I open my tear-soaked eyes, and before long, the blurry vision clears, presenting an aftermath of some violent outburst.
The first things I manage to see are a stout man and a shattered vase staining the red carpet. Further scrutiny reveals some maid onlookers whispering in concern at the side.
"Stand up," The man says, clearly irritated.
His words prompt me to notice my kneeling position and how uncharacteristically small my body has become.
Alright, the situation calls for a checklist to be pulled out.
A completely different body should already be a dead giveaway, but it never hurts to back up the claim with additional proof.
Firstly, I found myself in an ornately decorated hall that looks... weirdly Victorian-ish. The wallpaper is all flashy and embedded with sophisticated gold patterns, let alone the ceiling height.
Secondly, the angry dude bossing me around passes more for a cosplayer with that goofy aristocratic outfit. Meanwhile, the maids act as a mob that highlights the status of whoever owns this crib.
Finally, the language that has filled my ears with its sound is completely foreign to me, and yet, for some inconceivable reason, I understood what was said. A sufficient amount of evidence, I think.
"Aeliana Liranthiel, stand up," The insistent guy repeats the same thing, with the exception of attaching someone's name at the beginning.
It doesn't take a lot of wits to realize that it belongs to me. A real deal sealer.
In other words, this is it. I mean, the exact setting I've been thrust into is painfully obvious. Considering I'm an avid fan, it also feels intentional to have someone like me here.
I've studied a bit of Latin in college and can confirm that my new name has its roots in light. Can't vouch for the last name, though. What's for sure, when put together, the whole thing sounds fancy.
Awkwardly unbending my knees, I straighten myself. The man's discontent grows even more so.
"Took you long enough," he makes a remark as sour as an ulcer, then, with an ostentatious sigh, he continues, "I have failed as a father. Mind you, this is the sixth time in a week when you allowed yourself to sow chaos in my domain. Get out of my sight."
The way he speaks is overly dramatic, and the timbre fits just right to deliver those sorts of lines. Has this guy considered performing on a stage? Also, I should have guessed he's my father—the kind who doesn't spare superfluous acrimony for his daughter. Of course, with an ingenious strategy such as that, a dumbwit like him will fail at raising kids.
Here, please, a walking example of how villainesses aren't born, but made. There are a lot of factors as to why they come to be the way they do, and I just so happened to be blessed with the 'one who has shitty parents' archetype. The notion of treating the child with respect just doesn't cross their narrow minds.
I might not be aware if this was the first time he's said something like this, but judging from the impression he left on me, he definitely reiterates that line every once in a while to remind his daughter of how pathetic she is.
I bet the next thing I know is that the maids are onto that too, and I'm permanently grounded.
"The audacity you must have to engage in this whilst being under house arrest is truly baffling."
As if confirming my guess, he presents a little fun fact.
If he really wanted me to, quote, 'get out of his sight,' he wouldn't have bothered himself with addressing me over and over again. Every second spent around him makes him seem more despicable to me.
In that case, I suppose he won't harbor any hard feelings toward me if I attempt to understand what person Aeliana was.
"You're a moron! I hate you!"
Screeching, I kick the carpet and flip the table on which the vase was standing. My voice threatens to crack at any moment.
The 'attempt' actually involves throwing a good old tantrum.
In response to the behavior I would call only expected, the 'dad' adopts the most offended look imaginable, while the maids' gasps and murmurs grow louder. Looks like someone isn't used to being on the receiving end.
Did he expect me to be a goody-goody after disrespecting me like that? Nevertheless, I won't completely brush off his reaction.
After all, there's an off-chance that her relationship with her father isn't that bad, and today he's just not in the mood. But yeah, I very much doubt that. Either way, I'll verify it in the following moments.
"Maids!"
Infuriated, he summons those who have been watching the scene unfold from the side. A whole group steps out of the shadows that haven't been illuminated by the hall light. Evidently, his petty ass deserved every last bit of my fury.
"Escort her to her room. This lady should thoroughly contemplate her behaviour, so teach her a thing or two. Just ensure that she's confined within four walls within five minutes."
He says that through clenched teeth, and only steam hissing from his ears is missing to really complete that cartoonish image of an offended fatass.
He storms out of the hallway, leaving me in a tête-à-tête with the maids. And I swear I could hear the hallway shaking from every step he took.
Anyhow, this is the exact scenario I predicted. I mentally prepare myself for whatever they have in store for me and then look directly in the eyes of each of them. Right before my face, the most sinister grins cross their countenances. They're not trying to hide their disgusting nature at all. The menagerie oozing with predatory intent starts steadily approaching me.
"My, my, lady Aeliana, you've been a naughty girl, are you aware of that?"
