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

Chapter 5: The Poisoned Morning

The sunlight hit my eyes like a physical blow.

I didn't wake up to the sound of a phone alarm or the smell of cheap coffee. I woke up to the sound of velvet curtains being drawn back and the soft, terrified breathing of Tilly.

“Good morning, My Lady,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she set a silver tray on my nightstand. “I... I’ve prepared your favorite. Strong black tea and a single sliced apple. You said you needed to be ‘sharp’ for your meeting with the Duke today.”

I sat up, my head throbbing. My eyes immediately darted to the potted plant by the window. It was dead—shriveled into a blackened, skeletal remains of its former self. That was my "medicine" from Felix.

“Take the tea away, Tilly. Bring me something with actual calories. Eggs, bread, bacon—I don't care. Just make it a lot,” I said, rubbing my temples.

Tilly’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “But... but you said a Lady’s stomach should never be ‘obvious.’ You said you’d slap me if I ever brought you grease again.”

I paused, my hand halfway to the bedpost. For a second, a phantom heat rose in my palm—a sudden, violent urge to reach out and fulfill that promise. My fingers twitched, ready to strike.

No. Stop it.

“I’m changing my diet,” I forced out through gritted teeth, gripping the silk sheets until my knuckles turned white. “Just bring the food, Tilly. And don't make me ask a second time.”

“Y-yes, My Lady!” She scrambled out of the room like her life depended on it.

I stood up and walked to the vanity. I looked... exhausted. But as I grabbed a hairbrush, my hand didn't move the way I wanted it to. I wanted to brush my hair casually, but my arm rose in a stiff, regal arc. My face in the mirror didn't look like a girl who had just woken up; it looked like a mask of cold, porcelain perfection.

“Mikaela,” I whispered, trying to force a smilecrack

My lips didn't curve. They thinned into a flat, judgmental line.

“Oh, this is going to be a problem,” I muttered.

Halfway through my breakfast—which Tilly delivered with the caution of someone handling a live bomb—a small, familiar shadow appeared at the door.

Felix was dressed in a pristine white suit, looking like a miniature doll. He didn't knock. He simply walked in and stared at the plate of bacon on my lap.

“You didn't take it,” he said. It wasn't a question.

He walked over to the blackened plant by the window and touched a dead leaf with a gloved finger. “Father will be disappointed, Sister. He went to great lengths to get that formula from the Southern Alchemists. It’s supposed to keep your ‘impulses’ under control.”

“My impulses are just fine, Felix,” I said, shoving a piece of bacon into my mouth. “In fact, I’ve never felt clearer. Why don't you go play with your lead soldiers and leave me to my breakfast?”

Felix turned, and for a second, the mask of a ten-year-old boy slipped. His violet eyes glowed with a predatory hunger. “The Prince’s carriage is at the gate. He’s here to take you to the Cathedral for the Saintess’s blessing ceremony. You’re supposed to stand behind him and look ‘devoted.’”

I choked on my tea. “The Cathedral? Today?”

In the drama, the Cathedral scene was where Genevieve tried to sabotage Liana’s holy water. It was another "humiliation" beat for the side character.

“Go on,” Felix smirked, stepping closer to my bed. “Put on your mask, Genevieve. I want to see how long you can pretend to be a saint before the poison in your blood starts to itch.”

He leaned in, his voice a chilling whisper in my ear. “And remember... I’ll be watching. If you don't make the Saintess cry today, I’ll have to assume you’re broken. And we replace broken things in this house, don't we?”

He patted my cheek—a touch so cold it felt like ice—and strolled out of the room.

I sat there, the bacon tasting like ash in my mouth. I had a Prince waiting at the gate, a Knight who was probably still stalking the perimeter, and a ten-year-old brother who was basically a junior high-villain.

I looked at my hand. It was steady now. Too steady.

“Fine,” I whispered to the empty room. “You want a villain? I’ll show you a villain. But she’s not following your script anymore.”



I stood up, and for the first time, I didn't fight the "Genevieve" glare. I leaned into it. If I was going to the Cathedral, I wasn't going as a shadow. I was going as a storm.