Almost two weeks had passed in this place when someone from Laila's family finally came to see me. The moment she walked in, I knew she wasn't part of the staff—her clothes were far too elegant and elaborate for that.
She wore something that looked like a futuristic twist on leather, mixed with hints of ancient Egyptian fashion and maybe even a Victorian touch. I know, it sounds like a ridiculous combination… yet, against all odds, it worked perfectly.
While my mind wandered, analyzing her outfit, the woman never stopped staring at me with an expressionless face. It was a very severe face for someone so young, with nothing particularly striking—good or bad.
But one thing was certain: I was definitely not going to be the first to speak.And if this was a contest, I intended to win it.
I did—because she finally sighed and sat on the bed.
"Are you not going to ask me anything?" she said flatly.
"Should I ask you something when you haven't even introduced yourself?" I replied, narrowing my eyes.
"So losing your memories didn't change your personality after all, did it, little one?" she added with a dry laugh.
"I couldn't tell you. Why don't you tell me?" I shot back sarcastically.That finally earned me a more human reaction: she rolled her eyes, half exasperated, half amused.
"Anyway, my name is Katlya de Mallory, and I am your father's consort. You may call me Lady Mallory. It's unfortunate what happened to you, but now that you're awake and perfectly fine—aside from your memory loss, of course—your father said it's time for you to return to your duties, especially since you'll have to learn everything again. I'm here to inform you that tomorrow you'll resume your activities, as it's best to avoid drawing your father's attention and provoking his anger. You don't remember it, but—"
My field of vision was suddenly interrupted by a small brat.
"Sister! You're awake?" he shouted as he climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arms around me. I didn't know how to react; the first thing that came to mind was discomfort.
"Stop, Malcol. You shouldn't interrupt people like that," the stepmother scolded him sharply—but for the first time, her eyes softened with tenderness as she pulled her son off me.What surprised me most was the first genuinely cheerful look I'd seen since arriving here—even if it came from a seven- or eight-year-old brat.
The little rascal stared at me hesitantly and, after a moment—maybe because he saw I wasn't reacting much—he threw himself at me again.
"Sister, is it true you don't remember me? Did you really lose your memory?" he squeaked, almost in my ear. If it weren't for his obvious lack of bad intentions, I would've sent him flying.
I answered resolutely, "Not at all. But I'm starting to believe I haven't missed much." I shot his mother a reproachful look.
"Don't worry, I'll teach you everything again!" he said, full of childish enthusiasm.
"Come now, Malcol. Don't overwhelm your sister. She needs to rest to get better," his mother scolded him again, glaring at me and then glaring at him even harder as she dragged him out of the room.
"For your sake, I hope you don't forget my words, little one," she warned before leaving.
I wanted to answer, "I don't give a damn about your warnings or anything else," but since she mentioned Lord Mallory, it made me think he must be an unpleasant man toward his daughter.Then again, the words of this so-called Lady Mallory could just be lies or manipulation. Hell if I know.
I looked down at the book resting on my lap. I had finished it right before Lady Mallory entered. I definitely wasn't wrong in thinking it wouldn't give me many answers.It turned out to be a religious text titled Codex of Virtue and Grace, about a primordial god named Soter and 108 lesser gods. Its teachings sounded absurd, yet there was a twisted logic behind them—more a manual for control than a religion.
Still, it was entertaining. But also useless—because in religion, what matters is how believers interpret it, not what it literally says.
I know I should be doing something more productive to understand my situation, but I'll admit: I didn't read it for pleasure. Most of the time, I let myself get lost in reading out of desperation, eager to escape into other stories to avoid my own—to forget my mistakes and misfortunes, like I always do.
One small blessing: I realized I could understand and read the strange script of this place as if it were my own language. I suppose I inherited some abilities from the original owner of this body—reading and speaking her tongue. I don't know, but I'm grateful for it.
As for the chambermaids, I couldn't extract much more from them. I felt bad pressuring them—and feared they might be punished for it—so I kept searching the room for hidden clues. I didn't dare step into an unknown world without answers.
Among the clothes, I found an old dark-brown leather book. I couldn't help feeling excited, but when I flipped through it, disappointment hit me: the pages were blank.I closed it and examined the stone embedded in the cover—a blue agate-like crystal.
When I ran my hand over it, the stone lit up. A tension shot through my body, like thousands of icy needles dancing under my skin—awakening something ancient and dormant, something not entirely mine.In an instant, the light sank into the book. I opened it again and, to my astonishment, it was now full of glowing blue script.
Amazed and pleased, I returned to the bed to start another reading. I hoped this time it would at least give me relevant information about this world—or at least be a decent novel. I settled in and began reading, but soon froze, stunned.
It was a novel, yes, but it read like the future story of Laila Mallory, written before it happened.I couldn't stop reading, sinking into the narration, watching how she went from victim to a damned wretch everyone used or despised once they renamed her Ravenna.
