The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 7: When I Was Young

Wearing a fluttery white dress, I had to admit—I looked cute.

Credit where credit is due.

Normally covered in dust and grime, my clean skin was soft and pale—almost unnervingly so.

Even if I took off the dress, my skin would match its color perfectly.

“Does everyone in the ducal family attend meals? No exceptions?”

“Yes, miss! Anyone staying in the mansion attends.”

The maid, who was dressing me and putting socks on my feet, answered cheerfully.

I had tried to insist on dressing myself—after all, I didn’t want to become some useless doll incapable of wearing her own clothes—but she said such tasks weren’t my responsibility.

I truly felt like a dress-up doll.

“If you wear pretty clothes and present yourself well, the servants will recognize you as a young lady.

If you wander around in plain pajamas like the ones you wore yesterday, they might hand you a broom and ask you to help clean!”

“…Alright.”

“And no need for formal speech, miss!”

It felt odd to hear that as someone who had been living in the slums just days ago.

I wondered how the old Marisela—the unfortunate girl without any memories of a past life—would have reacted in this situation.

I couldn’t imagine.

I slipped on the glossy black shoes they had prepared for me and stood up.

The shoes, though pretty, were slightly too small and pinched my toes with every step, clicking loudly on the floor as I walked.

Following the maid, I headed toward what was presumably the dining hall.

How absurdly large was this mansion, anyway?

It took nearly ten minutes of walking on aching feet before we finally arrived.

Waiting in front of the grand doors was the butler I had seen yesterday.

He greeted me with a slight bow and opened the door.

Inside was a vast space, dominated by a long, luxurious table that immediately looked expensive.

Six people were seated in plush chairs, chatting idly instead of eating.

I realized then that there wasn’t any food on their plates.

Perhaps the room was too large for the smell of food to linger—or maybe there simply wasn’t any yet.

The conversation halted as soon as I entered, and everyone’s eyes turned to me.

The weight of their stares sent a chill down my spine.

Hic.

A sudden hiccup escaped me, the product of nervousness under their collective gaze.

“You’re here. Sit at the end chair,” a middle-aged man said, pointing to the farthest seat.

There was only one empty chair, so there was no room for confusion, yet his tone carried an undercurrent of disapproval.

I noticed the expressions of the others:

A boy glaring at me as if I were an eyesore.

A girl with her arms crossed, exuding haughtiness.

A mischievous-looking boy watching me like I was the most amusing thing he’d seen all day.

And a girl who didn’t resemble the others at all—she seemed out of place, as if from another house.

There was also a man who resembled the duke, though he appeared younger.

And finally, a woman whose expressionless face was lined with faint wrinkles, though she could have passed for her early thirties.

Avoiding their eyes, I quickly walked to the designated chair, pulled it out, and sat down.

At that moment, men in uniforms resembling chefs began bringing in food.

Small bowls of soup floated through the air and landed gracefully on the table.

The sight made me gape in astonishment, but the children across from me noticed and smirked, causing me to quickly shut my mouth.

I didn’t bother forcing a smile or a frown; my expression remained neutral.

As I ate my soup, savoring its flavor, the bowl suddenly lifted itself off the table and floated away before I could finish.

It felt as though the food had been snatched from me. I stared after the bowl, a pang of frustration welling up.

The children giggled again.

I locked eyes with the girl who had been sitting with her arms crossed.

She appeared to be my age—or perhaps a bit older.

Or maybe she just seemed bigger because she was well-fed and rested.

The girl stuck out her tongue at me, mocking me openly.

The duchess, who had been observing, spoke softly.

“Eileen, it’s improper to stick your tongue out during meals.”

Startled, the girl flinched and replied reluctantly, “…Yes, Mother.”

The tense atmosphere eased slightly, but I still felt the weight of the room.

Next came some kind of steak, fragrant and delicious-looking, though I couldn’t identify the animal or cut.

Picking up the unfamiliar fork and knife, I carefully began cutting the meat.

The flavor was wonderful, but the air was so stifling that I could barely enjoy it.

The duke and duchess spoke in low, measured tones, their words calm but loaded.

“So, now you’ve brought her here and decided to call her family?” the duchess said.

