[This chapter contains graphic violence and foul language. All characters, cultures, and events are purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

  Reader discretion is advised].

  Chapter 1.

  The Lust Witch of Elora.

  "Why... Why me?"

  Priya was thirty, and she was running for her life. She lunged through the narrow, suffocating alleys of the Mumbai slums. The earth had turned treacherous, slicked into a greasy mire by the relentless monsoon. Every step was a gamble against the mud that threatened to pull her down, but Priya could not afford to falter.

  Her clothes were heavy, sodden with a sickening coat of blood. Despite the biting chill of the rain-drenched air, her skin burned with a feverish heat born of sheer, adrenaline-fueled terror.

  Behind her, the rhythmic splashing of heavy boots grew louder. A pack of thugs trailed her like hounds, their hands gripped tight around a macabre collection of steel and wood. One held a blade that glinted even in the gloom; another swung a weathered baseball bat with predatory intent.

  Save me, please. Where are you? Priya's mind screamed into the void.

  Tears spilled from her eyes, hot and salt-heavy, only to be instantly swallowed by the cold rain. The mixture of grime and grief on her face lent her an expression of raw, primal horror.

  Suddenly, the whistling of displaced air preceded a dull thud. A baseball bat, hurled with lethal precision, collided with the back of her skull. The world tilted. Priya pitched forward, her body slamming into the filth of the waterlogged alley.

  Fresh blood blossomed from her palms as they scraped against the jagged debris hidden in the mud, though the sting was a mere whisper compared to the agony radiating through her body.

  She tried to scramble up, but a jagged spike of pain shot through her leg. It refused to obey. The bone had snapped upon impact, leaving her limb a useless weight.

  "Ahh... it hurts... s-somebody please save me," she whimpered, the words barely escaping her trembling lips.

  She clawed at the muck, dragging her broken body forward. Each inch was a battle. Her breath came in ragged, terrified hitches—a frantic percussion that mirrored the trembling of her exhausted frame.

  The circle closed in. The thugs surrounded her, their shadows stretching over her like a shroud. One man, his lungs burning from the chase, stepped forward while gripping a heavy iron rod.

  "Bitch... you really thought you could outrun us, didn't you?" He panted, a jagged, hideous grin splitting his face. He leaned down, mockingly tapping the cold iron against her temple a few times before raising it high. With a sickening grunt of effort, he brought the rod down hard against her skull.

  Priya's world fractured. She let out a mangled groan of pain as her blood began to seep into the muddy earth. Her vision blurred into a gray haze; the world was retreating into the distance.

  Her life had never been a fairytale. There were no doting parents to shield her, no loyal friends to hold her hand. Her path had been paved with humiliation and struggle. Yet, she had never imagined the final chapter would be written in such a horrific script.

  The thugs let out a chorus of jagged laughter, feeding off her agony. One of them reached into his waistband and drew a pistol. He stepped over her, pressing the cold muzzle directly against her chest.

  Priya went numb. The shivering stopped. Her tears had finally run dry, replaced by a faint, ghostly smile. She knew the end had arrived. No one was coming.

  "Your biggest mistake, you bitch, was falling for that motherfucker." The man's finger tightened on the trigger.

  Bang.

  The bullet tore through her heart and exited her back in a heartbeat. Her breathing slowed, turning into shallow, thimbleful of air.

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  "Let's go, guys," the leader barked.

  They vanished into the rain, leaving her to bleed out in the dirt.

  Priya lay there for what felt like an eternity, her soul slowly unravelling from her body.

  "Priya... Priya, can you hear me?"

  A voice pierced the silence—a voice that felt like the scent of blooming flowers amidst the thorns of her existence. Through the haze, she saw a man rushing toward her. His features were a blur, obscured by the dark and her failing sight.

  He gathered her into his arms, pulling her small frame into his lap. She felt something warm hit her skin—tears falling from his eyes.

  "Priya, I am sorry... don't worry, I will save you," he sobbed, his voice breaking.

  She could feel his entire body shaking with grief. A genuine smile touched her lips. At least there was one person in this world who feared a life without her.

  Her lips moved, straining to form words that her lungs could no longer support. The man leaned down, pressing his ear close to her mouth.

  "K... kiss me," she whispered.

  He pressed his lips to hers—a final, desperate goodbye shared in the mud and the rain.

  "I love you, Shi—"

  The name died in her throat. Before she could finish the word, Priya's breath hitched one last time, and she slipped away from the world and the only heaven she had ever known.

  ***

  "La... dy Elisa... wake up."

  Elisa, twenty two years old, lay tangled in her silk sheets. Dried salt tracks from her tears stained her porcelain cheeks. Her eyes snapped open.

  Before her stood a maid, quietly setting a tray of morning tea on the bedside table.

  "Good morning, Sia," Elisa murmured, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep as she let out a weary yawn.

  Sia, only nineteen, approached with a silken handkerchief. She began to gently dab away the moisture from Elisa's face.

  "My Lady, please do not cry so... it breaks my heart to see you like this." Sadness clouded Sia's features. To the world, they were mistress and servant, but to Elisa, Sia was like the younger sister she had grown up with.

