For Aillen, Titlata was both a refuge and a shackle.
A proposal arrived at just the right time that year.
Using marriage as an excuse, Aillen left her hometown and her job at the family inn. However, she was greeted only by unforeseen misfortune, as though it had been waiting for her. Ultimately, as she fled the mansion that felt like a prison, she was struck by a carriage and died.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself back on the day she had received the proposal.
Aillen had returned to the past.
She resolved never to make such foolish mistakes again.
“Do you have any rooms available?”
A single guest, bearing the chill of the northern winter, entered the inn.
Yes, certainly. This was a journey that had never been planned.
She had set out on impulse, rejoicing at the thought that she might be able to call off the unwanted engagement.
“What should I call you? I can’t keep calling you ‘guest’ forever.”
Aillen. Aillen Grandel.
Hadn’t her foolish fiancé said something like that? She should have seen it coming.
“Please call me Seren.”
Meeting Aillen’s gaze, Seren thought to herself.
If one were raised beneath evergreen trees, one would have eyes that shone with such vivid green.
