The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 32: In the Room

Am I the only one who remains a child?

Am I the only one who hasn’t grown up?

Perhaps I’ve never truly been an adult.

Even before I became Marisela, I was just a child obsessed with the piano. 

Whether as a young girl or in a fully grown body, I preferred the sound of the keys under my fingers in a quiet room over the praise of others who called me a genius.

At least until my hand was crushed by that drunk bastard Taco’s car.

Unable to even press a single key properly, I gave up everything, locked myself in my room, and spiraled into ruin. And then… I woke up here.

In the end, I only grew physically; my mind remained stunted.

I broke once and never managed to get back up. Every attempt to restart only left me more battered and torn.

I don’t like philosophical questions, but I often wonder: What am I?

Maybe the Germans, who seem to ponder such things daily, became insufferably dull because of it.

Since I’m already dull and uninteresting, perhaps it’s fine to think about it once in a while.

A lunatic who cursed at the doctor who skillfully stitched my hand back together—not in gratitude, but in frustration that my fingers wouldn’t move the same way they used to. 

A lunatic who lashed out at her worried family before running off to hide in her room.

A coward who pretended not to notice her mother selling her body, greedily accepted pocket money from visiting noblemen, and silently endured her mother’s inexplicable hatred.

A wretched person who endured bullying in the orphanage without resistance, unable even to thank Raphael when he stepped in to help.

A despicable villain who turned her fury on the mansion’s servants with monstrous cruelty but couldn’t muster a single word of defiance against the Duchess, Libian, or Eileen.

The Duchess, who slapped me and tried to break me, teaching me strange and humiliating lessons.

Libian, who threw things at me, hurled insults, hit me, and kicked me.

Eileen, who scratched and pinched me, poured filth over me, and mocked me.

I couldn’t fight back against them, but I had no qualms about unleashing horrors on the servants who couldn’t stand up to me.

I was an ungrateful fool who only caused pain to Alina, the one person who had always comforted and protected me.

I muttered these self-loathing thoughts as I ran down the corridor.

The sharp clicks of my shoes, once familiar, irritated me, so I flung them off.

My stockinged feet hit the floor, their delicate, slightly polished appearance oddly unnatural yet beautiful.

I shoved aside a maid who scolded me for not wearing shoes properly and kept running. I had to hide in my room.

It was the only safe, comfortable place in this entire mansion.

Leaning against the wall, I took deep breaths once inside. Was I out of breath from running? Or was it the conversation in the garden that left me like this?

No, I couldn’t allow myself to think about it. Acknowledging it would only make things harder.

I was still that child blinking dumbly beside the Proxy Manager’s corpse.

Even now, dressed in pretty clothes, wearing polished shoes, and standing in a warm, spacious room, I was still stuck back there.

Approaching the wall, I yanked at the handle until a shrill metallic sound echoed throughout the hallways.

It didn’t take long for the sound of hurried footsteps to approach.

When the knock came, I screamed like a madwoman. The only consolation was that there was no one here to sedate me or tie me to the bed.

I sat on the floor and spoke.

It was probably Looney again. The servants always sent the easiest target to me.

Even after years, they always left me to her. She must have been ostracized herself, to still be stuck handling me.

“Looney, fetch some powdered medicine from the physician. Tell him to make it a stronger dose this time.”

A bewildered response came from the other side before I heard Looney’s retreating footsteps. 

Closing my eyes briefly, I pressed my trembling hands to the floor and pushed myself up.

Why now?

If our relationships were already broken beyond repair, why seek reconciliation?

It’s simpler to stay as mutual objects of hatred, mired in purposeless contempt.

Loving someone requires justification, but hating them doesn’t. 

We can hate someone for absurd reasons—because they’re unpleasant, unattractive, or simply annoying.

When I think about it, the Duchess hated me simply because I was the daughter of the woman who stole the Duke’s heart.

That’s a valid reason. Perhaps not to me, but to her.

So should I understand and accept her?

Should I embrace the people of this household and live harmoniously with them?

I couldn’t say I hated the eldest son; we’d never spoken enough for me to form an opinion.

As for Eileen and Libian, their mother’s hatred of me likely influenced their own discomfort and disdain.

