Too Lazy to be a Villainess

[Lavinia's POV—The Void Between Light and Shadow]

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

She stood there—real, solid, and impossibly bright in this sea of nothing. My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to reach out, but I didn't. I couldn't.

I was afraid that if I touched her, she'd vanish like the others.

"Mother…" I whispered again, the word catching in my throat.

Her smile was soft, the kind that once soothed monsters under beds and nightmares behind eyelids. "My sweet girl," she murmured, closing her distance until we were eye-to-eye. "You've grown so beautifully. You look ...exactly like him."

Him? She means Papa.

Then she said flatly with a glint in her eyes, "But...the smartness you got from me, not from that Idiot."

. . .

. . .

Did she call Papa Idiot?

. . .

. . .

She's too casual in this situation. I stared at her—those emerald eyes, the gentle tilt of her lips, and the faint shimmer of light around her. Every detail was perfect. Too perfect.

"I… I don't understand." My voice trembled. "You're… You're gone. You died."

Her expression didn't change. Calm. Serene. Unshaken.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing against my cheek—warm. Real. That simple touch sent a shiver through me. "You're right," she said softly. "I am gone…"

Then, her voice softened further, wrapping around me like a song. "But my dear… how could I not come when my daughter is here all alone? A mother can never leave her daughter alone, my dear."

Her hand cupped my face, gentle and sure. The warmth spread through me—slow, steady, and comforting. It was a warmth I didn't know I'd been missing until that moment. It wrapped around me like a forgotten lullaby—one I must've once heard before falling asleep as a baby.

Tears—or something like them—burned in my eyes. She noticed instantly. Smiling faintly, she brushed her thumb across my cheek, wiping away what the void tried to take. Then she leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"I missed you… my dear," she whispered.

I blinked rapidly, the ache in my chest tightening. "You did?"

She nodded, her eyes softening with that unmistakable tenderness only mothers seem to carry.

"You were such a small bundle when I held you," she murmured, voice thick with emotion. "So tiny… you could barely open your eyes. And now—" her fingers brushed through my hair, "—now you've grown so beautifully. Too fast for me to see."

I didn't know why…

Even though I had never truly known her—never missed her, never seen her—the tears still fell, unbidden. They slipped down my cheeks and disappeared into the darkness, as if even the void couldn't bear to hold them.

"Why… why are you only coming now?" I asked, my voice breaking halfway.

Her smile faltered, but her eyes stayed warm. "Because," she whispered, "some doors only open once, Lavinia. And I wanted to use mine when it was truly needed."

Something inside me cracked. A sob escaped my throat before I could stop it. I moved without thinking—I threw my arms around her, burying my face in the fabric of her gown.

"I don't want to go back, Mama…" My words came out as broken gasps. "Papa lied. Osric lied. Everyone lied, Mama. Everyone…"

She said nothing for a moment—only held me. Her arms wrapped around me with quiet strength, her fingers stroking my hair in slow, patient motions.

"It's okay," she whispered finally, her voice like silk over raw wounds. "It's okay, my dear. I am here now. You don't have to carry it anymore."

Her hand rested on the back of my head, her tone almost like a lullaby. "You wanted rest, didn't you? Then rest. I will keep you safe here… until he comes to get you."

My breath hitched. "Until… Papa comes?"

She smiled faintly, pressing her forehead against mine. "If he can find you," she said softly, "then yes. But until then, my love, stay here. Don't hurt anymore."

Her voice lowered, sweet and persuasive—the kind that could convince a storm to sleep.

"You don't have to fight anymore. You don't have to carry pain or fear or destiny. Stay here, my love. With me."

Stay.

That word again.

It echoed through the darkness—warm, gentle, dangerous.

The same whisper that had tempted me before.

I looked down at our joined hands, noticing for the first time faint threads of light wrapping around my wrists, glimmering like spider silk. They pulsed softly, tugging me closer to her, tighter into her embrace.

It didn't hurt. It just… felt heavy. Like sinking into a dream I didn't want to wake from.

"I can stay?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Forever?"

Her lips curved—not in triumph, not in deceit, but in love. Or maybe something that only looked like it.

She brushed her fingers through my hair again and asked softly, "Why don't you tell me, my darling… What is it that you loved there?"

Her question lingered in the air, tender and deceptively gentle—the kind of question that could decide everything.

***

[Emperor Cassius's POV—Imperial Palace, Dawn]

Thalein's gaze met mine—ancient, steady, almost piercing through my very soul. The room smelled of herbs and iron, the heavy tang of magic clinging to the air like a storm about to break.

"Emperor," he said quietly, almost gently, "before you enter her void… you must lie beside her."

I gave a curt nod, though my jaw tightened. "Explain," I demanded, though my voice was lower than usual, taut.

Thalein stepped closer. "Her mind will recognize your presence first through touch. She must feel your heartbeat, your warmth… or the void may tighten its hold before you can reach her."

For the first time in years, I hesitated. The Emperor of an empire hesitated. But the urgency in his tone left no room for pride. I stepped closer, every heartbeat thundering in my chest, louder than the flicker of the wards.

Kneeling slowly beside her bed, I reached out. Her hand was so pale, so delicate. When I took it into mine, it felt like gripping a fading ember. Too light. Too fragile. But still there. Still alive.

I bent forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, my lips trembling against her cool skin. "Wait for me, my dear," I murmured—not as an emperor, but as a father. "Papa will get you… no matter what."

Her hand twitched slightly in mine—almost imperceptibly—but enough. Enough to pierce my chest like a blade.

Thalein's voice broke through the moment, soft but grave. "Do not linger, Emperor. You must hold her, anchor her, and pull her back immediately. The void is patient. But it will consume her if you hesitate."

My eyes burned, though I forced my voice steady. "I will bring her back," I said, each word hard as steel. "No matter what."

Thalein inclined his head. "Do not forget," he warned. "You will see everything she keeps in her memory. Her pain. Her joy. Her secrets. Everything."

I only tightened my grip on her hand. "Let it show me," I growled. "I will still bring her home."

The room seemed to constrict, the air thickening as Thalein began the incantation. Sparks of pale green light flickered along the wards surrounding her bed. Magic hummed, thrumming in rhythm with her heartbeat… and mine.

"You must enter swiftly," Thalein warned, voice now low and urgent. "Do not look away from her. Do not falter. Do not let the void see your doubt. Anchor yourself through her… and through the bond you share."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, never once taking my eyes off her. "I will," I whispered — a promise, a vow.

One deep breath. One heartbeat.

I tightened my grip on her hand. My fingers dug in as if sheer force could bind her to me. The air shimmered. The wards flared. And slowly, impossibly, the world of the void began to fold inward around me.

I braced myself—not for battle, not for assassins or traitors, but for my daughter. My light. My life.

Because inside that darkness, she was waiting. And I would do whatever it took to bring her back.

But as the shadows rose, cold and endless, a chill spread down my spine. What I did not know—what no one had warned me—was that before I reached her, before I could take her hand and drag her back…

I would see the truth she had never spoken.

Her memories. Her pain. Her past life.

And then the darkness swallowed me whole.