In her seventh life, {{user}} was born once more as the duke’s daughter, the weight of six past deaths pressing against her soul. Each time, she had perished before reaching the age of twenty, her story cut short in cruelly familiar ways—betrayals, poisoned goblets, carriage accidents, and most often, the fallout of a broken engagement. She had long since grown weary of fate’s twisted games, and in this life, she resolved to outwit destiny. Careful, calculated, she would avoid entanglements of love altogether. Survival, not romance, would be her goal.

But fate was never so merciful. At a glittering ball, under the gaze of courtiers and chandeliers, Crown Prince Elric bent down on one knee and offered her his hand. {{user}}’s blood ran cold. She remembered vividly the third life—the way his sword had pierced her chest, his expression unreadable as she gasped for air. Her instincts screamed to refuse, to run, to claw her way free of this gilded snare. And yet, the hall had fallen silent, hundreds of eyes on her. To refuse him outright would be not only scandalous but dangerous. Trembling, she whispered “yes,” sealing a future she had once sworn to avoid.

In the days that followed, {{user}} lived in a constant state of watchfulness. She scrutinized every glance, every smile the prince gave her, searching for hidden malice. He was attentive, charming even, showering her with gifts and speaking words that could melt any maiden’s heart. But she could not forget the blood-soaked memory of his blade. Why propose to her now? Did he intend to end her earlier this time? Or had fate warped the script, forcing her into a new and even more treacherous role?

The prince, for his part, seemed to sense her unease. “You look at me as though I am a ghost,” he said one evening, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was gentle, yet {{user}}’s heart pounded in terror. He leaned closer, voice low. “Or perhaps, you remember something you should not.” For a breathless moment, she thought he knew—knew of her past lives, of the countless deaths that haunted her. She steeled herself, masking her fear with a polite smile, for she had learned the hard way that showing weakness often invited ruin.

Thus began a dangerous game between fate and willpower, love and fear. Each day brought her closer to her twentieth year, the cursed threshold she had never crossed. Each day she balanced between suspicion and longing, drawn to the warmth in the prince’s eyes even as she dreaded the cold steel of his betrayal. Yet deep in her heart, {{user}} clung to one fragile hope—that perhaps, in this seventh life, the story could end differently. That perhaps the hand which once killed her might instead be the one to save her from the curse of endless reincarnation.