I open my tear-soaked eyes and before long see an ornately decorated hall, the image being ruined by a shattered vase. My body is in kneeled position just beside the spattered dirt. The light blue dress that envelops my body is bedaubed with it.
As I lift my head up, the figure of a stout man with hands on his waist obstructs my view. The lighting is so that I can't discern his face, but the shadows tracing his facial muscles demonstrate that he's apparently angry. Besides him, there are several maids gathered around, all whispering in concern.
"Stand up."
Is the first thing I hear in an unfamiliar environment.
Let me get my mental checklist real quick. So, we've got a Victorian-style hall, maids, a weirdly coherent language the sound of which my ears have never processed, and a guy dressed so ridiculously out of touch with time that he might as well be a cosplayer. I'm not trying to be hasty but...
"Aeliana Liranthiel, stand up."
I hear a firm order coming from the wide man.
Yup, the corny ass name is what seals the deal for me. In other words, this is it.
It's always been like this in Shoujo, why am I even surprised?
I've actually studied a little bit of Latin in college and can say that the name—my name—has its roots in light. I'm not sure about the last name, though. Must be some made-up gibberish typical of the fantasy setting.
"Aeliana!"
Man, calm down! I'm standing up, standing up, okay?
I lubberly unbend my knees and finally straighten myself.
"This is the fifth time of the week that you have allowed yourself such... crudeness! There shall not be the sixth!"
Thanks to his words, I figure out that the concept of counting and numbers exists in this world.
"I have failed as a father," he laments, then, gesturing to the maids, he continues, "Escort her to her room."
Oh, so this guy is my pops? Of course, a dumbwit like him will fail at raising kids. Villainesses aren't born, they're made. All of them have a common trait of being burdened by some sort of childhood trauma, leading to their downward spiral. Yeah, sure, why should their parents pay attention to the mental state of their child?
I might not know if this was the first time he's said something like this, but judging from the first impression, he definitely reiterates that line every once in a while to remind his daughter of how pathetic she is. Really tells about the trope I'm in.
"You're a moron! I hate you!" I screech, kicking the carpet and also flipping the table on which the vase was standing. My voice is highly pitched and threatens to crack at any moment.
Guess I am in the body of a villainess. The only way to persist is to act accordingly. And by accordingly I mean to throw a tantrum.
The 'dad' adopts the most offended look imaginable, while the maids' gasps and murmurs grow louder.
Now that I think about it, I shouted the first thing that came to mind and it could backfire.
Is her relationship with her father that bad? Should I've been a little bit more polite? Or conversely, more brazen? Well, he ordered the maids to escort me back to my room—that means I require the strength of several men to be dragged there. Only the wildest, most spoiled brats are like that, so I think I acted in character.
"Aeliana!" The man says, and I imagine steam hissing from his ears.
Kindly stop screaming my new name, please.
"Maids, use all your strength to return her to her room. I couldn't care less what you do with her—just ensure that within five minutes, she is confined within four walls."
As soon as he finishes saying that, he leaves, shaking the entire hall on the way. What a touchy, fat man.
Alright, so this is the scenario where even the maids allow themselves to bully their mistress. Unpleasant, yes, but whatever. It just hints at the more substantial privilege cuts, like permanent house arrest, veto on family bank account usage, and more. Now, show me what you've got.
I move my gaze to the group of maids and witness how the most sinister grins cross their countenances. They're not trying to hide their disgusting nature at all. And that zoo reeking of sadistic intent starts slowly approaching me.
"My, my, lady Aeliana, you've been a bad girl, are you aware of that?"
"Now we must teach you a lesson on manners."
"Stand still and nothing serious will happen."
"How can we even hurt our patroness?"
Immediately after they fill my brain with saccharine platitudes, they all collectively grab me by my hair and start mercilessly pulling it until I give in. And even then, they do not let go; since I'm not resisting, dragging me along the floor merely becomes an easier job for them.
The painful experience continues for a while until we reach a certain door. I assume a door to my room. It's 3 meters tall and is engraved with gold rose patterns.
The feral maids open the door ajar and throw me in with full force like a trash bag. My back sonorously hits the bed, and the sound must've satisfied them, as they finally leave chuckling.
My head throbs in excruciating pain. It probably experienced at least 3Gs of force. Grimacing, I grope my head, and slowly crawl onto the bed.
Spreading all my limbs freely, I lie in the shape of a snow angel.
Finally, some peace. Well, when ignoring the irritating feeling on my scalp. Now that I'm undisturbed, it's time to heed the thoughts to which I've stubbornly turned a blind eye until now.
From the looks of it, I've been transported to another world. Either that or this is a hyper-realistic dream, manifesting on the basis of my clinical obsession with villainess stories, coming with DLCs of realistic pain and feelings.
I've read a lot of pieces of literature but never encountered a setting where there is a character named Aeliana. One more argument in favor of this being a dream. I just don't doubt my connoisseur abilities when it comes to the Villainess stories. I also don't want to be cognizant of the fact that I've fallen victim to the trope I hate the most.
Living the life of the redeemed villainess where everything goes smoothly is a gold standard for such tales.
The thing is, I don't want to redeem myself! The essence of a villainess is to mock the MC and see her crumble!
But redemption is axiomatic, whether I like it or not. There have been enough examples already to disprove my stubborn point of view.
Wherever there's no redemption, there's death waiting just around the corner. After all, atrocious relations with everyone only take you so far. And dying is something I don't want; who knows what will happen to me? Quite the predicament I'm in.