  Elisa managed a small, reassuring smile and patted Sia's cheek.

  "Don't worry, Sia. It was only a bad dream."

  Sia handed her the delicate tea cup. "Don't tell me... was it that dream again?"

  Sia knew everything. Elisa had first confided in her at sixteen when the visions began. At first, they seemed like mere nightmares, and Sia had been her only sanctuary. But over the last six years, the conviction had grown: these were not dreams. They were memories.

  "My Lady," Sia said, pulling Elisa into a brief, comforting hug. "Even if those dreams are your past life, this life is new. You are a Nirvana now."

  Elisa Nirvana—the daughter of a Count in the Elora Empire. She was a legend in high society for her ethereal beauty, marked by silver-white hair that cascaded to her waist and golden, shimmering eyes.

  Golden eyes were a rarity—nigh impossible. Legend claimed they belonged only to the Goddess Kiana. Though no living soul had seen a god, the temple records and history books spoke of that divine hue.

  "This life is no different," Elisa whispered to herself, her eyes downcast with a heavy melancholy.

  "Come, the bathwater is ready," Sia encouraged.

  "No... I wish to bathe alone today. Just prepare my dress, Sia."

  ***

  Elisa stood before the tall mirror in the steaming bathroom, wrapped in a simple white robe.

  She pulled the ribbon. The robe slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

  Her reflection stared back—the image of a noble lady, bare and vulnerable. She raised a trembling hand to her breast. There, marring her smooth skin, was a distinct mark: a faint, circular scar resembling a gunshot wound.

  "This mark... it is the proof," she muttered. "Proof of the horrible life I once lived." She clench her fist and stared herself with pity eyes.

  A short while later, Elisa made her way toward the dining hall where her family awaited.

  As she moved through the arched corridors, she felt the weight of the servants' gazes. Their whispers trailed behind her like poisonous smoke.

  "My God... do you mean to say Lady Elisa bedded three different men despite being engaged?" a maid named Timi hissed.

  "Indeed," Rimi, another maid, whispered back with a smirk. "And not just any fiancé—Marquis Elferd himself. Have you heard?"

  "Oh my, oh my! That can only mean one thing. Her Ladyship's lust must be truly uncontrollable."

  "Well, what else do you expect from a girl of a fallen family? Perhaps she simply sold herself to those men for the coin."

  Elisa didn't flinch. This was her reality now. Ever since her engagement had been severed two months ago, these rumors followed her like a shadow. In the local tabloids, they called her the "Lust Witch" or "The Beauty with Dirty Desires." But for the maid and servents in the manor this is the entertainment topic. Though if elisa wants, she can easily finish every single servent who disrespect her. But she is now use to it.

  She sighed heavily and entered the dining room. It was met with a tomb-like silence.

  Her family was already seated. Her father, Count Richard Nirvana, sat at the head of the table. He stared blankly at his plate as if he were miles away. Her mother, Kia, was quietly trying to offer him comfort.

  Elisa took her seat. "Good morning, everyone," she said softly.

  Across from her sat her brother, Michael, twenty-four, and her sister, Saina, twenty-six. The atmosphere was so thick with negativity that the scent of the food felt nauseating.

  "Elisa," Saina began, her eyes red-rimmed and watery. "Our funds are exhausted. We shall have to vacate this manor in a few days."

  "Stop, Saina," Richard interrupted, his voice gruff. "Eat your food. I will handle it."

  Though he tried to sound firm, he was clearly the most broken person in the room. Richard had been born a commoner—and a orphan, in truth. It was only through his prowess with a blade and his unwavering loyalty to the late Emperor Titone that he had earned his title. Now, he was watching a lifetime of labor and honor vanish into the dirt.

  Elisa bit her lip, unable to touch her food. She carried the weight of their ruin. If she hadn't done what she did that day, her family wouldn't be the target of such crushing humiliation.

  She pushed her chair back and stood up. "I'm finished. I shall be at the training grounds, Father."

  "Elisa, finish your meal," Michael said, his voice filled with a protective sympathy. "It isn't your fault."

  Elisa offered a weak, sad smile that didn't reach her eyes. She turned and walked toward the grounds.

  ***

  Thud. Twak.

  Elisa swung the wooden practice sword against the dummy with frantic, repetitive force. Her body was slick with sweat, her hair clinging to her neck. Her palms were blistered and raw from the rough grip, but she didn't stop.

  Finally, gasping for air, she threw the sword aside and collapsed beneath the shade of a large tree.

  The emotions she had been bottling up finally breached the dam. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

  "Why... everything was going so well. Why did it have to end like this?"

  As she wept, a voice echoed in the chambers of her mind—tender, smooth, and familiar. She still couldn't see his face or remember his name, but she heard his words clearly.

  Priya, this world is cruel. Sometimes, we must be even more cruel to end the cruelty. You are far too soft-hearted.

  Elisa wiped her tears and stood up, her gaze hardening as she looked toward the vast, indifferent sky. She clenched her fist tight.

  "I will have my revenge," she declared, her voice cold and steady. "Against every single person who did this to me."

  But what exactly had happened?