Elysium: Desired by the Cold-hearted Princess [GL]
Chapter 193 193: The Funeral

Electra's POV

When my eyes fluttered open, the familiar black-and-white scenery I had hoped for was nowhere to be found. Instead, I was standing in the middle of the auditorium of Elysium Girls High.

For a moment, I blinked, trying to put together what was happening. The space was buzzing with voices and shuffling feet, but something felt distinctly off.

I glanced down at myself and immediately froze. I was still wearing my pyjamas—bright, colorful ones that felt jarringly out of place because around me, everyone else was dressed in black.

I started to feel embarrassed when I realized how awkward I looked standing there, completely out of sync with the rest of the room.

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered to myself, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces.

The girls were all chatting amongst themselves in hushed tones, but none of them paid me any attention, and my heart pounded in my chest as confusion quickly gave way to panic.

I spotted a girl standing near me, who I recognised as one of my classmates even though I'd never spoken to her before. Still relieved to see someone I recognised, I stepped closer, reaching out to tap her on the shoulder. "Hey, what's going—"

My hand passed straight through her shoulder.

I yanked my hand back as though I'd touched fire, a scream tearing from my throat. "What the—?!" My voice echoed in the space, but no one so much as flinched. They all continued talking amongst themselves, completely unmoved by my outburst.

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" I shouted, my voice trembling with a mix of frustration and fear.

I waved my arms, stepping into the path of another girl, but she walked straight through me as if I wasn't there.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. No one could see me. No one could hear me, and it was like I didn't even exist.

I stumbled back, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Was I dreaming? Was this another cruel twist of fate from the gods? I clenched my fists, forcing myself to take deep breaths. Panicking wasn't going to help.

Needing answers, I started walking toward the front of the hall. The more I moved through the crowd, the more unsettling the scene became. People I had known for years—classmates, teachers, even Principal Astor—were all gathered, their faces solemn as they spoke in low tones.

Then, as I reached the front of the auditorium, my steps faltered. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes locked on the sight in front of me.

There, at the center of the stage, was a large framed photograph. The image was unmistakable—it was me, dressed in my royal outfit, and around the photograph were flowers, their petals carefully arranged in a wreath-like display.

It was a memorial.

I stumbled back, my heart hammering in my chest as my mind tried to catch up with what I was seeing. "No," I whispered, my voice shaking. "No, no, no."

My legs felt weak, and I reached out for something to steady myself, but my hands grasped at empty air. The scene blurred as tears welled in my eyes, my gaze locked on the picture of myself surrounded by flowers.

This can't be real.

But the more I looked, the more it sank in. The black clothes, the solemn atmosphere, the memorial at the front of the hall—it all pointed to one inescapable conclusion.

This was my funeral.

I collapsed on my knees, staring at the photograph in disbelief. "I'm not dead," I whispered, the words a desperate plea. "I'm not dead! I'm right here!"

But no one looked my way. No one acknowledged my presence. I was invisible, a ghost in a room full of people mourning the loss of someone they believed was gone forever.

Tears streamed down my face as anger bubbled to the surface. "This isn't fair!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "I'm not dead! I'm not!"

I slammed my fists against the floor, the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain up my arms, but the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of helplessness that consumed me.

I forced myself to look around, hoping for something—anything—that could explain what was happening. My gaze landed on the podium where one of my teachers stood, her hands clasped in front of her as she spoke into the microphone.

"Today, we gather to honor the memory of Her Royal Highness, Princess Electra Mae Vale," she said, her voice steady. "She was a bright light, a fierce competitor, and a friend to many of us here. Her passing is a loss we will carry in our hearts for years to come."

I shook my head, my tears blurring my vision. "No," I whispered again. "I'm not gone. I'm right here."

But it didn't matter. No one could hear me. No one could see me, and as I stared at the photograph of myself, the truth became harder to deny.

To everyone in this room, I was already dead.

Shakily, I got to my feet, the tears streaming down my face blurring everything around me. My knees wobbled as I forced myself to move, to get away from the picture of myself surrounded by flowers.

The voices of the mourners faded into the background as I walked through the crowd, walking between girls who didn't even notice me.

I wasn't ready to accept what I'd just seen. Not now, not ever.

As I neared the exit of the auditorium, a voice caught my attention, stopping me in my tracks.

"I don't even know why Principal Astor thinks any of us care that Electra Vale is dead," a girl whispered to her group of friends, her voice laced with disdain. "Over half the school is probably happy that bitch is ancient history."

I froze, my chest tightening. Slowly, I turned my head to see the girl who had spoken, and her friends chuckled nervously, glancing around as if to make sure no one had overheard.

Another girl in the group leaned closer and whispered back, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. "Oh, I'm sure Principal Astor doesn't care either. She's probably just putting on this big act to stay on good terms with the royal family. Can you imagine the backlash if she didn't act like this was a tragedy?"

My fists clenched at my sides, and for a moment, my sadness was replaced by anger. I shouldn't have been surprised by their words. I was Electra Vale, after all—the mean bitch of Elysium Girls High, so of course half the school hated me.

I'd bullied, belittled, and dominated my way to the top, and now they were taking the opportunity to celebrate my death.

I scoffed quietly to myself, shaking my head. "Typical," I muttered under my breath, though no one could hear me. "Absolutely typical."

I was about to turn away, deciding I'd had enough of their nonsense, when something unexpected happened.

A fist came flying out of nowhere, slamming into one of the girl's face with enough force to send her stumbling back. She let out a startled yelp, clutching her cheek as she stared up at her attacker with wide eyes.

"What the hell?" she screeched.

Standing in front of her, breathing heavily and radiating fury, was none other than Irina. Her sharp eyes glared daggers at Clara, her fist still clenched as if ready to strike again.

"You watch your mouth, you bitch!" Irina growled, her voice low. "Say one more word about Electra, and you'll end up dead and buried in the middle of nowhere. Got it?"