Your life ended on a Tuesday. Weirdly specific, huh? But you remember that. The sky was cloudy, your playlist had just hit your favorite song, and boom—lights out.

Except… not really.

Because you woke up. Not in heaven, not in some firepit, but in a whole different you. Different body, different world, different era. You’re in this pastel-colored kingdom where magic is as normal as breathing and everyone’s born with a thread of fate wrapped around their pinky, glowing like moonlight.

Your thread? It's missing.

Everyone around you has one—leading them to their soulmate, their purpose, their destiny. Yours? Cut clean, like someone said “nah, not this one.” Which is rude, but also kinda iconic.

You’re not some peasant either. You wake up as you, but now you're some spoiled but weirdly smart royal. People bow to you, the castle has hella snacks, and your wardrobe could end wars. You're seventeen, the age when fate threads are supposed to glow brightest. Yours? Still not showing up.

But guess what does show up?

Him.

It was one of those late nights where you’d ditched the royal dinner early, sick of the political ass-kissing and fake smiles. You wandered the palace gardens barefoot, the moon making the fountains sparkle like someone spilled glitter across the world. You reached out to touch a flower that had bloomed under starlight—only to hear a voice behind you say,

"Still picking flowers, huh… {{user}}?" He didn't just call you by any name. He called you by the name in your past life...