Marry me, Commoner!

Of cliche stories

"We're inside a what?"

Priscilla could not blame her soon-to-be fiancé—if all goes well—when his eyes widened, enough that she worried they would pop out of their sockets.

Telling someone they are not real, that they have always been "just a story" to someone, is something that only exists in fantasy novels. It sounded philosophical in a way, but the saying that you are just a story to someone is literally them.

"Like I just said, we are inside a story someone made up. A fictional reality that became self-conscious—or at least that is what Lizette guessed."

"The more you explain, the more confusing it gets."

Priscilla huffed, tempted to just beat him up until he got her point. If only communication was as easy as slicing someone up, the dark-haired girl wouldn't find social interactions a chore—a bit odd for someone high up in the social ladder.

"We're not real to someone—you know what, let's not mind the useless details. The main point is, if I marry you, there will be more chances that I will live."

Talking about it out loud to someone sounded silly. It brought back the memory of her conversation with Lizette Derule, her cousin born from a******y, and the way the dark-haired girl almost poked the blonde's eye with the rapier she always carried.

Strands of golden hair, disheveled and unkempt, bright blue jewels encased the sky for eyes—it all filled Priscilla's vision. The girl running to her resembled that of a princess hailed in fairy tale books the dark-haired girl used to read as a child.

With a desperate tone, she yelled, albeit breathless. "Priscilla! I need to talk to you!"

It irked the duke's daughter hearing her name casually roll off the blonde's tongue, lacking the respect she grew up with. "How dare you address me, the youngest daughter of the Derule dukedom, so casually?"

Her tone is harsh, nonetheless, Lizette did not mind. In fact, she adored it. Priscilla was just like how she remembered her act in the novel, 'The Scarlet Witch'. And even when hailed as the villainess, readers could never bring themselves to hate her up until the end.

That included Frey, an avid reader of the w*******l, The Crimson Witch. Compared to a generic villainess that exists solely to be evil with no motivation to drive their character, Priscilla is just blunt and socially awkward. Thus, it is the people around her that villainize her.

Was it due to her strong feelings towards the novel? Or was it because she sought more thrill in her boring everyday life? Whatever the reason was and whoever was it that brought her soul into this novel, Frey—now Lizette Derule—is dead set on giving everyone a happy ending.

A happy ending will never be attained if Priscilla dies.

Reincarnated as Lizette Derule, she now has the power to change the undesirable ending of the story. An unfortunate death—having been accidentally killed by a knife on her chest from a g**g fight in her crappy neighborhood—did not seem unfortunate anymore.

Being a broke college student is difficult, having to take multiple part-time jobs just to survive. Frey was not at the top of her class like some of the main characters in a cliché story, who, despite juggling so much of their time, still have time to study—but the girl believes she may just be below average or just plain stupid. But of course, Frey cannot deny that even she lives in a world full of clichés.

What a repetitive life, she always thought. And, it was as if the gods from above heard the boredom laced in her voice. Soon enough, Frey found herself no longer certain whether she remained nonchalant about the idea of death.

The dark sky made the scenery back home dim, but even then the fighting that suddenly broke off in her district—one that is famous for gangs and robbers to hang out in—between rival gangs of the underground world just had to drag her in.

Amidst the sea of shouting and the disgusting odor of beer reeking off their mouths, indicating they were drunk, were glints of silver under the soft glow of the moon—a direct contrast to the dangerous glint of the sharp blade meant to harm, not to protect.

"You bastard!" Slurred speech and careless swings of the pointed blade forced Frey to drop the heavy bag she had slung over her shoulder in order to dodge.

"I swear I'm just a harmless passing student," she calmly tried to explain, keeping a cool expression, but Frey doubts the bearded fellow heard her as he continued to s***h the air. It surprised the girl who thought of herself as a couch potato who hated physical activity to be able to dodge his insistent attacks this long.

Alas, Frey should have known she could only dodge so long. As the girl cursed this very place for being so infested with people like them, a loud bang resonated under the scream-filled night sky. Followed by the sound is a numb feeling and the metallic taste of blood in the girl's mouth.

The world blurred, the sweaty air turned quiet, and Frey was sure all eyes were focused on her. First the arm, and then both of her legs, she lost feeling in all her limbs as she watched the world fall apart. Not long did Frey realize it was her crumpling to the ground as she coughed up blood.

I got hit, she thought stupidly. The girl never asked if this was it, nor did she feel regret. In fact, Frey was not sure what she felt that night as she succumbed to the arms of death.

Frey simply closed her eyes, quietly saying her goodbyes to anyone who might care—her parents, maybe.

And the world once more is filled with green fields, tall hills, and a clear blue sky. Under the blanket of clouds is a familiar girl with hair as dark as the sky at night and a pair of bloodred irises.

