The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 58: Sometimes

Sometimes, I dream.

I told Raphael confidently that I don’t really have nightmares, so he shouldn’t worry. But occasionally, I find myself drifting into dreams that feel weightless, as if I’m floating.

When I was younger, I dreamt of this so often that it didn’t even surprise me.

Maybe back then, those dreams weren’t tormenting because they were just part of my daily life.

Now, though, they’re not normal—they’re pure agony.

It feels like I’m drowning in sticky, clinging memories that prevent me from being myself.

The dreams always start in that room.

The room is filled with books. Books I had memorized cover to cover. Books the Duchess had me read.

Ah.

Yes. There’s also a piano, a violin, a viola, and a cello.

Anyway, it’s the room where the Duchess “educated” me.

Education: the process and means of teaching and learning everything necessary for human life.

What kind of life am I living now?

Am I simply existing, or do I have a purpose?

I suppose I do have a goal, but it’s just a small desire: to smile.

In the dream, her face never appears clearly.

The slightly wrinkled yet unnaturally beautiful face she had is absent.

Instead, she’s just a black silhouette, like a shadowy doll.

This dark figure approaches me, holding out a book.

Then she swings a cane at me.

Over and over, until my limbs are twisted and I can’t move.

She forces food into my mouth.

If I don’t eat, she slaps me.

If I vomit from being too full, she shoves it back into me.

It’s a dream. But it’s not.

When my body is contorted, my mouth full of disgusting bile, and I can’t even speak, they appear.

And they laugh at me, pointing with glee.

Sometimes, Libian and Eileen show up in the dreams.

When I was younger, I hated when they appeared.

Maybe it was worse because they were the same age as me.

The content of their words is always predictable—familiar things I’ve heard before.

But no matter how many times I hear it, it still makes me angry. It still hurts.

Up until this point, I can endure.

But it’s the next part that’s the real problem.

As if to prove it’s a dream, the scene suddenly changes.

Now, I’m in my own room.

“Miss, if you just tell me not to leave, I’ll stay here forever,” says a girl, holding me tightly and whispering in my ear.

A chill runs through me.

It feels as if my fingers are being crushed.

“One simple word, and I’ll stay by your side. Maybe even until I die.”

I want to tell her not to go, but my lips barely part before closing again.

Why couldn’t I ask her to stay back then?

Ah. Right. Because I thought she might die if she stayed.

“AAAAHHH!! Raphael! RAPHAEL!!”

I screamed, my voice tearing through the room.

I wasn’t sure if this was a dream or reality.

Burying my face in my pillow, I screamed until my throat burned.

That’s all I could do.

Or I could tremble and hyperventilate until I wet myself.

Not exactly a dignified option for an adult.

So I screamed instead. At least that wouldn’t stop me from breathing.

This must be reality.

Raphael, looking groggy and disheveled in his pajamas, rushed into the room.

With practiced ease, he retrieved my pipe from the drawer, packed it with tobacco, and lit it for me.

Then he helped me sit up and placed the pipe between my lips.

Smoking didn’t make me happy, but it dulled the edges.

The solution to avoiding nightmares was simple: sprinkle some opium on the tobacco, drink until I couldn’t stand, and pass out on the bed.

That way, the magic leaves would carry me to a land of bliss.

But Raphael would hate it. 

He’s probably the only person in the world who genuinely cares about me.

If he started to despise me, I’d feel a little sad.

If my life became any more miserable, I might end up standing in front of a noose again.

“Sorry,” I said, my voice hoarse and low.

Raphael patted my back and asked softly, “It’s been a while since you had a nightmare. Are you okay?”

I shrugged.

“It’s just something that happens sometimes.”

“Why did you tell me it’s okay to leave if I ever find someone I like? How do you expect to live without me?”

“I can’t keep you tied to me just because it’s convenient for me.”

Ridiculous words, considering I’d already tethered him to me for years.

Even if Raphael got drunk one day and cursed me out, I’d forgive him.

Even if he landed in hell, as long as he didn’t mind, I wouldn’t stop him.