By the time I reached the end, a new day had already begun—and the only thing I wanted was to throw the damn book off the balcony.Because—surprise!—Laila dies, forgotten, in a tower.
Yes, after everyone abandons her, she tries to kill one of the consorts of the planet's future ruler, and they lock her in a damn tower where she's forgotten and dies of starvation.Starvation. For fuck's sake.
The whole damn story is a massive romantic-fantasy cliché. Couldn't they pick another way to get rid of the villainess? She isn't even the mastermind behind any evil—she's just a pawn. A pathetic one.
Of all the stories I could've reincarnated into… I had to land in this one.The most scammed of the scammed, I tell you. Seriously…
For a moment, my mind tried to justify it—maybe it was just a story.But the cold running down my spine told me otherwise.
What if that really is my fate?What if I'm doomed to live it—despite knowing it?
I paced across the room, anger piling up inside me, when I heard the door creak open. A little head peeked inside. The brat.I must've had a face like the devil himself, because his mischievous look wavered with doubt.
"Either come in or go out, but decide already," I snapped. "I'm not in the mood."
He came in, but when he saw the book in my hand, he ran over and snatched it away.
"What's wrong with you?! Give it back!" I protested.
"No! Ever since you started looking at this book, you cried a lot. You were really sad. I'd rather you be mean than see you like that!"
His words hit me hard. I didn't know who the Laila he remembered was, but imagining her crying over blank pages left a strange, almost guilty knot in my chest—as if I had inherited her wounds too.
Before I could react, he was already running toward the balcony. I rushed after him, hoping to see the book lying somewhere, but no luck.
Despair tightened my throat for a moment, but I forced myself to breathe. The book was probably fine. I had wanted to throw it myself earlier, but until I understood everything, I needed to keep it.
"You shouldn't throw other people's things like that," I said seriously. "You should apologize, Malcol."
"I'm sorry…" he muttered, staring at the floor.
"Now tell me calmly—why did this book make me sad before?" I asked, trying to control my frustration.
"I… I don't know. You kept staring at its blank pages and crying, until Father scolded you. After that, you didn't even talk. That's why I don't want you using it again. I don't want you to be like that."
I don't know how to deal with children, but I couldn't be harsh with an eight-year-old genuinely worried about me—even if he had thrown such an important book out the window. Awkwardly, I patted his head to calm him down.
"Don't worry. I already read its pages before you tossed it. And look at me—I'm fine," I smiled at him, even if it wasn't true.
"Now let's go find it, tadpole. I really like the stone on its cover."
Thankfully, we found the book.
Unfortunately, as Lady Mallory said, I had to resume Laila's activities, so I was dragged into lessons before I could return to my room.
To my misfortune, the first lesson was manners and etiquette. Even though I had skimmed a book about it, I didn't remember a tenth of it—and what I did remember, I had no idea how to apply.
The woman in charge waited for me with a gaze even stiffer and haughtier than Lady Mallory's. She scanned me from head to toe as if I were beneath her standards. Maybe a child Laila's age would've cowered under her scrutiny. I, on the other hand, met it with a disdainful smirk and sat at the table I assumed was mine. Clearly, she liked me even less now.
In less than half an hour, this so-called Perceptora Inerida was already criticizing even the way I breathed.
"Heavens, I have never met a girl or woman with such atrocious posture. I cannot allow you to continue even one more minute like this, or my reputation will be ruined," she barked, her eyes shooting daggers at me.
With more patience than I believed myself capable of, I tried to mimic the posture she demanded, but it was obvious I wouldn't master it anytime soon.
"Stop displaying such indignity before my eyes, or I'll give you good reason to behave," she scolded again, harsher this time. I couldn't help rolling my eyes.
Without warning, the woman struck my shoulder with the stick she carried.The sharp crack echoed through the room, and a burning pain spread through my arm like liquid fire. Rage and humiliation surged beneath my skin, all the frustration I'd accumulated since arriving here erupting at once.
If my eyes were daggers, she'd be bleeding. My face burned hot, and I clenched my fists to keep myself together. Then she looked at me and smirked—mocking, challenging.
That was the last straw.
I stood up, and her expression shifted to shock when I snatched the stick from her hands. She seemed stunned, and when I struck her across the face with all the strength this small body possessed, horror and disbelief twisted her features.
For a moment, we just stared at each other. I tried to smirk like she had earlier—though it came out shaky—while she covered her cheek with her hand. Slowly, her fury deepened; her nostrils flared, and she looked like she was holding back a scream.Maybe she realized this incident could also ruin her reputation. Her pride was wounded, and I was the cause.
She left the room with firm steps—though I noticed the slight tremor in her gait. The hatred in her eyes told me this wasn't over. I could almost see her scheming her revenge, plotting how to reclaim her authority.
Left alone, I felt horrified by the physical violence I'd just committed—something I never imagined myself capable of.And yet… I felt no sympathy for her.
Now all I can think is:I've officially made my first enemy—as the villainess I'm apparently destined to be.I just hope the other classes aren't this bad.