The Villainess Opens Her Eyes

If the job didn’t break her, maybe this was just a dream.

Yeah, that must be it. Too much webnovel, too much anime — she’d finally dreamt herself into a reincarnation cliché.

Okay, recap: today should be Monday, July 7th. She’d fallen asleep at dawn, tears still drying on her face. She didn’t think you could literally die of heartbreak — the pain was still there, so she wasn’t dead.

So, worst case? Not a dream. Fine. Better act like it’s real, just in case.

Classic webnovel rule one: there’s always a mirror somewhere.

Careful not to trip on the weird nightgown, she shuffled over soft carpet until she found it — near a huge window, too dark to see much. She tugged at the curtains, but they were heavy, stuck.

A knock.

“My lady, it’s time to rise.”

A maid. Old-fashioned uniform and all. Of course. Cliché checklist: ✔️

At least she hadn’t been hit by Truck-kun. That probably hurt more.

She always hated how protagonists in novels didn't use the card of “memory loss” — but now she got it. Standing here, in a borrowed body, with no clue where or who she was supposed to be?, maybe if someone know she doesn't know a thing it could be worse, for her enemies, or she was getting too intense.

No bandages on her head. No hospital smell. Just silky skin that definitely wasn’t hers — the stubborn rolls on her stomach, gone.

She turned to the maid, kept her voice calm.

“I wanted to open the curtains. Do it for me.”

She almost said please. But villains don’t say please. Not until she figured out the rules here.

“S-Sure, my lady.”

The maid hurried to pull the heavy drapes. Ropes. Zero modern era here.

Morning light hit the mirror. And there she was — or someone.

Black hair? Seriously? If she was gonna get stuck in a fantasy, at least give her pink hair or something.

She leaned closer. Young. Early twenties, maybe. Skin too perfect. Hair long, wavy, pitch black. Eyes… maybe silver? Fantasy eyes, of course.

“My lady, we must prepare you. Today is Thanksgiving Day — you must be ready on time.”

Thanksgiving? Medieval style?

“Fine. Start.”

In her old life, prep time meant warm shower, quick breakfast, done. Here? Medieval rules. Maybe once-a-year baths? Gross.

The maid helped her into slippers and a robe. Led her out of the room, down endless halls, until they reached what looked like a marble bathhouse — rose petals floating in a pool.

“Rose fragrance, just as you like it, my lady.”

The maid helped her undress and guided her in. María wanted to protest. She was an adult woman — she could scrub herself, thank you. But she stayed quiet. Better observe. Better gather data.

“You. Tell me my name.” she said, eyes half-closed as the maid scrubbed her back.

The maid hesitated. “You are Lady Astreia Noirvelle, only daughter of Archduke Noirvelle… future Empress of the Empire.”

Astreia Noirvelle. Fancy. Familiar, maybe? She’d read so many stories lately, all blurred together. Details would come. Or not.

Future Empress. So, classic trope: crown princess, betrothed to the prince, doomed to lose him to some sweet heroine. Of course.

Abandoned again. Fitting.

Honestly? Villainess fit better. She was never good at the damsel act. If anything, she had suffer for some crying girls.

After the bath came oil — skin, hair, more oil. Layers of cloth, tight corsets, combs pulling at her scalp. A storm of pearls and black silk. Heavy jewelry she hated.

“No. Not all of this. The necklace is enough.”

The maid flinched. “As you wish, my lady.”

“And find me dresses with color. All black is boring.”

“I’ll arrange it, my lady.”

Ah. Heaven. Someone who actually obeyed without argument. If only her old staff back home could’ve done that. Then again, maybe she’d picked the wrong career if she wanted obedience.

Finally dressed, she was paraded through hallways and staircases. She wanted to complain. She was tired, still half-dead from yesterday’s meltdown. Part of her just wanted to crawl back into bed.

Hopefully not depression. Not useful. If this wasn’t a dream, fine — but she better not wake up and find her old debts waiting.

They reached a dining hall bigger than any house she’d ever stepped into. So many chairs. So much marble. So unnecessary.

At the head of the table: a man carved from stone — black hair, eyes like a statue. Next to him: a slender woman with silver braids, sipping tea like the tea offended her.

To the left: a young man, same silver hair. Soft smile. 

“So kind of you to join us, sister,” the young man said, sweetness hiding a blade.

Handsome snake.

“Seems I’m late. My apologies,” she said lightly, pretending it mattered. She’d blame the hours of scrubbing and combing. She’d never assume anything — but these must be her parents and that snake must be her brother.

The man — Archduke, probably — flicked his hand. Sit.

Breakfast: meats, vegetables, bread. Too heavy for her empty stomach. She poked at it, appetite gone.

Silence. Just silverware tapping porcelain.

The Archduke folded his napkin, then turned that Aztec face on her.

“Astreia. The Order asks if your mind is stable. I will not tolerate another… episode.”

Episode? Perfect. So the original broke, and she got to be the duct tape.

“My mind is solid.”

The brother chuckled softly.

“That’s what we all hope, sister. One mistake from you, stains the whole family. I don’t want to clean up your mess… again.”

She gave him a polite smile, sweet poison.

“Thank you for your concern, brother. Truly… touching.”

The mother didn’t look up, voice like ice on steel.

“Don’t be late. Today is not a day for delays.”

Cold as a tomb. Blood or not — who knows? Doesn’t matter. Urgh. Wait till I find out which damn story this is.

She glanced at her untouched plate. Pushed the chair back, silk brushing the marble floor, jewelry like chains on her throat.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said calmly.

Dream or not… I am not letting them devour me.

——-

So I had to publish again, duh I didn’t know there was a specific time to start, but well slow day at work, just finishing, I managed 2 chapters, hope you enjoy