After ruminating on these thoughts, I get up from the bed and start inspecting the room.
It is quite spacious, accommodating a lot of furniture. Even though everyone treats me like a doormat, I guess I still come from a wealthy family.
Then, my interest is piqued by a lavish-looking mirror from where my reflection stares back at me. This is the first time when I have had the chance to take a proper look at myself.
Naturally, I'm a fine lady of ethereal beauty. If I were to estimate the age, it would be around 12 or 13. Soft, pale skin, full lips, a delicately sloped nose, silky hair of pristine blue, and eyes of the same hue, augmenting it all. The only things that tarnish that image are my disheveled hair and dirty clothes.
By Shoujo standards, the appearance is by no means unique. Key figures always possess a vibrant color palette. Still, I've rarely seen a villainess in particular with light blue hair. In a sense, it could be regarded as exotic.
I've never understood why all the villainesses are unspeakably beautiful, and yet not a single soul stutters about it, and some go as far as to call them ugly pigs. I'm probably labeled the same way.
Only in instances where they start their inexplicable change, everyone suddenly is in awe of their beauty. Double standards of perception, man. Why not acknowledge beauty is their only good quality from the start?
If Aeliana has been prone to systematic bullying from literally everyone, shouldn't her body be covered in countless lacerations and bruises?
The situation is not without its tricks and that's—
*Knock, knock*
A knock on the door. Right. Just when I thought about it, the answer came to me by itself.
The sound that echoes doesn't have a continuation, as the person who knocked enters without waiting for my verbal permission.
"Lady Aeliana, it's time for your healing session," The visitor says in a haughty tone.
A girl with chestnut hair, dressed distinctly from the maids, starts unceremoniously unpacking her belongings, which I assume are needed for my 'healing,' on my writing table.
Oh, don't even bother with honorifics. Are you two-faced too? Damn wretch. I see it on your face. A wide smile lasting from cheek to cheek. And it's not the friendly type.
So the situation is even more deplorable than I initially thought. Instead of actually caring for their daughter, the so-called family just sends a healer to keep her from dying from the wounds inflicted by their own staff. Mind-boggling. And yet… strangely exciting. Yes, no easy way out for me. Only the hardest difficulty will suffice.
"Don't you dare to come near me!!!"
"Hm, today you're more vigorous than usual. Let me do my job."
"Go away! I don't need your help!"
"Fine, let's do it the hard way."
Without hesitation, the girl pins me against the wall, forcefully clasping my hands over my head. Then, she ties them up with a makeshift rope and pushes me onto the floor. With a thud on my back, I bump my already aching head.
She casually retrieves a handful of needles from the toolbox she set on my table, then settles herself on my abdomen as if it were the most natural thing. My clothes are stained with grime, does she not care? Yeah, I can probably guess what is about to happen.
One by one, the needles pierce through the messy cloth straight into my skin.
"Aaaaaaah!!!"
Against the backdrop of my exaggerated screams, my body tries to curl up into a ball, but her weight keeps me pinned down, forcing me to endure all of it.
It is indeed quite painful. Putting the blatant sanitary violations of needle utilization aside, my best guess would be that those are infused with magic or something, hence I'm not gonna contract an infection.
I'm only making an assumption this optimistic because, at its core, this 'procedure' is promised to be part of the healing process. Am I not the naive one?
"Will you learn your place already?" She suddenly utters, all while continuing to inject the needles into my body.
Just by the sound of it, I immediately know what's up. She's starting the 'condescending talk!'
It usually occurs when the abuser is drunk on the pleasure they get from torturing people. But that's secondary, the true intrigue lies in the crucial lore bits that are revealed!
The 'regressors' won't get anything new from it, but for me, a 'foreigner,' it's a treasure trove of intel!
"The second daughter of Marquess Liranthiel lies helplessly before me. How pitiful. Illiterate, spoiled, and stupid. Your looks are your only saving grace. No wonder your own father refused your rotten being, sending you here to drag the remainder of your pathetic life."
She laid everything like some sort of Wikipedia article edited by vandals. A lot to unpack here. She actually acknowledged my beauty instead of hypocritically feigning ignorance, I'll give her that.
So, that fatass is not my father? Then, who's he? I have an older sister? And the most important of all, I can't read or write?!
I crave for more, be my guest, feed me.
"Argh! At least I was born a noble, unlike you, a filthy commoner!" I cry out, provoking her.
A typical insult that otherwise will lead to nothing. But when the person is under intense emotions, it gets the job done.
"Look who's talking!" She snaps. "If it's a matter of who's more tainted, it would undoubtedly be you! Both figuratively and literally! Why am I even bothering myself with the likes of you? I deserve better! I should just file a complaint to the Baron, detailing exactly why you don't even need healing services. In that case, you'd die a dog's death, you know that? I'm out here saving your life every day."
As she says that, a few dozen more needles pierce my cheeks.
So, this is how things stand.
My father—the real one—is a Marquess, a title just below that of a Duke, with Dukes only second to the royal family. He relinquished me because of my appalling behavior, but that's irrelevant now.
I've been left in a Barony, a lower-tier noble's estate. That baron she mentioned might not be my actual father, but he's probably some distant relative. What a nutcase—why claim you've failed as a father if you're not even one?
Anyway, the bullying really is systematic. When I said that, I meant it generally, but it turns out it happens daily. And every day, the same healer tends to my wounds.
Aeliana, I'm sorry. You've suffered too much. You can finally rest easy. It's my time to shine.