Chapter 1: A Sister’s Final Mercy

I’m a woman who traveled through time. Yeah, you heard that right.

Some mornings, I wake up and still can’t wrap my head around it. The weight of centuries presses on me, even as I move through a world that’s both eerily familiar and totally alien. Sometimes, late at night, I’ll lie awake and listen to the old floorboards creak beneath me, half-expecting the universe to yank me back to my old life. But it never does. Not once.

Back in my old life, I was a terrible student—barely scraping by, never really fitting in. These days, I just try to keep my head down here, in this strange past, terrified someone will see right through me.

I always felt like an outsider, a shadow at the edge of every classroom, clinging to the margins, invisible and silent. But here, in this era, the stakes are so much higher. Every word, every glance, could be the thing that gives me away. I taught myself to move quietly, to blend in, to disappear when it mattered most. Go figure.

But my smart older sister figured it out. Of course she did.

She was always sharp—maybe too sharp for her own good. The kind of person who could read your thoughts before you even opened your mouth. I should’ve known I couldn’t fool her, not for long. Still, I tried.

So she protected me as I grew up, and I ended up living a life more comfortable than anything I’d ever had in the twenty-first century. Lucky break, right?

She stepped into the fire so I wouldn’t have to. I can still feel the heat of it sometimes, the way she shielded me from every little danger. All those things I never understood—how to walk, talk, and dress like I belonged—she just did them for me. It was like she built a wall around me, brick by brick, out of her own strength. For once, I had a home that felt safe. At least for a while.

All the rules I didn’t want to learn, she learned for me. Even the high-society events—she went in my place, sparing me the anxiety.

She’d come back from those parties with her hair perfectly done and a smile that never quite reached her eyes. She never complained, not once, but I saw the exhaustion in the way her shoulders slumped, the way her hands shook when she thought nobody was watching.

But then, my sister was destroyed by the Queen of the country-club set—a woman everyone called "the Ice Queen" behind her back. They left her broken, her body mangled, her spirit crushed. She was tortured until she died, and what was left barely resembled my sister at all.

It was the kind of cruelty you only hear about in whispered rumors—except this time, it was my family. I’d always heard about the games the rich played, but I never imagined they could be so vicious, so completely heartless.

Later, I—the time traveler—got pulled into the world of the elite, too.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. After everything my sister did to keep me out of that world, fate dragged me right back in. Only this time, I wasn’t going in blind. Not a chance.

When they sent my sister’s body back to us, she was packed in a crate half as tall as a person. Only her head was visible—the rest was hidden inside, like they couldn’t even bear to look at what they’d done.

The crate sat in the foyer, heavy as a tombstone. The house went silent. No one wanted to open it. The air was thick, suffocating, full of the sharp, metallic scent of old blood and fear. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for the worst.

That’s right. They didn’t send back a daughter or a sister—just what was left of her. Just... remains.

I didn’t even know what that meant until I saw her. My knees buckled, and the world spun. Some sights stick with you forever, burning themselves into your memory. This was one of them.

The moment we saw her, my mom, my dad, and I all collapsed—maybe not literally fainting in unison, but our bodies just gave out, overwhelmed. I was the first to come to, blinking through tears and nausea, trying to piece myself back together.

I don’t know how long I was out. Time unraveled, stretching and snapping like a rubber band. When I opened my eyes, the house was silent except for my own ragged breathing and the thudding of my heart.

As soon as I came to, I went to see my sister. My hands shook so badly I could barely turn the doorknob. The hallway stretched on forever. Every step felt like dragging myself through molasses.

She was barely alive, whimpering, unable to speak. Her face—swollen, bruised, cut, barely recognizable—was twisted in pain, her eyes darting wildly. It was all raw nerves and agony.

It was like something out of a nightmare. I wanted to run, to hide under the bed, but I couldn’t leave her—not now. Not ever. I flashed on memories of us as kids, playing in the backyard. That girl was gone.

I threw myself down beside her, calling her name over and over: “Sis, Sis, what’s happened to you? What’s happened? How did this happen?”

My voice cracked, echoing off the cold, empty walls. I clung to her, frantic, as if repeating her name could somehow call her soul back to me. It didn’t. Nothing could.

“Sis, what happened? Who did this to you? Who was it? Who?”

I screamed, desperate for answers. The sound tore out of me, wild and hoarse, bouncing off the walls. I didn’t care who heard. I just wanted someone—anyone—to tell me why.

But my sister couldn’t say a word. She just looked at me, her face twisted with pain, her eyes wet and red—not with blood, but with tears so raw they looked like they could bleed. It was agony, pure and simple.

Her gaze haunted me. I’d never seen suffering like that, not even in the darkest moments of my old life. It was a look that screamed for help, for release, for an end.

Like a tormented ghost—unable to live, unable to die.

There was nothing left of the sister I knew, just a husk, trapped in limbo. I wanted to scream, to rip the world apart, to make it stop. Anything to bring her back.

Staring at her, suffering worse than death, I finally reached out with trembling hands, covered her mouth, and ended her pain myself. I hesitated, heart pounding, the world spinning. My hands shook so badly I almost couldn’t do it. But I did. I had to.

I don’t know where the strength came from. Maybe it was mercy. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was just the only choice left. All I know is that, in that moment, I couldn’t let her suffer another second.

And then they walked in. My parents arrived, and that’s what they saw.

Their faces twisted in horror, and for a second, I thought they’d never forgive me. The silence was deafening.

They threw themselves at me, slapped me over and over, cursing me as a monster, then collapsed, sobbing, the sound tearing through the house.

The blows landed—hot, sharp, but I barely felt them. Their grief drowned out everything else. I just sat there, numb, as the world fell to pieces around us.

I just knelt there, staring at my sister in the crate.

Frozen.

I remember, when she died, she was smiling. It’s burned into my memory—the way her lips curved, just a little.

It wasn’t a happy smile. It was relief. Like she’d finally found peace at the end of a nightmare.

She couldn’t speak, just looked at me with a smile. Her eyes were empty—none of the gentle warmth she used to give me. It was like she was already halfway gone.

But I could feel it. She was happy. Maybe not happy, exactly—just done. Free.

Somewhere, beneath the pain, I knew she was thanking me. That was enough. It had to be.

I think, my sister was finally free.

Maybe I was, too. Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself to sleep at night. I don’t know anymore.

A day later, news spread through the city: Judge Harper’s second daughter, Autumn Harper, had murdered her own elder sister, Lillian Harper. Everywhere I turned, the story was the same: the heartless, cold-blooded little sister who killed her own flesh and blood. People couldn’t get enough of it.

The tabloids went wild. The whispers followed me everywhere, even in my dreams. I became the villain in someone else’s story, the boogeyman hiding in the attic.

They said Judge Harper, in a fit of rage, beat his second daughter until her skin was torn open, then locked her in the family chapel to kneel before her sister’s memorial in penance. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. The legend grew.

It was all over town. People gossiped, shaking their heads, but no one came to check if I was even still alive. I spent days on my knees, the cold stone biting into my skin, my mind drifting between guilt and numbness. I lost track of time.

A month later, word came that Autumn Harper had died suddenly of illness. Just like that, I was erased.

They buried me in the family plot. No one cried. No one even bothered to mark the grave. I was a ghost before I was even gone.

At the same time, the estate welcomed a new beauty from Silver Hollow.

Rumors swirled—some called her a witch, others a saint. Nobody really knew her story, and honestly, that was fine by me.