I floated in an endless darkness, weightless, without pain, without burden. It was so quiet, so peaceful, like the world had finally decided to let me rest. I don't know where I am, but I hope I never wake up.
A voice cut through the void, faint yet persistent.
"Erana, wake up."
The sound was soft, but it reached into the silence, tugging at me.
"Erana, someone is calling you. You should go."
Ah, that's right—I am Erana. But I don't want to go.
'Don't call me. Let me rest.'
The voice grew louder, more insistent. "Erana!"
'No. Please... don't call me back.'
The peace shattered, and the darkness receded like a dream slipping through my fingers. My eyelids fluttered open, heavy and reluctant. Slowly, I turned my head to the side.
Standing there was a young woman, dressed in a pristine maid's uniform. Her brown hair was neatly tied back, and her soft, matching eyes held a calm kindness. She bowed gracefully as soon as she saw me awake.
'I wondered who was calling. It wasn't the maid, because the voice sounded male and oddly familiar.'
"Greetings, my lady. I am Serra, your newly appointed personal maid. I will be serving you from this day forward. You have been unconscious for the past four days.
Four days? So I had been unconscious that long. That was a relief—the royal ball was over. It had passed without me.
I blinked slowly, my gaze falling on her, and then something strange caught my eye. Above her head, faint and glowing, were words:
[Love: 0] [Hate: 0] [Jealousy: 0] [Lust: 0]
It was like a status screen, revealing her feelings toward me. No love, no hate—nothing. Just neutrality. It was oddly comforting to see, a silent confirmation that she bore me no ill will.
Serra continued speaking, her voice soft yet steady. "While you were unconscious, I took care of your wounds and cleaned you up. My lady, you are not allowed to shower for a month due to your injuries, and you must remain in this room until you are fully healed."
"I see," I replied quietly, my voice dry and lifeless.
I looked around, and it hit me—I wasn't in the small, damp room that had been my room for six lonely years in my past life. This was different. This was the main mansion, a bedroom drenched in opulence. The bed beneath me was vast, large enough to fit five people, its headboard carved with intricate designs that seemed too beautiful to touch. Ornate furniture filled the room, each piece more luxurious than the last. A massive window with heavy, elegant curtains framed the golden light streaming in, bathing the space in a warm glow.
'But I hate it.'
This room was too grand, too perfect, too overwhelming. It didn't belong to someone like me—it couldn't. The sheer opulence felt like a cage, its beauty stifling rather than comforting, just as suffocating as the tiny, damp room I had been confined to before. If I were to stay here for another six years, surrounded by all this splendor, I knew I would lose myself completely. I wouldn't be able to breathe.
Turning onto my right side, I closed my eyes and tried to shut it all out.
Elara, look at this. The beautiful room you always dreamed of—it's finally here. Isn't this what you wanted? So why won't you come back?
Serra's voice broke through my thoughts again. "My lady, I've brought breakfast for you. Let me help you sit."
Before I could refuse, she gently guided me into a sitting position. On the tray she placed before me were several types of bread, a glass of orange juice, and a bowl of carrot soup.
I stared at the food, but instead of hunger, I felt nausea. Memories I had buried deep began to surface, sharp and cruel.
In my first life, I spent countless hours waiting at the dining table for parents who never came. The food was never served without their presence, and on the nights they dined at luxury restaurants without me, I sat hungry in the empty dining room. Sometimes, I would sneak stale bread into my room, eating it in silence, pretending it could fill the emptiness they left behind.
And in my past life, Lina would bring me spoiled soup with a sneer, and I ate it because I had no choice. I had to survive, because I could not die.
The sight of bread and soup now made my stomach churn.
I took a sip of the orange juice, its tang cutting through the bitterness of my thoughts. Serra stood silently by my side, her presence steady and unobtrusive.
I looked at her, but the words I wanted to say—"Serra, I hate bread and soup."—remained trapped in my throat. I couldn't say.
As she observed me with a calm expression, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. After a moment, she nodded without a word and removed the tray. When she returned, she offered a bowl of fresh fruit instead, her movements quiet but thoughtful.
"My lady, may I help you sit again?"
I shook my head.
"Then excuse me," she said softly, taking a piece of fruit and carefully feeding it to me.
As I chewed, my mind wandered. What happened to Tyrian?
As if hearing my thoughts, Serra spoke."Lord Tyrian has been released from the dungeon, my lady. Please, don't blame yourself. None of this is your fault."
Of course, this world always bends for the main character. No matter what they do, no matter how flawed their choices, they will always be loved, cherished, and forgiven.
This world belongs to Tyrian. He is the hero, the golden child, the one the universe itself favors. Loved by all, his story shines brighter than anyone else's, while villains and side characters like me are discarded—forgotten, or worse, sacrificed. Even for someone like me, who was mentioned but once, there is no value, no place in this tale except as a footnote to glorify him.
The story begins with Tyrian's grief—a tragedy meant to solidify his heroism. His mother dies, and the blame falls squarely on Lysara, the villainess. The world mourns with him, offering unconditional love to soothe his pain. In the same breath, the villainess becomes the scapegoat, hated by everyone for crimes she didn't even commit.
In this tale, the main character's path is always paved with flowers, their every misstep forgiven and forgotten. Yet even the smallest mistake from a villainess or a side character is enough to ruin them, enough to erase them entirely.
'How pitiful. How cruel.'
And yet, the villainess was never truly evil. She loved her family more than anything. For the sake of her younger brother, she defied the male leads, daring to fight against them, even to kill them, when they kidnapped him. She fought desperately, clinging to the hope of saving her brother's life.
But it was all a lie. A trap. Her so-called innocent brother, the one she loved and risked everything for, had betrayed her. He wasn't a victim—he was the mastermind, an angel-faced snake who set her up to take the fall.
The only person who stood by her, who dared to help her, was Elara.
And now I understand why. It was because the duchess—Tyrian's beloved mother—didn't die because of Lysara. She died because of Elara.
Lysara and Elara both knew the truth.
Lysara chose to carry the weight of it in public, while Elara bore it in silence, unable to speak the words that could clear Lysara's name. Maybe it was fear, maybe shame, or perhaps something deeper still. But in the end, Elara chose to atone in her own way. She helped Lysara, even at the cost of her own life, because she believed that was the only way to make things right.
But the truth doesn't matter in a world like this. In a world where villains and side characters have no voice, where pain and sacrifice are dismissed, the truth fades into nothingness.
All that matters is Tyrian's path to glory. The world bends for him, and everyone else is swept aside, their lives forgotten, their struggles meaningless.