Author's Note: Before You Begin…
Hey there, beautiful stranger.
I'm not a bestselling author.
I'm not fluent in English.
But I am someone who writes from the deepest, rawest part of her soul — and that's what you'll feel here.
This story isn't just fantasy.
It's grief, healing, rage, betrayal, heartbreak… and hope.
It's written for the ones who've stayed silent too long.
For the broken girls who deserved better endings.
For the quiet readers who search for themselves in stories and never quite find home.
Maybe… this time, you will.
I grew up listening to my Nani's (grandmother's) stories — the kind that made you believe magic was real and justice always won.
But this one?
This one broke the rules.
Because sometimes, life breaks the rules first.
So if you've ever been the villain in someone else's story,
if you've ever loved fiercely and lost silently…
then this story is yours.
Thank you for giving my words a chance.
If it stays with you — even a little — let me know. It would mean the world to me.
With all my heart,
— A passionate writer who dreams in two languages, and bleeds in stories.
------------------
The snow didn't fall — it whispered.
Outside, the world was blanketed in white.
Cold, endless white.
It devoured sound, blurred the edges of mountains, and turned time into a slow, forgotten thing.
Nestled high among the Himalayan peaks stood a wooden mansion —
Old, regal, and untouched by modern breath.
As if time itself had curled up inside its walls and fallen asleep.
But within one of its silent rooms,
a storm raged — not outside,
but within a girl.
"Seriously, Nani?! What is this nonsense?!"
Aryaa Sen, 26, with cropped silky hair and striking ocean-blue eyes, slammed the thick, dust-laced book shut.
She wore an oversized hoodie and track pants, but no amount of warmth touched her flushed, frustrated face.
She paced the ancient wooden floor, her voice echoing in the otherwise still room.
"The villain dies. The hero and heroine get their happy ending. And that's it?
No justice. No redemption. Just… the end?"
Her fingers clenched the book tighter — the final, unfinished manuscript written by her late grandmother.
A fantasy novel. Her last work. Her final words.
And the villain?
A 22-year-old girl named Rudrakshi —
Imprisoned. Tortured. Silenced.
No trial, no explanation.
And still, by the final chapter, she was in love with her abuser.
Aryaa's voice cracked with disbelief.
"He threw her into a dungeon, called her mad, never once apologized… and she still loved him?! Nani, what kind of twisted logic is that?!"
She turned sharply —
And her breath caught.
There, across the room,
sat a life-sized marble statue of her grandmother — serene, smiling, and still.
A shiver prickled down Aryaa's spine.
The statue always felt too lifelike.
As if her Nani's soul had chosen marble over afterlife.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Only the distant moan of the wind… and the sound of her own heartbeat.
Aryaa's eyes softened.
She walked slowly to the statue, tears brimming.
She knelt beside it, like a child returning to a story too painful to tell.
"You promised me stories always had justice…"
Her voice was quiet now. Broken.
"Then why write a world where the innocent are crushed?
Where love is punishment… and villains never get a chance to speak?"
She placed her head gently on the marble lap —
Like she had done years ago,
when it was warm, soft, and alive.
Now, it was cold.
And so was everything else.
"You were the last person I had. My last family.
Now even you're gone…"
Her voice broke into silence.
Tears slid down her cheeks, vanishing into marble folds.
Her breathing slowed.
The world dulled.
And there — cradled in her grandmother's frozen lap —
Aryaa slipped into sleep.
But while she slept…
something ancient awakened.
From within the statue's closed eyes, a faint golden light flickered.
Soft at first, then brighter… warmer…
Alive.
The glow moved — slowly, surely —
Gliding through the air, toward the girl's resting forehead.
And as it touched her skin —
Aryaa's body jolted.
Her breathing grew shallow.
Fingers trembled.
Muscles locked.
It felt like a thousand memories were crashing into her mind all at once —
some hers… some not.
Then — silence.
The glow vanished.
The statue froze again.
Still.
Unchanged.
But Aryaa was no longer the same.
Minutes… hours… maybe centuries later…
Her lashes fluttered.
She opened her eyes —
and found herself somewhere else entirely.
Gone was the wooden room.
Gone was the snow.
Gone… was the statue.
In their place stood dark stone walls,
damp, cracked, and dripping with cold.
The air smelled of iron… and blood.
A torn window let in faint moonlight,
and in its glow, shadows danced like spirits.
Her breath caught.
She tried to move —
but her hands wouldn't obey.
Something heavy… cold… was binding her.
Her pulse raced.
She looked down —
and gasped.
"These… these aren't my hands…"
They were paler. Bruised. Chained.
Smaller… younger… yet stronger.
The reflection of a silver bracelet flickered —
etched with a name in ancient script:
"Rudrakshi."
Why is Aryaa in a stranger's body?
Has she entered her Nani's unfinished story?
Is she Rudrakshi now — the villain the world never understood?
And this time… will the villain get justice?
---
Now it's YOUR turn:
*Comment below —*
What do you think just happened?
Do you believe villains deserve second chances?
And… would you survive in Rudrakshi's place?
Let me know your theories! I read every comment.
And Chapter 2? It's going to blow your mind.
---
To Be Continued…