The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 64: Conversation

“Uh, is it okay if I sit?”

“This is your house. Why are you asking me for permission?”

The familiar heaviness settled in my chest, and I instinctively reached into my pocket, only to remember I no longer carried tobacco.

I had decided to quit smoking, after all.

I had even snapped Raphael’s cigars in half, so it was only fair I stopped thinking about such things.

Eileen sat beside Libian, her face tense.

Like siblings, their legs bumped into each other, and they nudged back with their knees—a dynamic that hadn’t changed a bit.

“So, why did you want to meet?”

“…It didn’t feel right to just leave things as they were.”

“Leave what as it was?”

“I don’t expect us to live together again, but I thought we couldn’t just let our unresolved feelings fester like this.

You, me, Eileen, and Mother—we still haven’t forgotten about you.

And I doubt we ever will. After all, we were a family under the same roof….”

“Family?”

Was that what we were?

If we consider the textbook definition—a group bound by marriage, blood relations like parents and children—then sure, we might fit the term.

But come on, we all know that’s not what I mean.

“…Yes, because we were family.”

I murmured the words under my breath without realizing it.

I thought I had broken the habit of talking to myself, but it seemed I hadn’t.

Was it because I hadn’t been playing the piano lately?

I used to pour my emotions out on the keys. That might also be why the strings kept breaking so often.

“I don’t know about family—it felt more like a scumbag who beat the crap out of me whenever I didn’t obey.

Though if pets count as family, then sure, I guess that makes sense.”

Eileen didn’t react dramatically, as if she had expected this kind of response.

She merely flinched and shuddered her shoulders in a pitiful way.

Even the way their shoulders moved in unison made it clear they were siblings.

Yeah, those two were unmistakably family.

They loved each other—not romantically but genuinely, as family members.

There was no such bond between them and me.

For me, family meant my mother, who had died working her body at the brothel, and the proxy manager who had loved her.

It also included the orphanage director, who fed me despite their own struggles, and, of course, Raphael.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Sure.”

This kind of awkwardness was unbearable without something to smoke.

When conversations dried up, I used to rely on the sharp clarity that came with inhaling smoke—or the brief distraction of a hallucination.

Desperate to break the silence, Eileen was the first to speak.

“The knight beside you, who is he…?”

“My husband.”

“Oh, I see.”

Eileen was trying her best to salvage the atmosphere, but that was ultimately up to the people involved in the conversation.

In our case, the awkwardness and suffocating tension suited us better than any pleasantries.

“He’s so imposing and dashing—a fine knight!”

“Eileen.”

“I heard you got married after leaving the mansion, but I never got to see him, so I was worried!”

“Eileen.”

“If only you’d told us about the wedding, I would have spent my savings to arrange a grand ceremony at a cathedral—or even here at the mansion!”

“…Eileen.”

“Getting married and receiving countless blessings from others—that’s every woman’s dream!

I’m engaged now, and I want my wedding to be just like that.

But at least it’s a relief that you didn’t marry some strange commoner wandering around. Instead, you married a knight—”

Her eyes lost focus, and her hands trembled.

She spoke in a shaky, fragmented tone, as if consumed by guilt or some sense of indebtedness to me.

Not that I was inclined to comfort or stop her—though I admit I hesitated briefly.

“Eileen, I took Raphael from the orphanage I lived in.

He’s just a rootless, dirty commoner wandering around.

Though I suppose that’s better than being a half-baked noble.”

Eileen’s words cut off abruptly. She turned to me with a shocked expression.

Judging by the tremor in her eyes, my own expression must have been something to behold.

Probably a mix of scorn, a hint of hatred, and barely perceptible pity.

“…Oh.”

“You said you wanted to talk. Not just you, Libian, but Eileen and even the Duchess.”

Was I supposed to call her “Mother”? What a joke.

If she dared to spout that nonsense to my face again, I wouldn’t even need to ask Raphael—I’d handle it myself.

Not that it would matter. Libian would probably just shoot me again.

Was it a blessing that I hadn’t died back then?

After all, I was alive now and could be with Raphael.

And I’d been able to reunite with Alina, who was also alive.

“So what do you want to talk about now?

At the very least, I don’t think this is the time to chat about mundane topics with you, Eileen.”

