The wind howled through the desolate ruins, the moon casting long, eerie shadows across the broken stone. I stood in the body of the princess, breath shallow, heartbeat frantic. The weight of my mistake pressed against me like iron chains.

I had once been something else—something old, something forgotten. A soul trapped in a decaying husk, bound by curses long past. I had wandered the edges of the living world, a wraith with no voice, no touch, no warmth. My hunger was endless, a hollow ache that gnawed at my very being.

Then, I had found her.

I had not known who she was. Only that she was radiant, burning with the essence of life I so desperately craved. I had taken her soul, consumed it, and in doing so, I had become whole again. My flesh had knit together, my heart had beat once more. I had been reborn.

But I had not known the cost.

Simon knelt before me, his face pale in the silver light. His hands trembled as he cupped my cheeks. "Elara…?" he whispered, voice thick with grief. "You’re cold. What have they done to you?"

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My mind reeled with the horror of the truth.

I was not Elara.

I had devoured her soul. I had been a wandering wraith, trapped for centuries in a decayed husk, starving, desperate. I had taken the first soul I found, blind to its identity, only knowing the rush of warmth and life surging through me as I consumed it.

And now, here I was—inside her body, wearing her face, her voice, her touch.

Simon let out a shuddering breath and leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against mine. For a brief moment, the world held its breath. A warmth blossomed in my chest, unfamiliar and terrifying.

Then he pulled away. His eyes widened in horror. He staggered back. "No…"

A tremor ran through my stolen body.

"No," he repeated, voice breaking. "You’re not her."

A sharp pain coiled in my stomach—guilt, dread, something deeper. I reached for him, but he recoiled as if my touch burned. "Simon—"

"What have you done?" His voice cracked like thunder, raw and accusing.