The Forgotten Empress ( Taekook)

The Fall and the Awakening

The stage lights were blinding—white, sharp, glittering like a thousand tiny suns. Kim Tae had stood under them countless times before, but tonight they felt different.

Warmer.

Almost welcoming.

The massive auditorium roared with applause, her name echoing through the hall like rolling thunder.

"Best Actress of the Year — Kim Tae!"

She stepped forward, long silver gown swirling around her like moonlight. Cameras flashed, journalists leaned forward, fans screamed her name with ecstatic devotion.

Tae pressed the cool metal of the trophy against her chest, smiling with the trained elegance of someone who had lived her whole life in the spotlight.

“Thank you… truly,”

she began, voice trembling beautifully,

“this award means—”

A hand.

Cold.

Hard.

Suddenly on her back.

And then another.

Before she could turn, before she could even gasp, the world tilted. Her heels lifted off the floor. Her stomach lurched. The lights spun wildly above her like broken stars.

Someone had pushed her.

The stage floor rushed up to her—fast, unforgiving.

Crack.

Pain exploded through her skull. Gasps filled the hall. Her vision blurred into a smear of color and noise. The trophy rolled out of her hand, clattering loudly somewhere far away.

Her last sight was a flash of blinding white light swallowing everything.

And then—nothing.

Cold.

That was the first thing she felt when consciousness clawed its way back. A deep, bone-cutting cold, the kind she had never experienced in her luxurious penthouse life.

Tae inhaled sharply, the air thick with dust and damp earth. Her fingers brushed something rough—rotting wood. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to dimness.

She was lying on a straw-filled, uneven bed in a broken, shabby house, its walls cracked and darkened with age. A chilly wind slipped in through holes in the roof, whistling like a lonely ghost.

“What… where am I?”

she whispered, her voice trembling.

She pushed herself upright, legs unsteady, head pounding. Her satin gown was gone. In its place was a coarse, faded hanbok—worn, patched, smelling faintly of herbs and smoke. Her heart hammered painfully as she stumbled toward the crooked door.

Outside, the world stretched endlessly into shades of green.

A forest.

Thick, dense, wild.

No roads.

No people.

No cameras.

No city skyline.

Just silence.

Her breath hitched.

Before panic could swallow her, a voice pierced the air.

“Mother!”

Tae spun around sharply.

A girl—maybe fifteen, small and thin but with bright eyes—was sprinting toward her with a bundle of firewood in her arms.

Her clothes were simple and patched, hair tied loosely behind her head. Sweat glistened on her young face.

“Mother, why did you come outside? Your health isn’t good!”

the girl scolded gently, dropping the firewood and rushing to support Tae’s arm.

Tae froze.

Mother?

“What… what is your name?”

Tae asked cautiously.

The girl blinked, confused.

“My name is Jimin. Mother, did… did you forget me? Is it the sickness again? Or have you lost your memory?”

Memory loss.

That—she could use.

Tae nodded weakly.

“Just… tell me everything again.”

Jimin bit her lip but obeyed.

“Mother, I’m Jimin. Daughter of your past maid. She was punished along with you and… she died giving birth to me. You raised me as your daughter ever since.”

Tae swallowed hard, mind spinning.

“You are Jeon Tae,”

Jimin continued softly.

“First wife of Jeon Jungkook, the Emperor. But after a concubine accused you of killing her unborn child, His Majesty banished you here. Fifteen years of punishment. You are thirty-five now. After two more months… your punishment ends.”

The wind stilled. The forest seemed to fade into silence.

And suddenly, as though pulled from deep memory, she saw it—a script she had once studied for a drama. A historical novel with this exact plot.

The banished first wife.

The false accusation.

The tragic ending.

Her blood ran cold.

I’ve transmigrated… into the novel I once read.

She closed her eyes, breath trembling.

No.

Not again.

She had died once tonight—violently, senselessly. She would not allow this second life to end the same way. Not as a forgotten, pitiful character doomed to tragedy.

A slow, burning determination ignited within her.

I will not follow the original ending.

I will change everything.

I will take back my life.

And I will make every person who wronged me—past or present—see exactly where they belong.

When she opened her eyes, the fear was gone.

Only fire remained.

“Jimin,”

she said quietly, voice steady,

“take me inside. We have much to do.”

And thus began the second life of Kim Tae—no longer the nation’s beloved actress, no longer a broken, abandoned wife.

But a woman reborn, ready to tear fate apart with her own hands.