|| To all the readers who are grieving over Caelestis Lancaster's death. I deeply apologize, but this character always deserved death in my eyes of justice. Although he was a good leader, a good friend, and perhaps a dutiful son, he was never a good lover, friend, or partner to the female lead. Despite his accomplishments, his flaws were insurmountable.
However, if you sympathize with him despite his sins, I have an offer for you.
Would you like to change the destiny of Caelestis Lancaster?
Yes | No ||
The prompt seemed to pulse with an odd, ethereal light, as if urging her to make a decision. Without giving it further thought, she clicked "Yes."
Instantly, the white void around her erupted into a kaleidoscope of colors, swirling in vibrant hues that made her head spin. She felt herself being pulled forward, faster and faster, the colors blurring together until she could barely distinguish them. A strange warmth enveloped her, and then, just as quickly as she moved, she went still.
A voice echoed in her mind, soft yet commanding: You wanted to change the destiny of a pitiful character. Now, live as the most pitiful character that existed in the novel.
Eleanore opened her eyes beneath an intricate ceiling she didn't recognize. Her gaze lingered as she took in the details: delicate marble patterns spiraling into elegant shapes, casting soft shadows that danced in the morning light.
Elegant, thin lace curtains hung in gentle loops from high above, drifting down to the polished floor in graceful, flowing lines. The room was bathed in a muted glow that made everything appear almost dreamlike, as if she were inside a painting.
The click of a door knob snapped her back to reality. She jerked upright, clutching the blanket as her heart skipped a beat, her mind scrambling to process her surroundings. The bed beneath her was massive—a queen-sized, with pink floral covers. Her eyes roamed over the opulent furniture, the mahogany cabinets, and the enormous wardrobe.
Everything was lavish, larger than anything she'd ever seen in her small apartment. She appreciated the elegance of the decor, but her gaze faltered at the sight of the pastel pink walls. She despised pink—always had. Even now, the color's presence sent a small shiver of distaste through her.
Just then, a soft voice broke the silence. "Lady Eleanore."
Eleanore turned her head sharply toward the figure who had entered the room. A young woman stood by the door, dressed in a maid's uniform, the black and white fabric contrasting sharply against her pale skin, which seemed to glow in the sunlight. She held a stack of freshly laundered pink linens, setting them down on a side table before bowing slightly, her expression earnest yet deferential.
"Lady Eleanore, you have awoken early today." The maid's voice was a soft murmur, respectful yet slightly hesitant. She moved to the side of the bed and slid a small set of stairs closer, gesturing for Eleanore to descend using them.
Eleanore, however, ignored the stairs entirely, swinging her legs over the edge and jumping down, her bare feet landing softly on the cold floor. The maid gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. "My lady!" She quickly retrieved a pair of soft slippers, bending down to help Eleanore put them on. But the moment her hands touched Eleanore's bare feet, Eleanore recoiled, feeling uncomfortable.
"Thank you, but I can do it myself," Eleanore said, slipping her feet into the slippers without assistance.
The maid's eyes filled with tears at Eleanore's words. She dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to the floor, her voice shaking. "Oh, my lady! Please forgive me if I've done something to offend you. I must have made a grave mistake. If you wish to punish me, please take my life instead. I am unworthy!"
Eleanore's eyes widened, taken aback by the dramatic display. "Oh my God!" she muttered, looking at the maid in disbelief. "Why on earth would I want to punish you?" she said, her tone bewildered but soft.
The maid continued to weep, sniffling into the floor. "I must have done something wrong," she whimpered. "You would never speak so gently upon waking. It's… it's unlike you, my lady."
Eleanore hesitated, trying to make sense of the maid's words. "Unlike me?" she echoed, furrowing her brow. "And… how do I usually act?" Her mind was spinning. The maid had called her by her true name—Eleanore. How did she know it? And if this was the world of the novel, Revenge Is Her Only Desire, why would anyone here know her name? But then, a spark of memory flared. There had been a minor character with a name similar to hers… But who?
The maid swallowed, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. "My lady… you usually wake at noon, except on days of important events, and you never get out of bed without assistance. And… you often demand I put your slippers on for you."
"Really?" Eleanore's lips quivered into a smirk as she folded her arms across her chest and sat back down on the bed. Her stance shifted, putting more weight on her left leg, observing the maid with new curiosity.
The maid's face turned pale, her eyes widening as if she were witnessing her own doom. "My lady, please don't look at me like that! That posture… it's the one you take right before…" She gulped, voice trembling. "…right before you punish someone."
Eleanore rolled her eyes, trying to change her disbelief. "I'm not angry, I promise. Relax. M- Maid" She said, Her words were calm, but the maid remained unconvinced.
"You're not calling me by my name, my lady," the maid whispered fearfully, as if that alone were proof of her impending punishment.
"You always do that when you're displeased with me." Her face twisted in despair. "Please, my lady, don't kill me. I beg you! If you must, cast me out, but spare my life! I have younger siblings… they depend on me. My useless parents…" She choked back a sob. "They… they ended their lives to escape their debts, and I am the only one left to care for my brother and sister."