The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 56: Thoughts

I stayed at Alina’s house for a while.

The village was quiet and peaceful.

Or, to put it another way, it was lifeless and somber—a place that felt like it was withering away.

The only young people around were children and mothers.

That little girl I’d called out to on the first day turned out to be Alina’s child.

She had only one daughter.

The child didn’t seem to like me much.

Maybe it was because of my unnerving red eyes, ghostly pale skin, or stark white hair.

A small wound to my pride, I suppose.

Even though Alina never brought it up, I could tell by the way she looked at me that her time at the estate still lingered in her mind.

Every time she heard a faint sound, like a bell jingling, she’d wake up and call out for me, shaking me awake in the process.

When she carried dishes, her eyes darted nervously, as if worried someone might bump into her.

Sometimes I’d find her huddled in a corner of the house, murmuring apologies to herself.

Her mother, who was said to be an exceptional cook, mentioned that Alina had started to regress after I arrived.

“She’s turning back into the Alina she was at that estate,” her mother said.

Humans never truly forget their pain.

You can lose happy memories, but the scars of suffering remain etched into your soul like a brand.

Of course, there were happy moments while Alina and I lived in that estate together, but the majority were nightmares.

Raphael wasn’t doing well either.

Watching Alina’s uncle, missing limbs and trudging through life, seemed to bring back Raphael’s own memories. His face grew darker by the day.

The solution was obvious.

“Hey, Alina.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“It’s time for me to leave.”

“Already? Can’t you stay a little longer? Or maybe build a house next to ours…”

“You keep recalling your time at the estate.

It’s not just you—I feel the same way.”

“…What do you mean by that? I’m fine, Miss.”

“Remember the painkiller I used to smoke back then?”

“Oh, the one with that sweet but sharp smell…”

“I lived every day drowning in that stuff.

Even now, if you searched my bag, you’d find a stash of opium-laced tobacco.

I tried not to smoke while I was here, but I’m at my limit.”

My hands were trembling even as I spoke.

Even under the warmth of the sun, I felt bone-chillingly cold.

I didn’t want to smoke opium here—not in front of Alina or her daughter.

I couldn’t bear the thought of her child seeing my euphoric face and becoming curious.

Children shouldn’t grow up exposed to such things.

Alina hesitated, then spoke softly.

“You’ll visit again, won’t you?”

“Probably, someday.”

“I hope it’s soon.”

“I hope so too.”

I pulled out a pouch containing a third of the money I had left and handed it to her.

“With this, you can live comfortably in this village for the rest of your life.”

“But you already gave me so much before! If you give me this, won’t you be left with nothing?”

“Haha, come on, I’m still a lady of some standing.”

When Alina tried to refuse, I slipped the pouch into her hands, or rather, between her chest, much to her embarrassment. She blushed furiously before tucking it into her inner pocket.

“…Thank you.”

“Live happily.

No need to see me off. Once Raphael and I are on horseback, that’s the end.”

As I turned to leave, Alina grabbed my sleeve.

“Be happy, Miss.”

“Who knows.”

Now, where should I go?

I packed my bag, woke Raphael, and briefly explained the situation. Then I popped a piece of candy into my mouth and rode out of the village with Raphael.

Once outside the village, I spent some time walking alone.

Raphael followed at a distance, far enough to give me space.

If he stayed too close, I might end up saying something cruel I didn’t mean.

Barefoot, I wandered for a while, trying to clear my mind.

The crushing weight of my thoughts felt like it might drive me insane.

Finally, I pulled out a cigarette, ripped a scroll for fire, and lit it.

The smoke brought a small measure of relief.

I was more than useless—I was a wretched person.

Everyone who came into contact with me, whether they loved me or hated me, ended up miserable.

My mother? Destroyed.

The Proxy Manager? A nightmare.

The orphans? They looked at me and felt a bitter sense of deprivation, certain they would rot away in that place.

Alina? She fell apart living beside me, and even after escaping, she couldn’t shake the guilt. She thought her husband’s death was punishment for leaving me behind.

At least her daughter seemed untouched.

