The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 16: Obsession

I was too fragile to tolerate anything cruel or frightening.

Yet, that man harassed me, insulted me, and turned me into a laughingstock.

So this is justified.

It’s fair, and there’s nothing wrong with it.

The book said so, and the Duchess taught me the same.

As I walked again to the room where the Duchess held her lessons, I noticed the servants chatting here and there in the hallway.

Among them was the man who had blocked the door earlier—the one who seemed to represent those who despised me. He spotted me immediately.

When I approached the door again, he pushed me slightly aside and mocked me with a sneer.

It seemed he no longer even bothered to hide his disdain.

Of course, he and the others knew full well that no one from the Duke’s family was at the estate. 

They’d gone on a picnic, deliberately excluding me, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. 

To them, I wasn’t the Duke’s daughter. I was just the daughter of a prostitute—a blemish, an impurity.

That’s why they behaved so brazenly. No matter what I said to the Duke or the Duchess, they wouldn’t listen. 

These servants wouldn’t face any reprimands. Loyal servants would never be punished, after all.

They’d think I was merely raving to myself.

And Alina… her bruises would only multiply.

One day, she might show up with a broken leg, claiming it was an accident.

All because she’s been ostracized and bullied for the mere crime of being close to me.

Alina is the only one here who cares for me, who tries to protect me.

But it’s too much for her—a young girl who only recently began working here.

She’s just a child, not yet grown, and it’s cruel for her to bear so much.

Even now, she’s stopped putting milk in her tea because she’s afraid it might be spoiled.

They wouldn’t dare harm me directly, but they’ve begun serving spoiled milk with a sinister glee.

When a problem arises, it must be resolved.

Maybe I ended up in this miserable place because I didn’t solve my problems in the past.

A useless person who consumes resources without contributing to the world deserves to be cast aside like this.

Instead of leaning on Alina, whining, asking her to hug me, or locking myself in my room to smoke opium, wouldn’t it be better if I protected her instead?

“Miss, are you crying because we didn’t fulfill one of your wishes?
Hahaha, your eyes are red! Or are they naturally so ominously crimson?”

He was holding something in his right hand—ah, a teapot.

“What’s this? Did you bring a teapot to hit me with?”

The servants laughed uproariously at his remark. One of them halfheartedly suggested he should stop, warning that he’d get scolded if the Duke returned.

To them, I was a nuisance they could mock freely as long as the Duke didn’t find out.

Why did they even bother bringing me here if this is how it was going to be?

I gripped the handle of the teapot tightly and slammed it against the wall.

The sound of shattering glass rang out, sharp and decisive.

The teapot’s broken shards reflected a distorted image of the frozen room.

The laughter stopped.

I didn’t give the man a chance to retreat.

I took a step closer, despite my shorter stature, and swung the jagged piece of glass toward his face.

Toward his eyes.

When I’d been hit by a car in the past, the first victim was often unaware they’d been struck.

They’d stagger, oblivious to their broken body, as if trying to move forward by sheer will.

It took over 25 years to build up everything I had, yet it all crumbled in an instant—a cacophony of honking horns, screeching metal, and screams reduced it to nothing.

That’s my story, anyway. A pitiful tale from before I shut myself away in this room.

Like me, the man didn’t immediately realize he’d been cut. He simply stood there, dumbfounded.

Poor thing. He probably worked hard to secure a position at the estate, only to ruin his life.

Who would hire a blind man now? Then again, perhaps the Duchess, ever so gracious, might grant him some kind of treatment.

“Ahhh! My eyes! My eyes!”

After a moment, he clutched his eyes and let out a piercing scream.

Not the cliché “My eyes!” type of scream. Just raw, guttural wails of agony.

The sound echoed through the hallway, sending chills down my spine.

“Shh, stop screaming. It’s noisy,” I said, stepping on his head.

He whimpered underfoot.

I don’t particularly enjoy hearing men cry.

The broken teapot shard in my hand dripped with blood, forming little red puddles.

It took me a moment to realize the source—glass shards had lodged deep into my palm.

In this world of abundant magic, losing an eye is hardly the end of the world, is it?

When I looked up, the other servants stood frozen, their faces pale with shock. 

None of them moved to stop me, nor did they run for help.

