”Ceasarias life before the Valentines was rough. ” — The Lovable Villainess, Chapter Seventeen.
So what can I do?
At first, I was in disbelief as I looked through my ratty tresses. A cracked mirror and a cold room awaited me as my red-tinted fingers grasped at the window to stare at the snow covering the ground. It was winter and I had no idea how old I was.
Ceasaria was my name and for my whole existence, I was abused. I grew up unloved and unwanted by people around me. That was to be expected. Even in my former life, I had never been loved by my parents who neglected me. From a young age, I was left to be independent as both my mother and father indulged in their own weaknesses.
Alone to cook.
Alone to read.
This wasn any different. There was nothing vividly depicting the abuse of a child as I remembered flipping through the blurry pages in my brain. The only line that stood out was that Caesarias childhood was rough. She was unloved. That was it. A culmination of the bruises that stood out against my sore skin was simply due to a flick of a wrist.
It was all done without a care in the world.
I couldn help but admire my appearance in the craked mirror. Caesaria was unwillingly gorgeous underneath the grime and malnourishment. She had wide doe-like emerald eyes framed with pink lashes. Doll-like with pale skin, dull and dirty from mistreatment. If she was simply a normal young girl, she would have been beautiful. A sigh escaped my lips, well that was to be expected, Ceasaria was known for her beauty in the novel. Her effortless innocence and charming smile.
The novel—I instantly recoiled. I was killed, more aptly put, murdered. Righteously killed, Kalypso, the reincarnated villainess found out that Caesaria wasn what she was supposed to be. In fact, she was a liar with a facade. She was pretending to be all angelic while pulling at the strings. Truly, it was a villainous reincarnation novel down to the very last moments.
Could I just run away?
Well, what if I just didn do any of those things? I could just live her life in docility right? I didn need anything. I looked up at the ceiling once more, the cold starting to seep into the marrow of my bones. It was frigid here and the winter wouldn make it any better. There was no bed as I sat against the wall, only a broken mirror reflecting a reflection of a young girl that I had now become.
”Im sorry, ” I mumbled out, gently pressing my fingers against the bruises. Kalypso although unloved had never been physically hurt and abused. She had never been aching for love. Kalypso got to sleep in a warm bed, surrounded by clunky people who did love her—yet, Caesaria had none of that. Perhaps, it was wrong for her to be envious.
The week passed and no one opened the door. At least, fragments of memories returned. This wasn abnormal. This was the room I was in and my parents had probably forgotten about me. They had always been cruel. There was not a single fond memory of happiness in her bleak life. Tears ran down my face at times, hiccuping alone, shuddering at the cold. What a cruel and miserable love Ceasaria had lived.
I was left alone, slowly rotting inside of my small room. The isolation felt horrible. Teeth chattering as I pressed myself closer against the wall. It provided comfort and ease. Caesarias parents weren even given names. They were just known as abusive and negligent.
The door cracked open as my eyes looked at the skirts of a young woman. This must be my mother. From the bits and pieces that I got from my memory, she despised me due to how she was tied to motherhood. She had to be the perfect mother; loving and caring, yet she couldn bring herself to do so. A vain and arrogant woman, she preferred parties and balls over trying to take care of me.
Thus, I was neglected.
My father blamed my mothers erratic behavior on me. I was to blame in some sick twisted way. If they hadn had Ceasaria this wouldn have happened.
”Are you dead?! ” She squawked as I peeled myself up from the ground. Eyes turning to the floor.
”No, Maam, ” I responded back. My tongue felt dry. My vision bleary as the woman scoffed, almost sounding disappointed at the blank response I gave back. It would have been better if Ceasaria had died. Yet, my body seemed to be incapable of dying. Despite not being given food or water for what felt like months, I was still surviving. Was it because I was in a world of a novel?
Turning to her maid, my mother glowered. My eyes flitted upwards and the face that reflected my own stared back. Caesarias mother was gorgeous. She had bright green hair and green eyes; she held a type of loveliness that would befit the woodland nymphs. Truly, I was inside of a novel.
”If you don give her something to drink, shell die, ” the maid said back, her words were atonal. Simple and reflective.
”Fuck, ” my mother grumbled out placing a hand against her forehead as if she felt aghast. ”Here, ” she said beckoning the maid forward and tossing a flask at my feet, ”Drink. ” A smile tugged at her features as I looked at the flask.
It was obviously alcohol.
”You can think of it as your birthday present for your ninth birthday, ” she hummed.
Silence. I couldn bring myself to move and then she lurched forward like a python. Grabbing my pink tresses and jerking me off the ground. My body flailed in the air, my scalp singing in anger.
”Why aren you drinking?! ” She demanded. ”You! You ruined everything! ” she screeched. I was tossed back, my body flying into the mirror. The already broken glass shattering across my back, blood seeping against the ground as my mother shrieked. Spouting nonsensical jargon made my ears ring.
”DRINK! YOU UNGRATEFUL BRAT! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I SACRIFICED BECAUSE OF YOU?! ”
Heavy boots were heard as I heard a voice. It was Ceasarias father, my father. He was patting her back, attempting to coax her out of her violent rage. I knew what was going to quell it, so I crawled. Forcing my body to slide across the ground. The smell of blood permeating through the air. I opened the flask, the rich and sharp pungent scent of liquor sending a shiver down my spine.
I downed the liquid. It burned my throat, my body felt numb to the pain. It was enough. I hiccuped, dropping the flask.
”Look honey, ” My father crooned, ”She drank it. ”
”Ungrateful! ” She snarled as she slammed her foot down against my knuckles. Pain shot through my body as I closed my eyes, ”Ungrateful! ” She screamed again before slamming her heel into my shoulder. My father managed to pry her off of my beaten body before the door slammed shut again.
The smell of blood and alcohol made me feel dizzy. I was nine years old? I had to endure one more year of this? What a joke.
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