Rewritten fate: The Duchess's last wish

"Dad, I want that dress."

"My princess wants that dress? Of course, I'll give my princess anything she desires."

I stood outside the glass of a grand boutique, watching the scene unfold. The shop was filled with beautiful dresses—soft fabrics, intricate designs, and vibrant colors that seemed to glow under the lights. Inside, a father and daughter laughed together, their joy radiating as he lovingly promised her everything she wanted.

And here I was, outside in the cold, wearing an old, tattered dress that barely held together. My feet, bare and caked with dirt, stung from the uneven cobblestones. My legs were scratched and bruised from wandering, and I couldn't even remember the last time I had felt clean.

'Why do people have parents to hold them close, to love and care for them, while I have no one?

Why was I abandoned, left to survive on my own in a world that doesn't even notice me?'

Growl.~

The ache in my stomach grew sharper. I hadn't eaten anything for three days. The last time I'd tasted food was when an old shopkeeper threw me a piece of stale bread.

Growl.~ Growl.~

The hunger was unbearable, a gnawing pain that wouldn't leave me. My body felt weak, trembling with exhaustion. I couldn't go on like this. Should I steal from one of the side shops? Just something small—just enough to keep me alive for another day.

I knew it's wrong, but what choice do I have?

I crouched by the side of a small shop, hiding in the shadows. My heart pounded as I watched the shopkeeper. When he turned to speak to another customer, I seized my chance.

I reached out toward a tomato on the counter, my hand trembling. It wasn't very high, but to me, it seemed out of reach—I was too short, too small, too weak. My fingers stretched desperately.

Finally, I grabbed something—but it wasn't the tomato.

It was a hand.

My breath caught in my throat as I froze, wide-eyed. Slowly, I looked up. The shopkeeper was staring down at me, his face twisted in anger.

"You little bitch!"he shouted.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Each slap stung like a brand, burning my skin with its cruelty. I tried to shield myself, but it was no use. The blows kept coming, relentless, unforgiving.

Then, in an instant, he grabbed my hair, yanking me to the ground. My body hit the rough pavement hard, and before I could even push myself up, his boot collided with my side, sending waves of pain through me.

"You little thief! How dare you steal from me?" he shouted, his voice dripping with hatred.

I lay there, gasping for breath, every part of me trembling. I was nothing but a small, fragile thing in his eyes, unworthy of mercy.

I saw the people passing by, their eyes fixed on me, but no one stepped forward. They just watched—cold, indifferent. Their gazes weren't filled with pity or compassion, only judgment. To them, it was right to punish a beggar, a commoner child, for a crime, even though they were commoners too.

'It hurt. It hurt so much.'

The pain in my body was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

'It hurts...'

The words echoed in my mind, louder than anything else. I screamed in agony, the sound tearing from deep within me.

And then, suddenly, I was awake.

I woke up. The room was familiar—a small bed with dirty bedsheets. There was nothing else in the room.

A maid was standing by the door.

My cheek hurt. It seemed the maid had slapped me again.

Huh?_

Why?_

'Why am I back again? Is this a cruel twist of fate, or some kind of cosmic mistake? After everything, why must I endure this again? I thought I was done... I thought I could rest.'

"Why are you still sleeping? Do you think you're the lady of this house or something?" she scolded.

I looked up at her, my voice barely a whisper.

"S-sorry..."

Why am I saying this? I don't want to apologize. I don't want to follow these same patterns. I hate it.

"You've been sleeping all this time," she continued. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

I nodded, knowing I couldn't escape it.

"His Grace has called for you. Go freshen up. I'll make you ready."

I stood up, my movements slow and hesitant, and made my way toward the washroom.

The cool water against my mouth, when something hit me.

'Elara, what is it that you want from me? Why are you showing me your memories-those you never shared in the last life?'

'Are you mocking me, asking me to stop playing the role of the most pitiful person in the world? Or are you trying to comfort me, telling me that everyone suffers?'

'You want to be loved, don't you? You want happiness, don't you?''

'Am I here again, only to make you feel loved, to make you feel happy? If I do, can I finally be free? Can I die in peace knowing I gave you what you wanted?'

'Why did you bring a broken soul into your broken body?'

'Elara, please... come back to your body. Release me. Let me go.'

I sank to my knees.

'Why? Why am I back again? Why can't I just end this?' Tears started to fall.

Huh? I can cry...?

At that moment, I realized... I could move. My body obeyed me, even though my voice remained trapped. It was a simple thing, the ability to move—something I couldn't do last time. Yet, it felt monumental, like a sliver of freedom in a cage I thought was inescapable.

Even though I was trapped in a role, forced to say and do only what the character was meant to, at least now, I had control over my own movements. That was something. Something that felt like freedom.

It's funny, isn't it? How something as simple as moving on your own can make you feel grateful and free. I never thought I would ever feel this way again, to move in my own way, in this life.

Life is such a curious thing.It teaches you to feel grateful for even the smallest things, by giving you all the suffering the world has to offer.

---

I sat in the grand dressing room, a space so extravagant it dwarfed my entire living quarters. The polished mahogany furniture, gilded mirrors, and plush carpets spoke of wealth I had never dreamed of.

This room was given to me by His Grace, the Duke. They lavished me with beautiful, expensive dresses and jewelry, crafting an illusion of luxury and happiness. It wasn't for me—it was for appearances, to show the world that I was living a fine, privileged life.

Lina, the maid assigned to me, worked silently as she prepared me. Her presence was far from comforting, though. Lina wasn't just a maid—she was a spy sent by the Young Duke to keep watch over me.

I sighed inwardly. I knew they hated me, but wasn't this excessive?

She dressed me in a stunning gown, its fabric flowing like water and adorned with intricate embroidery that shimmered like starlight. Her hands moved methodically as she combed through my hair, tugging here and there to style it just right. She added a touch of makeup, painting my face into a porcelain perfection.

When Lina stepped back, I turned to the mirror, and for a moment, I couldn't recognize the girl staring back at me.

She was breathtaking. My hair, a deep, vibrant crimson, cascaded down my back like a waterfall of rose petals, its color rich and striking. My eyes, a mesmerizing blend of gray and purple, gleamed with an otherworldly light, like twilight skies on the verge of a storm. My figure, slim and delicate, carried an effortless grace, as though I were a fleeting dream.

But beauty is hollow when it feels forced.

"Let's go," Lina said curtly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Her tone held no respect. To her, I was not the lady of the house, despite my adoption. I was a tool—a side character in someone else's story, dressed up like a doll for the amusement of others.

This was the life of a side character: silent, unnoticed, and disposable.

I followed her out of the dressing room, each step heavier than the last as we headed toward the Duke's office.

But this time, it was different. I knew what was waiting for me. And for once, I knew exactly what I had to do.