Chapter 2: The Girl Who Sees the Invisible

Ten years had passed since the execution of the Wicked Woman, but the Rivershell Empire remained as cold and glittering as ever. In the grand ballroom of the imperial palace, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the suffocating weight of social expectations.

Ramela Luna, the seventeen-year-old daughter of Viscount Luna, smoothed the silk of her dark pale rose gown with trembling fingers. Unlike the other noble ladies who navigated the room with practiced ease, Ramela felt like an outsider in her own life. She was a "wallflower," often overlooked—which was exactly how she preferred it.

"Ramela, stand up straight," her fiancé, a minor noble with a sharp jaw and even sharper ambitions, hissed under his breath. "You are representing the Luna name. Try to look like you’re actually enjoying the music, and stop staring into empty space."

Ramela nodded quickly, lowering her eyes. "I’m sorry, Julian."

She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't tell anyone that she wasn't staring into "empty space." For as long as she could remember, the world had been crowded with things others couldn't see—lingering shadows, echoes of the past, and spirits that refused to move on.

As Julian led her toward the center of the hall to pay respects to the high nobility, the temperature in the room suddenly plummeted. A violent, icy chill swept through the ballroom, though the candles didn't even flicker.

Ramela gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. There, leaning against a marble pillar just inches away from the path of the oblivious dancers, stood a woman.

She was dressed in the pale gold color dress , blood-stained are unseen remains of a once-regal gown. Her hair was a wild golden, a face of haunting beauty a rare beauty she seen, and her eyes burned like dying embers. While the rest of the nobility looked like colorful dolls, this woman looked like a storm held in human shape she smirk while looking at the crown prince and crown princess.

Ramela’s heart hammered against her ribs. Most spirits were faded and confused, but this one was vivid. The hatred radiating from her was so physical it felt like a weight on Ramela's chest.

The spirit’s gaze snapped toward Ramela. For a decade, the ghost had watched thousands of people walk right through her, but this girl... this girl had just flinched.

The spirit of Scarlett O’Hara narrowed her eyes, a slow, predatory smile creeping across her ghostly lips.

You," the ghost whispered, her voice a freezing wind in Ramela's ear. "You can see me, can't you, little bird?"

Ramela tried to look away, but her eyes were locked onto the vengeful specter. She saw the spirit glance toward the head of the room, where the handsome aging but still powerful Crown Prince Edward and Princess Elizabeth sat on their thrones, laughing and sipping wine.

"Ten years I have waited for a vessel," Scarlett murmured, stepping closer until she was inches from Ramela's face. "Ten years of watching them rot in their stolen luxury. And now, I find a girl with a door left wide open."

"Julian," Ramela whimpered, clutching her fiancé's arm. "I... I feel faint. Please, can we go?"

"Don't be dramatic, Ramela," Julian snapped, not even looking at her. "The Crown Prince is about to give his toast. You will stay right here."

Scarlett let out a dry, haunting laugh that sent shivers down Ramela’s spine.

"He doesn't care for you, little girl. But I? I could make you the most powerful woman in this room. All you have to do... is let me in."

Before Ramela could scream, the icy shadow lunged forward, and the ballroom turned to pitch black.

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