“If that’s the case, I’ll head back dow—”

“Morning’s almost here. Just sit with me for a bit.”

Raphael chuckled softly and sat beside me, staring out the window at the lingering moon.

Then, almost to himself, he murmured, “If someone had told me as a kid that I’d end up like this with you, I’d have told them to stop talking nonsense.”

“Really? I think you’d have believed it. After all, a grand knight could say anything to you back then, and you’d take it as gospel.”

“At the very least, you’d have told me to stop talking nonsense.”

“…Yeah, probably.”

“So, what do I need to do to make sure you keep living in this world?”

“I’ve told you for years now—I’m not going to die.”

“That’s not exactly the most believable thing you’ve said.”

“Why not? I quit opium, didn’t I? And I barely have hysterical fits these days.”

Raphael tilted his head.

“Hysterical fits? What does that mean?”

Ah. Right.

That’s not really a phrase here.

“Never mind. I just meant I don’t lose my temper much anymore.”

“Maybe.”

It seemed like he wanted to say more.

Normally, if I lit a cigarette or asked him to sit beside me, he’d blush and hurry downstairs, embarrassed.

But today, he stayed beside me, staring straight ahead.

After a moment, Raphael spoke again.

“That time when you went to the ball…”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t exactly a fond memory.

Not that I have many good memories to begin with.

If someone asked me to name the golden age of my life, I’d say it’s now.

A decent cup of coffee, moderately enjoyable tobacco—not luxurious, but enough—and a room filled with instruments.

I can’t hear others play, but I can mimic their performances from memory.

I’ve even written out every piece I know, just in case my mind fails me one day.

“Someone you befriended there came looking for you.”

A friend.

A friend, huh? Did I have one of those?

Ah, the protagonist.

Right. This world used to be a game.

Sometimes I forget, living day to day.

“Was her name Olivia? The pretty blonde one?”

“Yeah.”

“How did she know I was here?”

“She said she’s been looking for you for a long time.

She even went to the estate, but no one would tell her where you were.”

I can’t imagine why she’d bother to look for me.

Unless she’s here to take Raphael away.

If that’s the case, so be it.

The world seems determined to rob me of anything precious.

I’ve always prepared myself for that.

If someone asked me if I liked Raphael, I’d say yes.

If they asked if I loved him, I’d say I didn’t know.

Before I was born into this cruel world, I might have understood how to love—not necessarily someone, but something.

That’s probably why I cling to the piano keys now, trying to recapture that faint emotion.

But here…

I’m hardly in a position to talk.

I told him it was okay to leave.

If he actually does, I don’t want to become the kind of person who tries to hold him back.

But I must be scared.

My hands, without me realizing, were gripping the bedsheet so tightly that the fabric began to tear.

Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and stop him.

“She was still beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it feel like falling in love?”

“That… sounds like something you’ve asked me before.

Same person, same question—it feels oddly familiar.”

Raphael chuckled, as if he found it amusing.

“What’s so funny all of a sudden?”

“Are you jealous, by any chance?”

“…No.”

“Then why is your face a little red?”

When he mentioned it, I reflexively touched my cheek.

It didn’t feel warm.

Looking out the window, I realized the sun had risen.

“…It’s the sunlight. You’re imagining it.”

“Sure, if you say so.

I’ll go downstairs and start the coffee—and toast some bread.”

So, Olivia is looking for me.

I didn’t feel particularly pleased.

Rather than thinking I was needed in some way, I found myself wishing nothing would happen at all.

Smoke swirled around me as I exhaled.

The air grew so thick that it became hard to breathe.

No matter how much I washed my blankets or clothes, the smell of tobacco clung to them.

I got up and walked to the piano.

Morning had come.

I tapped out a simple, monotonous tune.

A while later, Raphael called me for breakfast.

I finished the piece with a small flourish before heading downstairs.

Breakfast was a slice of rye bread, a cup of coffee, some cheese, and jam made from an unidentifiable fruit.

Not a bad life.

I might even be happy.

But the thought of Olivia finding me and disrupting this fragile peace made my shoulders tremble involuntarily.