I'Ll Rewrite the Story… as the Villainess

CHAPTER 2: A Villainess's Awakening

Eira expected death.

The choking. The pain. The darkness closing in. Her last breath had carried the desperate wish to live in a fairytale—even as the villainess.

But when she opened her eyes, she didn't feel pain. She felt... warmth.

Softness.

Silk.

The ceiling above her was not the cracked plaster of her old prison. It was painted with gold leaf and silver constellations, stars that shimmered as if someone had captured the night sky just for her.

She gasped.

The bed beneath her was enormous, wrapped in layers of crimson velvet and embroidered sheets that smelled like fresh jasmine and aged perfume. The pillows were stuffed with something far softer than anything she’d ever touched.

Her head throbbed. Something was wrapped around it—a soft, white cloth, slightly damp.

She blinked slowly. Her hands gripped the fabric.

Her hands.

They were pale. Delicate. The nails painted in a deep maroon, shaped to perfection. Not hers.

She scrambled off the bed. Her legs trembled beneath her as she padded barefoot across the thick fur rug. A tall mirror stood at the far end of the room, framed in blackened gold roses.

She froze.

The girl staring back was not her.

Jet-black hair fell to her waist. Her skin, porcelain white. Her eyes were dark, almost haunting. Her lips—painted red, full, almost cruel in curve.

She took a shaky step back.

“What is this?” she whispered. “Who...?”

The door burst open. A maid ran in, followed by a tall man in a stiff black coat with sharp eyes and thin lips.

“Lady Anastasia!” the maid exclaimed, quickly bowing, fear flickering across her face.

The man adjusted his cuffs. “She’s awake. Finally.”

“Anastasia?” Eira repeated slowly. “I… I’m not—”

But her voice faltered. They weren’t listening.

“You hit your head during the engagement ceremony, My Lady,” the man continued. “You were descending the grand stairwell when you slipped. Your head injury was severe. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

“I… what engagement?”

“With His Grace,” the man replied. “The Duke of Ravenspire. You were both signing the ceremonial pact when one of his men whispered something insolent in your ear. I believe.”

Eira blinked.

None of that sounded like her. But it did sound like the kind of drama written in old fantasy novels.

“Where… am I?” she asked.

“In the southern wing of House Veraxis,” the man said. “Your estate.”

Eira shook her head slowly. “This… this is a mistake. I’m not this woman. I’m not—”

“Your mind must be fragmented,” he said. “We will begin mild medicine in the evening. The sooner you return to normal, the better.”

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want medicine.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You always take it.”

“Well, I won’t now.”

With a sigh, he motioned the maid to remain and walked out.

The maid lingered awkwardly by the door.

“What’s your name?” Eira asked.

“E-Ellyn, My Lady.”

Eira hesitated. “Tell me… was I truly that bad before?”

Ellyn looked down, fingers twisting her apron.

“You were… strict. Unpredictable. People feared you. But you were also… lonely, I think.”

A pause.

“You were arguing with the Duke before you fell,” Ellyn added in a whisper. “I wasn’t there, but the guards said he came to warn you. Something about your purchase of the East District? He said it would harm the locals.”

“And… what did I say?”

“You told him that it wasn’t your job to care what peasants suffer through. You said… ‘I build. I invest. If that makes me cruel, so be it.’”

Eira’s stomach twisted.

That didn’t sound like her. But it sounded like someone—cold, focused, proud.

“Did he leave angry?”

“He stormed out. And you… you were furious. You threw your wineglass at the wall. The hall was silent.”

Eira felt dizzy.

It was like waking up in someone else's crimes.

“Thank you, Ellyn. You may go.”

The maid bowed and slipped out.

Eira stared at her reflection again.

Her lips twisted in confusion.