for a moment, time stood still.

Her mind screamed.

The music inside the palace continued. The celebration went on.

But Arabella?

She disappeared into the night sky.

One tear.

One final breath.

Then—nothing.