But after all their insults, mockery, and jeering, could I now entertain their apologies?

They should just keep despising me as they did back then. That’s all.

So why now?

Why are they trying to come closer?

The thoughts tangled in my mind. The medicine couldn’t come soon enough.

Why now, of all times, were they trying to show kindness, worry, or concern?

If I pushed them away, cursed at them, and drove them out, I’d end up as the bad one again.

Yes, just as they say, the villainess.

Fine. Let me play that role. Carefully navigating this household’s whims, punishing those who slight me, and driving out those I deemed unworthy—if that’s not being a villainess, what is?

I know this is just a childish rant.

Perhaps I’m just going through a phase, as they call it. Hormonal imbalances controlling my behavior like a puppet.

It’s such a petty grievance that I can’t bring myself to tell anyone.

If Alina were here, though, I might have curled up in her arms and spilled everything, unwittingly.

Maybe I should visit her.

I hope she’s happy.

But no, my presence might only bring trouble. I’m a notorious wretch, and I might dredge up bad memories for her.

I really am useless.

I stood and walked to the piano.

I didn’t even bother sitting on the bench, shoving it aside and brushing my fingers over the keys.

As I pressed down, the keys seemed to multiply—two, four, eight of them twisting wildly.

A sudden heat surged through me, and I hurriedly opened the window, flung open the door, and pressed my forehead to the cold floor.

“Uweeegh!”

I gagged, but having nothing in my stomach, only bitter bile came up.

My head hurts.

I wasn’t sure if it was from the pain itself or if it was because I was just angry. I pressed my face to the floor and screamed.

“Looney, get that damn medicine right now!!!”

After a while, Looney came into the room holding a basket. She didn’t even wait for permission to enter—was she starting to think I was easy to deal with, too?

Just a moment ago, the sun had been shining brightly, but now the sky was painted in the hues of sunset.

And for some reason, I found myself sitting on the sofa.

“You didn’t even knock before entering. Why?”

“…But, miss, the door was wide open, and you were lying on the floor,” Looney said hesitantly.

“Was I?”

She fidgeted slightly before speaking again. 

“Should I fetch the doctor?”

“No need. Just go back and do whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

It wasn’t anything important.

I took the basket and ushered Looney out of the room.

With trembling hands, I picked up the pipe on the table, only to set it back down. 

I sprinkled a heap of powdered medicine into the leftover tea in my cup and stirred it until it became thick and sticky.

Lacking a teaspoon, I stirred it with my finger instead.

Next, I took out a bundle of dried leaves I had bought in town a while ago while wearing plain clothes—tobacco leaves, or maybe hemp. Not that it mattered. They were just something to mix with the powder.

I dipped the dried leaves into the sticky mixture and stuffed them haphazardly into the pipe’s chamber. Then, I tore a scroll covered in bizarre symbols and used it to light the concoction.

The damp, pungent smoke began to curl upward, filling the room as always.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, my mouth tightly shut, letting the sweet yet sharp scent sting my senses. 

My dry lips scraped against each other as I licked them, then I bit down on the pipe’s stem and drew in a deep breath of smoke.

“Haaah.”

I hadn’t been in my right mind just moments ago.

As the smoke slithered through my body, it felt as though my mind was awakening.

I looked every bit the addict, but what else could I do when the alternative felt like throwing myself out the window?

Alina probably couldn’t endure living in this mansion because she didn’t have something like this. Not that I wanted to suggest she should have taken it.

“Anyway, society…”

There was no reason I couldn’t attend.

Since when had I become someone so important?

If I encountered a bratty girl I didn’t like, I could just yell at her. If a group gathered to intimidate me, I could smash a teapot over their heads.

Just because life had gotten a little easier lately and people had been treating me better, I’d started deluding myself into thinking I was someone of worth.

If the Duchess told me to attend a ball, then of course I had to go. How could a mere wretch like me even dare to refuse?

I was nothing more than the daughter of a prostitute, the Duke’s pet, a foul-tempered halfwit.

The clarity brought on by the smoke made me laugh quietly to myself.

Not because I felt good—this wasn’t the drug’s effect.

“Heheh.”

At least, I think it wasn’t.

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