When I opened my eyes, I was no longer by the lake.

The world around me felt heavy, steeped in history.

I lay on a satin bed, the fabric cool against my skin. The air smelled of incense and old stone, the flickering glow of oil lamps casting elongated shadows across the walls.

This wasn’t my time.

I wasn’t Damini anymore.

I was Saudamini.

Mini.

The name surfaced effortlessly, memories bleeding into my own.

Saudamini Rao.

Daughter of Vallabh Rao, an aristocrat in service to the Crown Prince of Kolhapur.

A motherless child, raised by her paternal aunt Radha in Palshet.

A reckless girl who had wagered a bet to swim across the lake on a haunted, moonless night.

Where she had drowned.

And where the goddesses had sent me in her place.

My breath hitched. My fingers clutched at the silken sheets beneath me. This room,  this world wasn't mine.

But it was hers.

The village was different.

Palshet, yet not the Palshet, I knew.

Mud houses lined the narrow paths, their roofs still made of hay. The scent of freshly churned butter and morning prayers filled the air. Electricity had not yet touched this place, and in the distance, a tall watchtower stood, half-constructed.

The lake was unchanged.

Still. Watching. Waiting.

And beyond it, looming over the village like a guardian of old the Rao Wada.

The mansion stood proud, untouched by ruin.

In my time, it was a haunted relic, feared and abandoned. Now, it was pristine. Its intricate wooden balconies cast elegant shadows across the courtyard, its pillars carved with symbols too old to recognize.

A man who looked at me with warmth. A man who smiled.

A man Saudamini knew as a loving father.

"Mini," he called, his voice rich with affection. "Come along. After Dussehra, we will visit the palace together. You’ll love it."

He had promised her.

And he had kept that promise.

I wanted to believe in the warmth of his voice, the kindness in his eyes.

But I knew the truth.

The man who stood before me "Vallabh Rao" was the same man who, in time, would set fire to this very mansion.

Would watch his own family perish in the flames.

Would ensure that not a single soul escaped.

And I 'Saudamini" was now trapped in this past.

The weight of it settled over me, pressing down with the force of fate itself.

Had I been given this life to change what was coming?

Or was I merely a spectator, cursed to watch it all burn again?