Encore

Arabella clutched the sides of her mirror, mouth agape and brows furrowed as she took in her reflection in bewildered silence.

Did she always look this way?

Her stature was considerably shorter than she remembered, her body hardly filled half the mirror's height, and even the dark auburn curls that had cascaded down her lower back now only stopped just past her shoulders. Her fingertips smoothed against the brown surface of her skin to the peak of her sharp nose, over the beauty mark under her right eye and down to her two-toned lips. Sharp blue eyes she'd inherited from her father, and Auburn hair inherited from her mother. It was her... but not quite her. She was twenty, yet she was staring back at a girl who could not be older than fourteen.

Arabella pushed back from the mirror, grimacing as she rubbed at her temple, a headache already burgeoning. She fumbled back to sit on her bed. The soft mattress dipped beneath her weight as she buried her face in her hands and breathed deeply.

Then, her gaze drifted downwards, and once again, she stilled. A ring. On her left index finger. Not one she'd seen before. She furrowed her brows at it, inspecting it closely. The gold band, simple at first glance, fit oddly snug on her finger. She frowned, tugging at it. It didn't budge, and unease gnawed at her. Leaning closer, she caught sight of faded, barely there etchings. Runes? She couldn't tell; one did not need to be a Scribe to recognise at least some combination of common markings. However, these were nonsensical, winding in an endless, messy scrawl.

Exhausted, she once again buried her face in her hands.

The rain had followed through to the morning, leaving the sky outside her window an overcast grey, the dull thuds of rainfall only adding to the ongoing noise in her mind. She just needed to think things through. She was just disoriented. There was a logical answer to this.... She just needed breakfast. Routine. Aubrey.

Like second nature, Arabella reached out for the familiar rope of the house bell by her bed to summon her maid, only to freeze in her tracks.

'Aubrey won't come. She's dead.'

Arabella remained frozen, shoulders drawn.

A long moment passed before she realised that her hand had begun to tremble, and she quickly pulled it back to her chest.

What was she even talking about?

'That was a dream.'

Arabella reached out and pulled at the rope, brows furrowing.

Then she waited.

Each passing second crawled up her spine. Aubrey was always quick, never taking more than a few minutes to arrive when called for. As those minutes passed by, Arabella sat still as a stone statue, blue eyes flitting to the door every few seconds.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

'Too long. Aubrey is-'

A sharp knock sent Arabella jolting to her feet, startled.

"You called, Miss."

That familiar voice, composed and calm, called out from behind the door. It was unmistakably Aubrey. Why did it feel like years since Arabella had last heard it? Arabella swallowed hard, finding it impossible to find her voice all of a sudden.

"...Miss, if you are preoccupied, I shall return when you ring for me again-"

"No!" Arabella choked out. Quickly, she remembered herself and lowered her tone with a shaking sigh. "I... I was stretching. Enter."

Arabella watched as the door opened and Aubrey stepped inside, looking just as she always did: Tall and slender, her sleek black hair pulled back into a tidy low bun, steel grey eyes looking straight forward, and thin lips pulled into a seemingly permanent, relaxed line. Aubrey raised a quizzical brow, and only then did Arabella realise she had been staring. Once Arabella had turned away, Aubrey moved swiftly to the windows and pulled back the rest of the curtains, though with the sky still an overcast grey, it hardly made a difference. Arabella stared with caution from the corner of her eye while slowly lowering herself back to sitting on the bed.

This felt normal. So far.

"Aubrey..." Arabella finally spoke up, catching the attention of the woman, who turned to face her with a gentle nod. Arabella pondered what to ask for a brief moment before settling. "The date?"

"September 2nd," Aubrey answered quickly, turning back to her work. "Monday."

Arabella had meant more along the lines of the 'year' but chose to remain quiet, deeming it foolish to do otherwise. Unease crept up her spine, but Arabella forced it down with a sigh, falling back onto her bed and covering her eyes with her arm. Carefully, she spoke again, "I see..." Arabella peeked out just barely from under her arm as she asked, brows knitted together. "And remind me. What was I doing yesterday?"

