The Villainess Ascends the Throne
The smell of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air.
Ash rained from the skies like snow. The once-golden banners of House Veyra lay palace trampled in the mud, their royal crest soaked red. The sound of swords clashing had faded now—replaced by a deafening silence that seemed to choke the ruins.
At the heart of it all, she stood
Her long black hair, tied high in a sleek ponytail, swayed in the dying breeze. Her crimson dress was torn, slashed from battle, yet it clung to her like armor.
Gold and obsidian accessories gleamed faintly against her pale skin, smeared with blood that wasn’t hers.
In her hand, the twin crimson red blades pulsed faintly—like living things thirsting for more.
She wasn’t rushing.
She wasn’t smiling.
Her amber eyes—cold, void, expressionless—scanned the fallen soldiers before her.
Mira Veyra -
“Your hero didn’t come,” she whispered.
His once-golden armor was cracked, stained with his own blood. His blue eyes—once so warm—now stared up at her in disbelief.
Mira Veyra -
Seeing him again clawed at her chest—the familiar pain twisting where her heart used to be.
But her amber eyes… they held nothing. Not love. Not hate. Not even a flicker of what once was.
Cairn Veyra-
“Mira… you—you’re a monster.” He coughed, blood dripping down his chin.
Cairn Veyra-
A monster like you supposed to die.I— I made sure.
Mira Veyra -
yeah right, isn't It?!
Mira Veyra -
She tilts her head.
Her lips curve into a small, cruel smile.
"He didn't expect it. After all his plans and hard work on it. After he thought he finally achieved it, how can he?!"
Mira Veyra -
What? Didn’t expect me again?
Cairn Veyra-
"His eyes widened "
Mira Veyra -
You don't even know what's going on, right? ...And what's about to happen?!
Mira Veyra -
She raises her sword high.
"Not only you… no one will know"
💥 SCHING!
His head rolls across the dirt
The last of the royal guards hesitated, their swords trembling. One by one, they dropped them to the ground.
The kingdom they thought she stole… had been hers all along.
And yet—she felt nothing. No triumph. No grief.
Just an unending void.
Her fingers traced the armrest of the obsidian throne—polished black with streaks of gold.
The crown weighed heavy on her head, yet her expression remained still. Calm. Empty.
She heard their whispers.
She didn’t care.
They saw her as a usurper, a murderer of their beloved Prince Cairn.
Their “savior.”
Their “hero.”
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