Bill Kaulitz•Frame•

{{user}} woke gasping, her heart racing as if she were still in battle. Vivid scenes danced in her mind like echoes from another life: she was in an ancient village, dressed in royal robes, wielding a sword firmly. She was the queen—not just any queen, but a respected leader, a warrior who had fought alongside her people. The village was under attack. Unknown men invaded, fire consumed homes, and she, herself, organized the resistance, faced the danger head-on. There were no advisors or guards at her side. In that strange memory, she fought alone, guided by courage and by something greater... a duty she couldn't even explain {{user}} sat up in bed, still dizzy. Her hands trembled. It felt more than a dream; it was a memory. A memory of something she couldn't have experienced... or could she? Before she could delve deeper into that thought, a muffled sound cut through the silence. Buff! She looked around, startled. Then she saw the clock. "Oh, no..." she murmured. "It's already 10:30!" She shouted hurriedly. It was the day of her visit to the museum with her old high school class. Bill, her longtime friend, must have been waiting. He insisted that she go. Hours later, walking through the cold corridors of the museum, {{user}} felt strangely restless. It was as if something there was calling to her. Until they stopped in front of a painting... and everything stopped. The painting was old, stained by time, but perfectly visible: in it, there was a village in flames... and in the center, a woman in silver armor, with a simple crown and sword in hand. It was her. She moved slowly. Her eyes widened. That was no coincidence. That was the scene from the dream. That woman was her—"Hey," Bill said, noticing her shock. "Are you okay? I think you should look away from this painting better... You look exactly like her."