"Now we must teach you a lesson on manners."
"Stand still and nothing serious will happen."
"How can we even hurt our patroness?"
Immediately after they fill my brain with saccharine platitudes, they collectively grab me by my hair and start mercilessly pulling it until I give in. And even then, they do not let go; since I'm not resisting, dragging me along the floor merely becomes an easier job for them.
The mildly tiresome experience drags on for a while until we reach a certain door. I assume a door to my room. And guess what, it's as tall as the rest of the ceiling, and the same gold theme is present on its exterior, this time the subject of decoration being roses.
The savage maids open the door ajar and throw me in with full force like a trash bag. My back sonorously hits the bed, and the sound must've satisfied them, as they finally leave chuckling.
Grimacing, I grope my throbbing head and slowly crawl onto the bed.
Spreading all my limbs freely, I lie in the shape of a star.
Some peace at last. At least, when ignoring the burning feeling on my scalp. All of it happened in the span of a minute, and I didn't have time to express my protest.
As it was ascertained earlier, I'm in another world, occupying a stranger's body. Either that or this is a hyper-realistic dream, manifesting on the basis of my clinical obsession with villainess stories, coming with DLCs of realistic pain and feelings.
I've read a lot of stuff, but never encountered a setting where there is a character named Aeliana. That one goes into the piggy bank of arguments in favor of this being a dream. I don't doubt my connoisseur abilities when it comes to the Villainess stories. Or at least, I don't want to.
I also don't want to be cognizant of the fact that something as supernatural as transmigration apparently exists in the physical world that has consistently adhered to the fundamental laws of reality. Within the fiction, transmigration might be fun, but experiencing it firsthand is actually quite terrifying. Needless to say, when the words 'transmigration' and 'villainess' are neighbouring in a sentence, it means the death of the latter. To put it more bluntly, I will die.
If I had consumed whatever story this is, I could've spotted all the death flags and sidestepped them with ease. But that's not the case, and you know what? I'm not complaining. I always wondered how MC would fare if she hadn't foreseen anything.
To not allow the miserable death to transpire is to tread the path that the original would've never trodden herself. A more correct way of living, otherwise known as redemption. It's axiomatic, and even if I strongly disagree with the very idea of playing false to the villainess' ideals, I have no other choice but to comply. The ideals I'm talking about lie in mocking the female lead and basking in rays of wealth-et-fame while doing that.
Well, technically, I suppose, the lapsus linguae here is that, since I'm now in one of those redemption stories about a villainess, I've become the female lead. But I'll continue referring to the good main girl as 'FL,' reserving 'MC' for myself for the sake of convenience.
I get up from the bed and start inspecting the room. It is quite spacious, accommodating a lot of furniture. Even though everyone treats me like a doormat, I guess I still come from a wealthy family.
Then, my interest is piqued by a lavish-looking mirror from which my reflection stares back at me. This is the first time I have had the chance to take a proper look at myself.
Naturally, I'm a fine lady of ethereal beauty. If I were to estimate the age, it would be around 12 or 13. Soft, pale skin, full lips, a delicately sloped nose, silky hair of pristine blue, and eyes of the same hue, augmenting it all. The only things that tarnish that image are my disheveled hair and dirty clothes.
By Shoujo standards, the appearance is by no means unique. Key figures have always possessed a vibrant color palette, and I got blue.
*Knock, knock*
My self-admiring session is interrupted by a knock on the door.
The sound that echoes doesn't have a continuation, as the person who knocked enters without waiting for my verbal permission.
"Lady Aeliana, healing," the visitor says in a haughty tone.
Oh. This person's presence right here answers why Aeliana isn't bearing the visible marks of the abuse she's been subjected to.
A girl with chestnut hair, dressed distinctly from the maids, starts unceremoniously unpacking her belongings, which I assume are needed for my 'healing,' on my writing table.
Don't bother calling me Lady. Are you two-faced too? Damn wretch. I see it on your face. A wide smile lasting from cheek to cheek. And it's not of the friendly type.
"Stay away!!!"
"Hm, it's as they said. Today you're more vigorous than usual. Let me do my job."
"I don't need your help!"
"Fine," she says nonchalantly, "let's do it the hard way."
Without hesitation but with one swift motion, the girl pins me against the wall, forcefully clasping my hands over my head. She ties them up with a makeshift rope and pushes me onto the floor.
Then, casually retrieving a handful of needles from the toolbox she set on my table, the brunette settles herself on my abdomen as if it were the most natural thing. She even ignored my filth-covered dress! Yeah, I can probably guess how it'll go from here.
One by one, the needles pierce through the messy cloth straight into my skin.
"Aaaaaaah!!!"