I lifted my foot from his head and grabbed the man’s face. Blood streamed from his injured eye as I leaned in close.

“Stay still. It’s not like you can see anything anyway.”

“P-please, I was wrong! I’m sorry, my lady!”

He knelt, rubbing his hands together in a pitiful attempt at apology.

“Who are you talking to? There’s no one here.”

I teased, moving around to keep him guessing. He desperately turned toward the sound of my voice, mumbling apologies.

Taking advantage of his open mouth, I grabbed his filthy tongue.

“And if you’ve done wrong, you should be punished.”

Even using both hands, it wouldn’t budge. Tongues were sturdier than I’d thought.

Or maybe those brawny men in the brothel were just freakishly strong.

When he tried to push me away, I slashed his face a few more times with the glass, forcing him back.

Still, the tongue wouldn’t come free. So I yanked on it as hard as I could and slammed my knee into his jaw.

With a sickening sound, the flesh finally tore free. His screams filled the air again.

“Pluck out the tongue of those who speak out of turn. Gouge out the eyes of those who look with lust. Challenge insults with a duel or, if they’re commoners, have them struck down.”

I mimicked the Duchess’ stern tone, my words a mockery of her lessons.

As I continued, the man’s already devastated face crumpled further.

“If the Duchess told you to do it, surely you must comply, no?”

I stomped on the severed tongue repeatedly, grinding it into the floor with my uncomfortable shoes.

The stiff shoes that clacked with every step finally proved useful.

I wanted to rid myself of the unpleasant sensation at my toes, so I kicked the head of the man lying on the floor as hard as I could. 

Then, pulling out the shards of glass embedded in my hand, I walked toward the frozen servants who were too paralyzed with fear to move.

These were the same people who had just been mocking me—pointing fingers and laughing, making crude jokes about my mother.

Without hesitation, I slapped one of them across the face with my bloodied hand. 

The crimson imprint of my hand was left starkly on their cheek.

Their stunned, bewildered expressions only irritated me further.

“All of you are utterly despicable. When you thought I was just some pathetic nobody, you were quick to sneer and mock me. But now, when something actually happens, none of you can do a damn thing.”

I glanced at my hand—torn, dripping blood that spattered onto the floor with every movement.

“Frankly, the losers who crawl around the slums are better than you.
At least they’d have either attacked me outright or left in disgust by now.”

My hand was a mess. Tattered. This wasn’t the kind of hand that should touch piano keys.

The esteemed healer would patch it up, though.

“If you’ve done wrong, then get on your knees and beg for forgiveness, like that idiot over there. Or, if you’re going to resist, fight back properly. Hit me, mock me, do something.”

A slight tremor ran through my body.

“Pathetic, spineless worms.”

The servants, who had been ridiculing me just moments ago, now stood trembling with their hands clasped together. 

One hiccupped nervously, while another, the one I’d slapped, let tears stream down their cheeks. But none of them dared to run.

Was this because of their polished education? Did they learn to stand still and stay silent, even when scolded or beaten by a noble? Disgusting.

Then again, was there anything in this moment that wouldn’t disgust me?

So I kicked them. Slapped them. Picked up shards of broken glass and threw them.

The sharp edges cut into their skin, but nothing serious—it wasn’t like I had the strength to truly hurt anyone. I was, after all, just a weak child.

While I was venting my fury, the old butler—often referred to as the Head Steward—appeared.

“…Young lady, what are you doing?”

“Ah, it’s been a while,” I replied nonchalantly.

He ordered the other servants to tend to the injured and ushered them off somewhere.

“What exactly are you doing?” he repeated, his voice calm but firm.

“I was teaching them a lesson, properly instructing them on their mistakes,” I said with a smile, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

The butler’s eyebrows twitched. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, perhaps I’ve overstepped my bounds. After all, I’m just the daughter of a prostitute, aren’t I?”

At my response, the old man’s face stiffened, his eyes closing momentarily as if to suppress his emotions. Then, bowing low, he apologized.

“I will summon a healer immediately,” he said before walking off briskly.

I stared at the hallway for a while, now a chaotic mess of broken glass and blood.

Then, without a word, I turned and walked toward my room. Opening the door, I made my way to the piano.

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