The Villainess was Loved

Chapter One: I was Too Kind

She was loved.

Loved in the way, a wh*re loves the wh*rehouse, loved in the way the dying love their casket or a plant its weeds; Loved in the way the ailing cherished their illness.

Indeed, she was adored.

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“I certainly, was too kind.”

The original villainess of the otome game proclaimed in the imperial dungeons before the crown prince sliced off her tongue.

Funny; I distinctly remember holding a vow to avoid that ending when I first woke up as her. I swore because I knew the level of manipulation required in order to stay alive.

But the Prince, oh the sweet Prince. With words that tasted of honey and an act as dignified as the most refined butter, he made me forget that I was merely a replacement. A placeholder whose existence bore no value.

But, even if my mouth remains tongueless, numbed to death by cheap opioids passed on to prisoners as pain killers, I should spread the net of blame wider.

I should call out the father who vowed to love me as his own even though I once called a pr*stitute ‘mother’.

But, what sense would that make because still, here I was, dressed in rags reeking of my filth, marching to the guillotine barefooted on legs sliced from whips yet still pebbles found their way to the cracks as though they had no notion of my pain.

‘This was not supposed to happen,’ were the only cohesive repetitive thoughts framing my mind as I left bloody footprints on the dusty, bricked rocks.

“Kneel”, the executioner commanded, but my knees were blistered.

I have to perform the act; of course, I do. I have the entire high society playing audience. After all, I was the daughter of the Marquis, no sorry because I am the daughter of a pr*stitute, adopted by the Marquis, engaged to the crown prince and then abandoned by both. Yet, still, my misery needed to be upheld.

No tears could form over my predicament.

Or was it that the reason for that was less emotional? Perhaps my eyes were simply dried out, or the chains binding both my hands and feet absorb too much mana for relief?

I fell into the same trap the previous villainess had.

I believed the lies spoken in poetic words and gestures of kindness offered with a knife.

I am not dying because I am a sinner, but because I tried to survive in a world not written for me.

“I said on your knees, criminal!!” the executioner seethed before pushing me to the ground, and whether a vein burst at the impact or my knee cups burst, I have no idea; all I could see was crimson pooling beneath me.

It is fine; my death will be quick.

I soothed.

My chest felt…empty, no, rather, tired. More so than when I first woke up in this world, the world of a game I once described as ‘basic’.

I was determined to not turn out like the original villainess. But I guess I clung too tightly to the notion of love.

One of the guards beside me forced my neck to the restrain contraption, and in the silence of anticipation erupting in the arena, something smelly and slimy was tossed my way.

Its drip down the dusty floor gave away the rotten tomato.

The initial thrower’s bravery clung to the jeering masses because shortly, an egg followed, then a rock.

The chanting in the space was no longer controlled. Even though blows from the force of objects I could not correctly decipher because of the opioids grew heavier, I only regret not being turned upwards, to the sky.

I mean, the guillotine's design counts for fear, but I coincidentally feel braver than I have in the past fifteen years; maybe having nothing to lose is a blessing?

Gods, but I wonder if the heavens will make it pour as a tribute to my life. A soothing act of rebellion from the skies. Perhaps then I will feel heard in this world where none listened.

If I saw the image of my mother in the crowds, it was perhaps a drug-induced hallucination.

But I did see her in the crowds, not my mother but the real daughter of the Marquis, hair so golden you could swear she was an angel, the light blue of her gaze outmatching even the depths of the oceans.

Her hand was to her mouth, shocked at the happenings as she gripped the arms of the man who had so easily professed his love as though we were children playing house.

Stupidly, I believed him; I believed them…I did.

And, that was perhaps my greatest sin.

Something sharp must have crushed my left eye because I could no longer see through it.

Or perhaps I simply shut it…

'Damned drugs… I can’t tell a thing!'

The snap of the rope holding the blade tightly sounded, and I…

'Ah! finally, the sky.'

Dark crows swirled above the arena magnificently as though one was conducting a summoning ritual.

'Gods, but their freedom…is beautiful, almost tangible.'

If I could raise my arm, I would.

That was all I wished, to be as liberated as the birds. Even if I had to turn into a vulture for that to happen.

'Still... not a cloud in sight.'

Despite my misery, the sun shone brightly.

And the crows? They would wait for the masses to leave, then peck, claw and tear at my flesh until nothing was left.

'But Gods...'

'Gods…'

'Gods…'

'Where… are you?'

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“It is you that I desire; it is only you that I need.” Étienne said sweetly, “Regina, you must marry me; you must become mine.”

“But my sister-,”

“It was her wish that we remain engaged, not my own. You are the first thing in the entire world that I, by my own wish, have desired.” He said, “Regina, you must understand how brightly you shine for me, who has had to play puppet for longer than necessary!”

All words that I was not supposed to hear, yet still as tightly as I could, I pressed my ear to the door as though waiting for someone to stop me because the pain clawing its way up my stomach was not enough.

I was a replacement. That need not shock anyone; still, I tried as the Marquis insisted. Yet still, what replacements were allowed to shine brighter than the original?

All my accomplishments were written under Regina’s name when she made her comeback. At first, I did not mind it; after all, I was trying to be unlike the original Arusei, and what father does not wish to favour their daughter?

But little by little, I was left with nothing but the originality that came from my soul.

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“I want to end our engagement.”

Étienne, the crown prince, had said, despite my pleas.

I was not pleading because I was mad for him, but because I served as a war tactician at the bare age of fifteen. If a genius of that calibre did not serve the tyrannic Emperor, to him, that meant that I would serve against him.

That was why the engagement was critical; it acted as a leash of some sort.

But now, with the achievements Regina had ‘garnered’, of course, the Emperor would accept her, and that indeed meant that he would find a way to get rid of me.

Even if he had to frame me.

So I begged the Prince to wait two years, when the Emperor, as per the game, would die of an illness, or if that was too long, just until I left the Empire safely.

I had long given up on a romantic route with him; the pain having long taught me to let go, so all I needed was a favour that I would one day repay. Yet the very next day, before my faux father, he announced his wishes.

“Outrageous!” the Marquis protested.

But that was only before he found out the Prince loved his real daughter, the one he sent away because she had been born ill, and he feared she could not handle the pressures of high society.

At first, he was worried about me, but he saw their love after speaking with them both and forgot my desperation.

“Arusei, I am sorry for being such a cruel man. I am sorry I am such a coward.” The Marquis had cried as he escorted me to knights with forged documents of treasonous attempts with a man whose name I did not even know, “but my child, my child Arusei, she has lived such a hard life.”

‘But my child?’

Was I not also his? Had he not ask me on too many an occasion to address him as father??

‘I am such a coward.’

As though his self-lashing would absolve his sins. As though that would be enough to soothe a child whose faith wavered.

You had to be the one to nail my coffin.

It had to be you. You, who I called father and mimicked the speech of a six-year-old to amuse.

You who read me bedtime stories as though you, too, lost yourself in the wonders of fantasy.

You, the only man silly enough to love a p********e.

You who rescued me.

But there is nowhere my finger could reach, and there was no one high enough to blame.

None but me.

Because I, like the initial villainess, had been too kind.