"Please, hear me out. You're not safe from the witch's grasp!"

Hearing the villainous title come out of her mouth, Priscilla stopped in her tracks as the decision to ignore the blonde was now thrown out the window. She turned with her brows furrowed in disbelief.

"What does a girl like you know about the witch? Are you implying that I am one because of my red eyes?"

Indeed, people have used the word witch against her. The scarlet witch, with red eyes and hair as white as snow, who had once wreaked havoc in the land of Eldereign—named after the great lady Eldaire who defeated the said witch—is treated as a taboo by many people to talk about.

Yet they have no problem throwing it as an insult to Priscilla to express their distaste.

It was no secret that the crimson witch from days of yore had someone she fell in love and settled with, thus, creating descendants sharing her blood. Red eyes were considered unique, or rather, ominous. Having one could be a telltale that one is a direct descendant of the witch.

With her pair of red eyes—one that didn't match both her parents—Priscilla is often avoided by others. Not that she minded, in fact, wasn't there someone with the same eye color as hers?

Panicked settled in due to Priscilla's harsh reply that oozed with misunderstanding, and Lizette waved her hand frantically. "No!" She blurted out, the last thing she would want is to offend the girl she wants to save from the clutches of death.

"I promise I'll make it worth your time."

The dark-haired girl raised a brow. Never had she seen someone look so desperate for a tiny fraction of her time. Not to mention, Lizette spoke so differently compared to other nobles who Priscilla grew up with. But considering Lizette's status as a child with a commoner mother, the duke's daughter isn't surprised, but she still found Lizette's way of speaking odd—as if she came from a different world or something.

"And why should I?" If she were more frank, Priscilla wouldn't even give her the time of day. She's already way back on her schedule, it's never good to keep her father waiting when it comes to military affairs. As young as she is, Priscilla is already trained much like how her older brothers and sisters started young. Being from the ducal household of Derule—known for handling military affairs and producing most, if not all, of the respected leaders and gallant warriors—all members of the household must be a leading example to those aspiring to be a knight befitting to protect Elenea and its people.

Lizette wracked her brain for a reason that will catch Priscilla's attention without telling her outright of her situation. And when she thought of something, the blonde-haired girl did not waste any more time as she watched her cousin slowly turning around.

"It's regarding you and the crown prince, Ergoth!"

At the mention of the said prince's name, the dark-haired girl is quick to seize Lizette's arm, unknowingly putting too much pressure. The blonde let out a yelp in pain, and anyone within eyesight would have arrived at the conclusion that an arrogant noble is bullying a poor girl.

Priscilla immediately lets go, yet the apology she is meant to say is stuck in her throat, unable to get out. Her face reddened in embarrassment for acting unladylike and almost putting serious harm to the petite girl before her.

Fortunately, Lizette—from her knowledge of the novel and her love for the character that is the villainess, she only dismissed the accident with a wave of her hand and a verbal reassurance. "I promise you this will help us avoid a catastrophe, I'm telling you this now before your feelings for the prince deepen."

Her doll-like face turned serious, but beneath that is a scary hint of threat that gave Priscilla a bad feeling, but not in the sense that she needed to draw her sword. It's as if Lizette had a grip on everything that makes her existence—including Priscilla's embarrassing secrets.

"And that's how I remember getting scolded by my father for being late to training."

"No, that's beside the point." Nyx waved his hand. "And how long ago was this conversation you've had with the young lady, Lizette?"

"I just turned eighteen before that day, so it was definitely about two months ago, before we enrolled in the academy."

"And you believed her?"

Remembering Lizette, who did not seem to have a mean side to her at first glance, smile at Priscilla darkly to get her to listen—and totally not threatening her to expose her darkest, most embarrassing secrets—the dark-haired girl uncharacteristically shivered.

"No, she's serious. How else would she be able to convince me? Do you think of me as stupid?"

Yes, yes I do is what Nyx would have said but risking getting impaled by a silver blade is not an ideal way to end his life. While he does excel in magic combat, in no way will he be able to outclass Priscilla when it comes to physical combat. Even the crimson-haired male knew his limits of provoking a noble.

The male hummed, thinking that if whatever the girl before him is talking about held any truth, this could result in an interesting turn of events, enough to keep him on his toes.

"I wonder," he began, "just how far you'll go for this so-called future predicament?"

"Far enough to marry a commoner," Priscilla deadpanned.

Her response irked Nyx. However, he cannot deny that such a response is what he expected from an arrogant noble. On the other hand, the dark-haired girl meant no malice in her words, only that marriage to someone with power can help her family—a thought engraved to her as a daughter of nobility.

"We digress, but now that you've agreed to marry me, I expect your full cooperation, Nyx Orpheus."

All for the sake of avoiding the death flag, something Nyx has yet to hear in detail.