Against the backdrop of my exaggerated screams, my body tries to curl up into a ball, but her weight keeps me pinned down, forcing me to endure all of it.
It is indeed quite painful. Putting the blatant sanitary violations of needle utilization aside, my best guess would be that those are infused with magic or something, hence the hope I'm not gonna contract an infection.
I'm only making an assumption this optimistic because the 'procedure' was promised to be part of the healing process. Am I being too naive?
"Will you learn your place already?" she suddenly utters, all while continuing to inject the needles into my body.
Just by the sound of it, I immediately know what's up. It's time for the 'condescending talk!'
It usually occurs when the abuser is drunk on the pleasure they get from torturing people. But that's secondary, the true intrigue lies in the crucial lore bits that are revealed!
They help out clueless 'foreigners' like me, not those who regress back into their past self to fix mistakes, as they already know everything.
"The second daughter of Marquess Liranthiel lies helplessly before me. How pitiful. Illiterate, spoiled, and stupid. Your looks are your only saving grace, and even then, you pass off more as a doll. No wonder your own father refused your rotten being, sending you here to drag the remainder of your pathetic existence."
Not gonna lie, the speech sounds rehearsed. Just like that dude's lamenting of his paternity. Speaking of him, turns out, he's not my father! Hell yeah, mandatory familial drama! I beg of you, indulge me in a bit more gossip!
"Argh! At least I was born a noble, unlike you, a filthy commoner!" I cry out, provoking her.
A classic cliché statement that gets flippantly thrown around by villainesses still far from redemption in their attempt to assert themselves. Which makes it ironic; though I'm the one saying it, it's the healer who's guilty of it. She thinks she has the high ground, thus, I expect her to take the bait.
Her face flashes with shock, before it hardens into anger.
"Look who's talking!" she snaps. "If it's a matter of who's more tainted, it would undoubtedly be you! Both figuratively and literally!"
So she did take note of my messy dress.
"Why am I even bothering myself with the likes of you? I deserve better! I should just file a complaint to the Baron, detailing exactly why you don't even need my healing services. In that case, you'd die a dog's death, you know that? I'm out here saving your life every day."
She drives several dozen more needles as if flaunting her evident frustration. That is but another reason to bruise her pride more.
"I'd recommend you to shove that cheap savior complex up in your ass. Besides, death looks like a far more merciful outcome than being 'rescued' lik-"
The biting remark I hadn't spent much time crafting is cut off as she shoves a ragged gag into my mouth. I have successfully hit a nerve.
"Mhnhhhhh!!!"
Given that my mouth is now busy tasting a rag, the screams get muffled.
This circus dragging on for so long makes me wonder when it will end. So far, everyone I've encountered takes some sick pleasure in tormenting a literal kid. In stories where the villainess is bullied by her personnel, she's usually anywhere between 17 to 19, but not 12 in any way. This is some hardcore Shoujo.
To kill time, well, as far as my circumstances allow me, I recall a certain observation of mine. As I suspected, the needles display supernatural, in other words, magical, properties. What else could it be? If my theory holds, it would confirm the existence of other fantasy elements.
Without leaving any visible wounds, they sink in like they're gliding through butter, completely disappearing in the depths of my hypodermis. In simple terms, dissolution. Most likely, this is how their healing properties manifest.
Indeed, in the brief intervals between each needle, I feel a surge of relief before being exposed to pain again. By that logic, more needles equal more suffering, but also more healing.
"And... we're done."
The voice, which was avidly belittling me not so long ago, turns unnervingly sweet. It's accompanied by shut eyes, a smug smile, and hands that are kindly put together with an audible clap.
After deliberately letting me see her pleased mug, she gets off me.
Despite arriving at my own conclusions regarding how these spire-shaped objects work, my interest remains unabated. I've called them needles until now, but they are clearly something else.
If I dump all my questions like that, I'll probably get some dismissive response like, 'This happens to you every day, don't you know already?' Or maybe, 'Hmm, you've never asked before, so why are you curious all of a sudden?' Or even, 'A lowlife like you wants to know what these are? Aren't you overestimating yourself?'
Nah, I'm overthinking it. Can't I just inquire not caring about the future implications? To her, I'm merely a subhuman asking stupid questions, right?
"Wait!" I plead, tugging at the hem of her dress as she finishes gathering her belongings and heads toward the exit.
She stops in her tracks right before the doorstep, giving me a look that suggests she's listening.
Gee, how ruth of her.
"What are those... called? The sharp things, I mean. How do they make me feel better after momentary pain?"
The girl's expression doesn't change, instead, she smirks, yanking her dress from my grip and walking out without a word. The door slams shut right in front of my nose.