“There’s no need to confirm what you already know,” the duke replied.

“An abandoned child from a long-finished affair—was it necessary to bring her here?
What’s next? Will you resurrect that woman from your office trysts as well?”

“Regrettably, she’s been dead for quite some time.”

The duchess glanced at me, her expression sharp.

Intimidated, I set down my knife and fork and nodded.

She frowned.

“When addressing your elders, it’s common courtesy to respond verbally, not just nod.”

“Yes,” I muttered.

If this was a family dinner, wouldn’t it be better to have these conversations in private, perhaps before bed, rather than in front of everyone?

Dragging innocent bystanders—children, no less—into their disputes felt unnecessary.

The children continued eating as if this were routine. The man who seemed to be the duke’s younger brother had left long ago.

At least no one was shouting. If the adults raised their voices, my still-fragile body might freeze with fear.

“In any case, she’s my child,” the duke declared.

“Red eyes like mine are hardly common.”

“And why should I believe you?” the duchess countered.

“Even her magical aura is the same color as mine.”

As we spoke, my steak plate floated away, along with the utensils.

I wasn’t done eating yet. Why did they keep taking my food?

Though, considering this house, I wouldn’t be going hungry anytime soon.

Teacups floated in front of us, spinning slowly as we were invited to choose a drink.

I selected a tea mixed with milk.

One sip revealed it was incredibly sweet, almost cloying. My tongue tingled faintly from the sugar.

“Why bring her here now? Surely there were other ways to handle this.”

“Well, with your father gone, I was certain no trouble would arise from revisiting the past.
The woman is long dead, and all that remained was her child.”

The duchess’ carefully maintained expression finally faltered.

Her face twisted into one of anger and resentment as she first glared at the duke and then shifted her venomous gaze to me.

“On the verge of bankruptcy, with nothing to show but hollow honor and history, I saved this house. And yet, this is the treatment I receive in return. Typical of you.”

“I didn’t ask for this. It was my father and your father who wanted it,” the duke replied nonchalantly.

The duchess’ hand, holding her glass, trembled visibly. Slowly, she set it down and took several deep breaths.

The sound of her measured inhalations and exhalations was audible even from where I sat.

“Do you still hate me?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

“How could I possibly hate you?” the duke replied smoothly.

“There are just… a lot of things we don’t align on.”

He delivered his answer with an air of ease, even as the duchess’ face contorted as though she were on the verge of tears.

She fanned herself with one hand, but a single tear escaped her right eye.

With a voice thick as though soaked with emotion, she continued.

“And now you bring this child into our family and expect me to raise her as my own? Do you think I’m capable of that?”

Raise me? What’s she talking about?

I could live quietly in my room, eating the meals provided and burying myself in books if that’s all she wanted.

“I don’t know,” the duke said plainly. “But if you bear the title of duchess, you have a duty to fulfill.”

At his words, she bit her lip in frustration.

“Do you even realize how cowardly you’re being?” she said quietly, then rose from her seat and walked slowly out of the room.

If every dinner was going to be like this, I couldn’t imagine anything more dreadful.

Even the children seemed weary of the atmosphere. They drained their drinks in one gulp, nodded politely to the duke, and left the room.

Now, it was just the duke and me.

He took a sip of his drink and sliced a piece of the cake that had just been served. As he ate, he called my name.

“Marisela.”

“Yes.”

Recalling the butler’s earlier advice and the duchess’ warning, I answered him directly.

“I’m not sure if I love you,” he said, looking at me.

“Even if you’re my daughter, it doesn’t feel real.”

What a brutally honest thing to say. Most people would dress up such words, but not him.

Perhaps he had a peculiar personality.

“I called you here today to introduce you to the family. We don’t usually gather like this—perhaps once a month at most.”

He stood up from his chair.

“Starting tomorrow, your education will be entirely under Adelina’s—no, the duchess’—care.
Both teaching and learning are obligations in this house.
If I had an older daughter, things might have been different.”

He spoke as though it was nothing of importance, then left the room as well.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the untouched slice of cake in front of me. Finally, I sighed and made my way back to my room.

My steps were awkward and labored, my toes aching with every click of the tight, uncomfortable shoes.

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