villainess chapter 4

And so, Vivian found herself in Greenbill. She accepted her fate, believing she was atoning for her mother’s sins. She planned to live a quiet life, perpetually repenting to her sister. Even in her dying breath, she saw this as her destiny, the consequence of her childhood ignorance and her mother’s unresolved misdeeds. She blamed no one.

If only I had been more aware. I could have saved them both…

If only she had noticed her mother’s subtle shift in demeanor upon returning from the academy. Her own indifference to others blinded her to her mother’s festering resentment, and she failed to save her sister from the Duchess’s torment. 

They both fell ill because of me.

Tears of regret flowed down her dry cheeks.

Days, perhaps weeks, passed. Confined by the Duke himself, no servants attended to her. No meals were brought, no one even opened the door. Vivian lacked the will or strength to make her presence known. Forgotten by all, she withered away, trapped within those walls.

“Flora, I’m sorry. I turned away…” she murmured, her words reaching no one. Vivian, once a noble lady, second only to royalty in the empire, met a lonely death.

***

“Gasp…ha…ha…” A young girl bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath, the remnants of a terrible nightmare clinging to her. Chestnut-brown hair, the color of swirling caramel, cascaded around her face and arms. Her body was damp with cold sweat. Hazel eyes, shimmering with a blend of brown and amber, glistened with unshed tears. She frantically touched her face, then examined her small, white hands, turning them over and over. Her actions resembled someone returned from the dead.

I died then. How…how is this possible? Her eyes blinked rapidly. The smell of the cramped, musty closet was vivid in her memory. She could still feel the way her already thin body, starved for days, had been reduced to skin and bones. The chilling sensation of death creeping into her lungs was starkly real.

“Am…am I alive?” Her voice sounded childishly small. She looked around. Her childhood bedroom in the ducal estate stretched before her, the faint scent of roses in the air. Come to think of it, her hands seemed smaller now. She ran her small hands over her rounded shoulders and arms. She felt the healthy plumpness of youth. Her skin was soft as down. Realization dawned. She was alive. Clutching her chest, she wept silently.

“I’m not dead. I’m not dead.” Her soft sobs echoed in the quiet room. The musty scent of death was gone, replaced by the vibrant thrum of her own heartbeat. The crushing weight on her shoulders had lifted. The memory of her recent demise felt like a lie. She continued to cry, the tears welling up from deep within.

Sunlight streamed through a gap in the gauzy curtains, illuminating the room with the warm glow of a spring morning. As Vivian reveled in the relief and wonder of being alive, a gentle knock came at the door.

Knock, knock.

Swallowing her sobs, she strained to ask, “Sniffle…Who is it?”

“Lady Vivian, are you awake?”

“Hiccup… Jenny?”

“I’m coming in.”

Click.

The door opened, and a familiar woman entered. It was the maid who had been dismissed without a reference for truthfully reporting the Duchess’s sabotage of Flora’s debutante dress. She was the daughter of a minor baron, possessing only a small estate. Her kind and honest nature had landed her a position as a maid in the ducal household. But the fate of a lowborn maid who had earned the Duchess’s displeasure was predictable. A proper marriage would be difficult, as would securing employment with another noble family. It was even more unlikely for a noble to take on common work. Eventually, Vivian had lost all contact with her.

Now, Jenny stood before the young girl, flustered. “Oh my, Lady Vivian, did you have a bad dream? What happened? Here, let me help you.” 

She was clearly startled by Vivian’s tear-streaked face and offered a clean handkerchief. With gentle, concerned eyes, she dabbed at Vivian’s face and then softly massaged her small hands. Her touch was filled with affection, as if comforting a younger sibling.

“Sniffle… Jenny. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“What are you talking about, Lady Vivian?”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh dear, you must have been very frightened. It must have been a truly awful dream. Don’t worry, they say dreams are the opposite of reality.” Jenny remained warm and compassionate, clearly concerned for her distraught mistress. She placed her larger hand over Vivian’s small, trembling one, sharing her warmth.

Vivian took a few deep breaths, composing herself. Then, she asked the maid the question that burned most in her mind.