The Villainess

"You wretched child! How hard is it to seduce a man you are already engaged to?!"

The back of the gaudily dressed, aged woman's hand struck the raven haired girl's cheek, knocking her to the ground along with her senses. She didn't dare rise up. She knew better.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself? Gods above, seventeen years we have groomed you only for you to fumble the prize at the final hour!"

The girl remained silent, knowing that any response or lack of one would earn her the same beating. It was all the same. No amount of effort on her part would earn her approval or appreciation. No amount of achievements, awards, or adoration of her peers would alter the fact that she was nothing more than an instrument for Prince Stolz to use as he saw fit once he ascended the throne. Then she would sit to his left in perpetuity, an extension of his will as he led the empire into its glorious future, obeying silently and without hesitation. That was her lot.

But before that time came, she served another master, the master that the sun and moon and stars worshiped as a god in mortal flesh. His will was that of the empire itself. She was but a lowly servant, one who had failed time and time and time again until she was left with nothing but a vial and a final command.

"How could you go this far, Aurelie? Never would I have thought you so wicked. To try and murder an innocent woman out of jealousy?"

Five pairs of loathing eyes, dry of even a drop of empathy, bore into her as she sat slumped on grass as pristinely groomed as she. Tears welled in her heart but not her eyes —never her eyes—. Those were for silently pleading for help that would never come. Richard? She silently sought the compassion he'd shown her just a month before only to be turned away. Louis? A knight to save her from her despair, an almost childhood friend who had shown her kindness on occasion. His lips curled with disgust. Not Charles. It would never be Charles. Stolz?

She tried to speak, to explain that it wasn't her fault, yet the words stumbled on themselves, tangling into a tight knot that refused to be undone. Excuses he said. Then a list of charges and accusations, all true but lacking context. Or maybe he never cared.

Seventeen years they'd been engaged, from the moment of her birth. Seventeen years they'd been engaged, yet he never saw her worth. A lifeless doll, an empty husk unworthy of his love and trust. Foisted onto him by his father and hers, a curse that could never be undone.

Then she came, the common girl with golden hair and a radiant touch. Chosen by the gods, a replacement perfect enough to earn the prince's love.

"Get him back, get him back!" they screamed at her. So she bullied and schemed and did wicked, jealous things.

"Begone!" Stolz ordered, his voice frostier than the lands he would banish her to. "Never come back."

She ran, ran, ran until her dress was filthy and tattered and her shoes were broken and worn. Future empress to urchin, a beggar in the street until one day she saw the posters forcing her to leave.

Step after step followed by a thousand more, turned away from churches, houses that became sparser and sparser until.

Just the forest. A snowy, frozen forest. Her tattered dress had become rags, her shoes long lost. Frostbitten and starving she could only continue to walk. North, to the Demon Lands of Purga. A barren hellscape swarming with demons driven out. Just like her.

Was she close? She couldn't know. She groomed for silken sheets and silver spoons, not survival. Only when her digits turned numb did she finally see. She would have rather suffered in her gilded cage.

It was irredeemable! A life of devotion and obedience only to be thrown away. She had to do it, had to! Whether you or her, someone must drink the vial. Run and be dragged back, chained and forced to toil in lightless caves until your bones turn to dust. In that black abyss your soul will wither, never to be guided to the Twilight, never to be reborn.

Then what choice did she have?! She cursed their names. Stolz, Louis, Richard, Charles, and most of all the harlot, Sarah! Love or no, what whore steals another's betrothed? A prince at that?

Bristling rage stoked her blood, fueling her onward until her desiccated body was burnt out. Trees. Only trees.

She could only laugh and curse them more. Her father. Her mother. The false god crowned the emperor. Her voice had long fled her but she cursed them all the same. Would that she could rise up and burn their world to the ground, make them trudge endlessly until their legs gave out and the monsters of the wilds rent them limb from limb, muscle and skin.

I won't let them win.

A mantra repeated with the last of her strength as she crawled and clawed and grated her face against the graveled ground. She wouldn't let them win. She wouldn't let them kill her. If she was to die, she would die by her hand and hers alone. Any other way was to let them win.

So she crawled and clawed across the frozen gravel until her frozen fingers found a barely sharp stone. Like the others they betrayed her, their blackened flesh refusing to bend. She used her mouth instead.

Clenched between her teeth she held her razor stone. She kissed her wrist, then the other, then finally rested. Above she watched the sparkling sky, vast and empty. Would her fate have been the same out there?

Her eyes fluttered closed. Should she have wished? Wished that the Goddess would birth her on kinder shores?

No.

No.

No.

She knew it in her soul. She had one wish, and one wish alone.

It lingered on her final breath.