Regret Is Your Own Problem

The last thing I remember was miserable.
I was falsely accused and unjustly killed.
As a great sinner, my honor fell to the depths,
and I thought not even a single bone would remain intact, let alone a grave.“Saint Beatrice’s Feast Day?”
“Yes! It’s the day to offer flowers at the tomb of the late Princess Beatrice, remembering and giving thanks for her noble sacrifice!”Wait… since when did my birthday become a national holiday?
More importantly, why was I born into this family again!?People remember me as a noble sacrifice,
and my older brother from the old family (now my father), who used to despise me, preserves my old room just as it was.
Even the fiancé who treated me like I didn’t exist has become emperor, yet he can’t forget me and acts as if he “lost” me. What on earth happened while I was dead?