I was just a side character, so why are you crying?

Chapter 4:The Ghost In The Mirror

The nursery wing of the Blackwood manor was always colder than the rest of the house, but as I climbed the stairs, the air felt practically glacial. My mind was a chaotic mess of Mikaela’s panic and Genevieve’s cold, lingering echoes.

I reached my bedchamber and dismissed Tilly before she could even offer to unlace my stays. I needed to be alone. I needed to see who was actually looking back at me.

I stood before the full-length vanity, my breath hitching as I gripped the cool marble edge. “I am Mikaela,” I whispered to the glass. “I’m a twenty-four-year-old girl who worked three jobs and died in a hospital. I am not a murderer. I am not a villain.”

In the mirror, Genevieve didn't blink. Her violet eyes looked sharp, predatory—exactly how they had looked when she stood over her brother.

“That wasn't me,” I hissed at my reflection. “That was just... muscle memory. A glitch in the system.”

But as I reached up to unpin my hair, my fingers moved with a terrifying, practiced elegance. I didn't fumble with the pins like Mikaela would; I slid them out with the cold precision of a woman who had been groomed for the throne since birth. Every movement was a reminder that this body had a history I couldn't just delete with a few chocolate truffles.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door made me jump.

“Sister? I know you’re in there. I can hear your heart beating from the hallway.”

Felix. Again.

I groaned, leaning my forehead against the mirror. “Felix, if you don't go to sleep, I’m going to have the guards lock your door from the outside.”

“You wouldn’t,” his muffled voice drifted through the wood, sounding entirely too amused. “You like having me around to watch your back. Besides, you forgot your 'medicine.' I brought it for you.”

Medicine? I didn't remember any medicine in the drama.

I opened the door just a c***k. Felix stood there, looking tiny and fragile in his silk nightshirt, holding a small silver vial. But his eyes were wide and dark, tracking the way my chest rose and fell with my breath.

“You’ve been skipping your doses,” Felix whispered, holding the vial up. “That’s why you’re acting so... soft. Why you’re letting commoners touch you and why you’re ignoring the Prince. Father says you need to stay 'focused.'”

I took the vial, the glass feeling strangely warm in my hand. “Focused on what, Felix?”

The ten-year-old tilted his head, his smile stretching a little too wide. “On the crown, of course. You told me when I was six that you would be the Queen, and I would be your Hand. You said we would burn the Saintess together if she ever tried to take what belonged to the Blackwoods.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the weather washed over me. This wasn't just a "Side Character" story. The Blackwoods weren't just background nobles; they were a nest of vipers, and I was the Queen Mother.

“Go to bed, Felix,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’ll take the... medicine.”

“Good,” he said, reaching out to pat my hand with his cold, small fingers. “Don't let the commoner knight come back, Sister. I’ve already told the stable boys to 'mistreat' any warhorses that enter our grounds. I’d hate for someone to have an accident.”

He turned and skipped down the hall, humming a tune that sounded like a funeral dirge.

I slammed the door and leaned against it, looking at the vial. I didn't know what was in it, but I knew one thing for certain: the "script" wasn't the only thing trying to kill me. My own family was grooming me to be the monster the world expected.

I walked to the window and poured the liquid out into a potted plant. Almost instantly, the vibrant green leaves turned a sickly, bruised black.

“Focused,” I whispered, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “They were drugging her. Genevieve wasn't just mean—she was being pushed into it.”

I looked out at the darkening gardens. In the distance, I could see the silhouette of a rider at the gate. Even from here, I recognized the broad shoulders and the dark armor.

Cassel Thorne. He hadn't left. He was still watching the house.

I gripped the windowsill, my knuckles turning white. “Screw the plot. Screw the family business. If everyone wants me to be the villain, I’ll give them a villain they’ll never forget. But it won't be for the Prince.”

I looked back at the mirror. This time, Genevieve seemed to smile back.

“I’m going to live,” I told the ghost in the glass. “And I’m taking this whole script down with me.”