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Maribelle clutched the golden seed, her breath shaky. It pulsed in her palm, a quiet rhythm, like a second heartbeat—one that did not belong to her yet felt undeniably hers.
“The land remembers,” Mistress Elira had said.
But did Maribelle want to remember?
She glanced at the old woman, searching for an answer in her eyes. “What… what am I supposed to do with this?”
Mistress Elira’s expression softened. “Plant it.”
Maribelle’s fingers curled instinctively around the seed. “What happens if I do?”
A knowing look passed over the old woman’s face. She wiped her hands on her apron and stood, brushing dirt from her knees.
“The truth always grows back, no matter how deep it is buried.”
With that, she turned and walked back toward her cottage, leaving Maribelle standing at the edge of the strawberry fields—alone with her unanswered questions.
The golden seed felt heavier than it should.
Maribelle sat in her garden long after Mistress Elira had left, staring at the soil beneath her feet.
Her fields stretched endlessly before her—her life’s work, her sanctuary. And yet, for the first time, she realized she did not know what lay beneath them.
"Not in this life."
The stranger’s words whispered through her mind again, sending a chill down her spine.
Had she lived another life before this?
Had she been someone else?
She exhaled shakily and pressed the seed into the earth.
The moment her fingers touched the soil, something shifted.
The air around her stilled. The distant hum of the wind, the rustling of the leaves—silence.
Then, suddenly—a pulse.
A shiver ran through the ground, so subtle she almost thought she had imagined it. But then the soil beneath her fingers glowed.
Maribelle gasped and scrambled backward as the earth began to tremble.
The golden seed sprouted instantly—faster than any plant should. Its roots twisted deep into the ground, and from it bloomed a vine—not green, but crimson, its leaves dark like spilled wine.
At its center, something emerged.
A single strawberry.
But it was no ordinary fruit.
It shimmered like a jewel, the color of burning embers. The air around it wavered, as if it were not merely growing but returning—as if it had existed long before and was only now finding its way back.
Maribelle’s chest tightened. She knew this fruit.
She had tasted it before.
And as soon as the thought entered her mind, the memories came.
A flash of fire.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIouocxgJaG
A kingdom wreathed in golden vines.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzXcWANSGnB
A crown upon her head.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCtl8V6m3Y6
A name whispered through the trees, carried by the wind—117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhSxCHnm95o
"Queen Maribelle."
She gasped as the vision slammed into her, her body trembling.
She had lived another life.
Not just a different life—a different fate.
She had not always been a simple girl tending strawberries in a quiet village.
Once, she had been royalty.
Once, she had worn a crown of strawberries and thorns.
The weight of it settled in her chest, heavy and achingly familiar.
The land had not just remembered her.
It had been waiting for her.
And now, there was no turning back.
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