The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Prologue

I look at the words written on the desk.

I don’t bother reading the content.

After all, it’s something I wrote myself.

Folding the paper neatly into a square, I bring it close to the lamp illuminating the room.

The flames latch onto the edge of the letter and burn fiercely.

When it’s about halfway burned, I place it on the floor and stomp on it with my bare foot.

Guess I forgot to wear slippers.

“Ugh.”

As if the pain in my foot wasn’t enough, my neck and head were already throbbing horribly.

Even crying out felt like too much effort, so I just muttered to myself.

If someone were to ask me how it feels to realize the world I live in was created for someone else’s amusement, I could now answer them perfectly.

It feels like nothing at all.

Just dull, dry, and utterly meaningless.

Especially if this place—and I—hold no value.

It’s not as if I particularly liked this world. I wasn’t some crazed fan leaving long-winded comments about it. I was just idly passing time with an otome game.

I’d only tried it because people said it was fun and even had a yuri route that might appeal to male players.

Unlike those capable protagonists who suddenly realize they’ve reincarnated and conveniently stumble upon events or items that change their mediocre lives, I knew nothing that could transform my insignificant existence here.

Even if I did know, it’s been years. Who remembers things like that for so long?

And as for the place I was born into—it’s a game, sure, but in truth, it’s closer to a novel with multiple-choice options.

Pick this choice to save someone, pick that choice to save someone else. That kind of game.

But it’s not really that important.

How long would a villain even survive, anyway?

Or maybe it’s all just a coincidence.

After all, it’s not every day you see a world with two moons sharing the same name.

I walk over to the wall and pull the lever to summon a maid.

The creak of the spring is followed by the faint sound of a bell ringing in the distance.

Are they still not awake despite hearing the bell?

Annoyed, I keep shaking the lever.

Creak, creak, and the distant sound of the bell continues.

Judging by the crash followed by frantic footsteps, it seems she fell out of bed. She’s probably putting on her clothes and socks right now.

About a minute later, there’s a knock at the door.

“Miss, it’s Looney.”

The maid, looking groggy, bows her head in greeting.

“Could you make me a cup of black tea? Two spoons of sugar and lots of milk.”

I don’t usually like sugar and milk in my tea.

But since my body changed, so have my tastes.

“Of course, Miss. Yawn…”

She nods and, assuming I can’t see her, lets out a big yawn as she turns to leave.

When the maid returns, she sets a cup of black tea and some light snacks on the table.

I wave her away without speaking, signaling her to leave, and she bows before quietly exiting the room.

I nibble on a sweet snack, then sip the tea to cleanse my palate, repeating the process.

The lightly roasted aroma of the tea pairs well with the sweetness of the snacks, as always.

Though the milk in the tea seems a bit off, leaving a sour aftertaste.

I glance out the window.

It’s night.

Two round moons hang in the sky.

It’s not a sight I care to keep looking at, so I turn my gaze away.

It starts with a faint cough.

Then, one cough after another, until a deep, violent fit racks my body.

It feels like my lungs might come out of my chest.

Struggling to catch my breath, I rummage through a drawer and pull out a bottle of medicine.

It’s supposed to be the latest innovative painkiller and sleep aid, popular in the capital these days.

In truth, it’s just whiskey mixed with opium and syrup.

But there’s nothing better than this.

Other medications leave my head pounding when the effect wears off, waking me from even the lightest sleep.

I down the bottle and stare at the label, which features a kind woman cradling her child and feeding them the medicine.

The strange taste lingers in my mouth, so I rinse it out with water before lying on the bed.

Whether in the slums or here, it all feels the same. I thought the medicine was sweet, but my mouth feels dry and bitter.