The girl bore no scars, physical or emotional, and she’d clearly been raised with love and care.

Despite Alina’s own suffering—so deep she’d resorted to self-harm—she still had the strength to nurture her child.

If that hadn’t been the case, I might’ve been the one to crumble first.

And Raphael? His state spoke for itself.

By now, Raphael could have become a war hero, been granted a title, and maybe even started a charming life with Olivia.

Instead, after surviving that hell, he’s stuck with someone like me—gloomy, dull, and downright unpleasant.

I don’t pity the Duchess, Eileen, or Libian.

If anything, I hate them. But one thing’s certain: my presence has only made their lives worse.

Have I ever brought happiness to anyone?

Even Olivia—her first kiss stolen by some random woman who appeared and disappeared like a ghost—couldn’t have been thrilled about that.

But she’s the protagonist. Wherever she goes, things always work out.

She’s talented, beautiful, and lucky—divinely so, it seems.

I stopped walking and turned to Raphael, who was approaching from behind.

“Hey, Raphael, does being around me make your life harder?”

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

“Just answer me.”

“No, it doesn’t. If anything, I feel better sticking close to you. So stop worrying.”

“…I see.”

My legs were sore, so I reached out to him.

He lifted me effortlessly, placing me on the horse in front of him.

Some dust clung to my skirt, but I didn’t care—it was a horse, after all.

“So, what now?”

“Good question.”

“I guess I’ll just keep playing the piano until I grow old and die.”

“Sounds good.”

“Sometimes, when I think of Alina, I’ll visit her. And maybe I’ll try that street food I had in the capital again.”

“Sure.”

“And someday, I’ll quit this.”

I threw the pipe I’d been smoking onto the dirt path.

Of course, I’d probably end up buying another one eventually, but for now, it felt significant.

Or maybe not.

“Maybe I should set a goal,” I mused.

“What kind of goal?”

“To smile like I’m genuinely happy.”

I tried moving my lips into a smile, but my face remained stiff and unnatural.

Forcing my mouth into a grin with my fingers made it look even more grotesque.

Raphael chuckled at the sight, barely suppressing his laughter.

“You’ll get there someday.”

“If not, oh well.”

The future was hazy.

Even if I spoke confidently now, I might relapse, try to kill myself, or start self-harming like Alina.

But as long as I didn’t die, maybe things would work out.

I had no desire to attend any more social gatherings.

The cumbersome dresses, the heavy jewels, the stiff shoes, and the judgmental gazes from every direction—it was all revolting.

Eventually, after several days of walking, we arrived in the capital.

I purchased a modest building in a quieter district, where houses were scattered.

The first floor became a café, and the second floor was my private space, filled with musical instruments.

At first, Raphael insisted on finding separate accommodations, but I forced him to stay in my house, arguing, Why did you even come with me, then?

Years passed.

I was now old enough to be considered an adult.

One day, Raphael dragged me to a chapel and made me take marriage vows.

It wasn’t some grand ceremony with guests. We knelt before a statue of God—one that somehow seemed to glow—and exchanged our promises.

It was practical, really. Libian might eventually sell me off to some obscenely wealthy merchant, so submitting a marriage certificate seemed like a good precaution.

I did tell Raphael that if he ever found someone he truly loved, I’d annul it immediately.

His expression was complicated when I said that.

I don’t know if my life has meaning.

At least these days, I don’t lie awake at night haunted by memories of the Duchess’ abuse. That’s a relief.

To think that a villainess like me, who has committed all sorts of heinous acts, is now living comfortably.

The servants who worked at the estate must be furious. The knights who hated me would probably draw their swords and split me in two if they saw me now.

How many of them lost their eyes, tongues, or fingers just because they served me rotten food?

It’s not about saying I shouldn’t hurt others just because I’m suffering.

I deserve to die, and so did they.

And yet, I didn’t want to die.

Such a dull, unremarkable story.

I sipped the coffee Raphael brewed downstairs and lit a cigarette made of plain tobacco leaves—no opium powder this time.

And I thought about it all.