When I opened my eyes, the golden-orange hue of the setting sun bathed the room in warmth. The light filtered softly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the unfamiliar ceiling above me.
Where was I?
The bed beneath me was far too comfortable, the room far too ornate. I tried to sit up, but a sharp jolt of pain shot through my left arm. Glancing down, I noticed it was tightly wrapped in bandages. I reached out to examine it, only to be startled by the sight of a pale, slender hand—not my hand.
What the hell?
These weren't my hands. My hair, brushing against my shoulder, felt longer, silkier. None of this was mine.
With legs still shaky, I stumbled across the room toward a mirror propped in the corner. I had no idea how I knew exactly where to find it—yet something about this space felt both foreign and eerily familiar.
And then I saw her.
The reflection staring back at me was that of a young woman. She had midnight-black hair that shimmered like ink and eyes the color of ice, glowing faintly in the dying light. My breath caught.
Was this... me?
Had I been transported into someone else's body? Was I dreaming? Hallucinating? Nothing made sense.
Just then, the door creaked open, and a young maid stepped inside, dressed in traditional servant's garb.
"Miss Abril, you should be resting," she said gently.
Abril?
Was she talking to me?
A wave of nausea hit me, followed by a piercing headache. I staggered, nearly collapsing. The maid rushed to support me, calling for help. Moments later, the room filled with others, their faces a blur of concern—but none of that mattered.
Because I remembered.
I remembered crying uncontrollably in a bathtub under the cold light of the moon. I remembered sobbing until my voice gave out. I remembered pain—raw, consuming—and a wrist slick with blood.
Had I... tried to end my life?
The realization tightened around my chest like a vice. Numb, I let them guide me back to the bed.
"Leave me alone," I muttered, still lost in the flood of memories.
I was Abril Vinsent, eldest daughter of Duke Vinsent. And I had just woken up from what they claimed was my third suicide attempt.
But it wasn't that simple.
Because along with Abril's memories came flashes of another life—my life. One where I was just an ordinary woman, curled up in bed, reading a novel.
A novel about a villainess named Abril Vinsent.
She looked like me. Had my name. And now, somehow, I was her.
Was I trapped inside the story?
Could these be remnants of my past life, bleeding through the seams of fiction?
The questions were relentless, each one carving deeper into my confusion. And the pain—it wasn't just physical. It was the ache of knowing I might have to live as someone else... someone doomed.
As night fell and darkness swallowed the room, I sat motionless at the edge of the bed, trying to piece together everything I could—despite the dull, throbbing pulse in my head.
The same maid from before entered again, breaking through my daze.
"Miss, I brought you something light for dinner," she said softly, setting a tray down near the window. "Let me help you."
The meal was simple—vegetable soup, a bit of rice, and a small dish of vanilla pudding. Abril had never cared for sweets, but this time, she started with dessert. She needed something to soothe her nerves.
"Clara," I called, my voice quieter than I intended. "How long was I unconscious?"
The windows let in the crisp bite of winter air. Snow hadn't yet fallen, but the chill was unmistakable. According to the timeline in the novel, the main plot hadn't even begun.
The story revolved around a prince and a baron's daughter—star-crossed lovers. Abril, the villainess, was the one who tried to tear them apart, obsessed with the prince and desperate to be loved. She was ultimately accused of poisoning her sister, Anelle.
Despite proclaiming her innocence, no one believed her. In the end, she chose to leap from a balcony, seeking an escape in death.
That was the last part I remembered reading—right before waking up in her body.
"Four days," Clara replied, as if each word weighed heavily. "We feared the worst."
I didn't ask anything else. I ate quietly, slowly, my eyes drawn to the full moon outside the window.
Before she left, Clara mentioned that my family expected to see me at breakfast the next day.
I didn't respond.
So they knew I was awake... and still hadn't come to see me?
A cold bitterness settled in my chest. What had I been expecting? Love? Concern?
How foolish.
You know how they are, Abril, I thought. You've always known... and you're still hurt by it?
How pathetic.
Sleep found me eventually—restless, but better than nothing.
By dawn, Clara and two other maids were already waiting to help me dress. Today was the grand return—the duke's daughter rising from her ashes to join the family for breakfast. Once, that might've thrilled Abril.
Now? It felt like an obligation. A meaningless formality.
I let them dress me in a simple white gown trimmed with black lace. No frills, no sparkles. Just quiet defiance.
As they worked, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror again. Abril's body was striking—tall, graceful, commanding. Taller than the maids by nearly a head. Beautiful in a sharp, haunting way. And yet... she had never seen it.
She had spent her life believing her height was a flaw. That no matter what she did, she would never be enough. That even if she carved herself down to nothing, she still wouldn't be loved.
Why?
Why had Abril suffered so much?
She had worn confidence like armor—but inside, she hated herself. All she ever wanted was to be seen. To be loved.
But that version of Abril was gone.
No more tears. No more waiting to be saved.
"If I'm going to be the villainess," I whispered into the still morning air, "then I'll do it right."
If this was a story, then the turning points would come regardless. And if Abril was destined to die, so be it. But when she did, they would remember her—not with pity, but with awe.
If I had to play the villainess...Then I would be the best damn villainess they'd ever seen.