Aubrey's swift movements paused abruptly at the question, and she grew quiet for just a beat too long, causing all the unease to flood back in waves within Arabella as she held her breath in anticipation of the answer. Aubrey turned to face her and spoke evenly, almost too stilted and cautious even for her, "Yesterday was the Earl's burial."

A pin drop could be heard in the room.

Slowly, Arabella sat back up, feeling her pulse quicken and a sharp flare of anger shoot through her veins. She stared at Aubrey coldly, "...Is that a joke?"

"I would not dare. You spent the morning at the service. You requested solitude the rest of the day," Aubrey assured, though her lips tightened in a line. Aubrey's pale hands folded properly over one another in front of her as she continued, voice softening subtly. "There is no need to exert yourself if you are still tired."

Arabella remained silent. Her father died when she was fourteen. She looked younger in the mirror. Aubrey had just told her she'd attended a burial 24 hours ago.

Aubrey frowned, just barely, "Are you well rested, Miss?"

And now, with Aubrey having just stepped closer, what had seemed 'normal' before was subtly different. Aubrey was twenty-four, the last Arabella remembered, but her face had lost the subtleties of fully realised adulthood. It was not something that Arabella could miss; it was that same face that bid her goodnight since she was ten.

"Miss Arabella?"

Then, there was the issue with Arabella's appearance. Even if it defied all logic, she knew that she was twenty. The girl in that long dream of hers couldn't have been anyone else but her. Did she dream up an entire, detailed 6 years in the span of one night? She'd read of people experiencing similar dreams, but the vividness with which she remembered every morbid detail was beyond the ordinary. The clarity of it all was less a dream and more a memory.

Before Aubrey could speak up to fill the ever-growing silence, Arabella seemed to jolt to alertness at a sudden realisation,

"Who sits on the throne?"

Arabella no longer cared if the question made her sound insane. She needed the answer.

Aubrey almost looked bewildered, but answered, clearing her throat, "...His Majesty, King Julius."

Arabella's breath hitched. She had figured that would be the case, but hearing confirmation was something different...

King Julius was alive; Cecil wasn't king.

So this had to be the past. Even just thinking that felt ridiculous, but if there was even the slightest possibility...

A spark hit her like lightning, and Arabella's shoulders squared. Without blinking, Arabella made her best attempt to sound calm as she stared into the vast world outside her window, "Please... I request solitude. For the rest of the day."

With a curtsey, Aubrey excused herself, and Arabella was left alone in the quiet of her room once more.

She stood, feet padding against the plush carpet and carried herself to the glass doors of her balcony. With trembling hands, she thrust them open. A barrage of raindrops hit her face and began to wet her nightgown as she took slow steps forward. The cold breeze seeped through the pillowy sleeves and crawled up her spine, her bare feet struggled to stay steady on the wet ground, and the wind whipped at her hair. When a shiver wracked through her body, Arabella was reminded again.

'I'm alive.'

Against all odds, she was still standing and breathing. She was given another chance.

'And Cecil hadn't won.'

Not yet, at least.

Arabella gripped her cold hands to the railing and looked out at the painfully nostalgic view. Her family's estate, the garden grounds that sprawled for miles, the flower garden her father had been so proud of, carrying the blue roses that decorated the Lockhart crest. In the distance, her eyes caught the full tides, the white cliffs. The subtle scent of salty sea air wafting in from the distant ocean truly let her know where she was: Home.

Arabella's fingers dug into the railing as one thing became crystal clear.

He had to suffer.

Killing Cecil wasn't enough. She'd make him lose everything.

"Ah, what to do...? I've truly been blessed. " Arabella recognised that her beating heart was a gift, clenching the fabric at her chest. Her head raised to the sky, and she smiled to the Heavens.

"Cecil... How should I ruin you?"