I shifted closer to Raphael, leaning my shoulder against his. Then I took his gloved hand in mine.

“I was living quite happily—until your letter arrived.

In fact, just being somewhere completely unrelated to you was more than enough for me to be happy.”

Eileen bit her lip.

Libian’s expression darkened.

What, did they think this would be some joyful reunion filled with laughter and fond reminiscence?

“I left this place because I didn’t want to die.

If I’d stayed here any longer, I really would’ve died.”

“…Marisela.”

“No, it’s the truth. Or am I supposed to thank you for saving me when I was hanging by a thread back then?”

The truth was, I hadn’t tried to kill myself to end it all—I just wanted to escape this hell, even if it meant running straight into another one.

They say suicides go to hell.

For someone drowning in despair, that doesn’t sound too bad.

If reality is already hell, then perhaps a different kind of hell might feel like a vacation.

And if you’re lucky, it might even be slightly better than the reality you left behind.

I guess I just drew the short straw.

Had I been reincarnated as a simple, carefree commoner, life might have been easier.

All this chaos happened because everything about me is so half-baked, an awkward mix of everything.

If I had been different, I wouldn’t have met Raphael, which would have been its own problem.

“I won’t say thank you. I’m glad I’m alive now, but that’s entirely thanks to Raphael. None of you did anything for me.

Alina—yeah, I bet you don’t even know who Alina is.

Even after the servant I liked left, all you did was throw rotten eggs and trash at me or spit out some vile, senseless words.”

You told me it was time to attend social gatherings or other events, that I needed to present myself better, to manage my reputation among people.

You told me to stop acting like I was the only one who mattered.

It wasn’t that I thought I was better than everyone else. I acted that way because if I didn’t, everyone would treat me like trash—worse, like something they could trample over without a second thought.

Funny how you were the ones who obliterated my reputation, reducing it to ashes.

Sure, that was a long time ago, back when we were all ignorant and uneducated.

Let’s pretend that’s enough to excuse everything.

Even then, I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so eager to have a conversation now.

“Don’t try to drag me into your pathetic little circus.

Don’t bother trying to seek forgiveness from me either.”

If you seriously thought I was so magnanimous as to forgive you, I’d suggest you lock yourself in a room right now and use a gun to blow your brains out.

“Forgiveness… I won’t lie. It would be a lie to say I haven’t wished for it.

But even if you hate me for it, I’ll keep apologizing.

And whether you like it or not, your child’s surname will still…”

Right.

Raphael doesn’t have a surname.

So, we ended up using mine.

I even sent a letter to Libian, asking for his permission.

The thought that my child would bear the name of this accursed mansion’s family…

At least I wouldn’t raise them here.

The servants, the people around—every last one of them is trash.

Even if it kills me.

That thought brought a small sense of relief.

“Do you remember what you first said to me when I told you I didn’t care about your circus?”

It was about a picnic.

Libian and Eileen probably don’t even remember—it was that long ago.

But I still see it vividly in my dreams.

Eileen shoving me, the servants giggling behind her, and for some reason, that was when the rotten food started being thrown at me.

When people think of nightmares, they imagine horrors that don’t exist.

Why am I the only one who has to relive the terrible things I actually experienced?

“No, I guess it’s fair if you don’t remember.

Honestly, it’s nothing special. Back then, little Eileen, you said something like, ‘Someone like you.’

Someone like me did something disgraceful, and your loyal servants took it upon themselves to ‘discipline’ me a little too enthusiastically.”

Hearing myself say it out loud, it sounded so trivial.

“To you, I must have seemed like a strange child.

Even now, I bet you think the same—wondering why someone would even think about dying over something like that.”

All I had been doing back then was desperately clawing for survival.

“Anyway, there’s no need to dwell on it anymore.

I’ve long since given up on the idea of dying.

I’m trying to live like everyone else—normal and happy.

It’s harder than I thought, though.”

Eileen’s body stiffened.

Her gaze unfocused, as if she didn’t even know where she was looking.

“Well then, a conversation, was it? Shall we start?

It feels like I’ve been the only one talking so far.”

Libian looked at me with a worried expression.

No, not at me—behind me.

I turned my head to see the Duchess standing there, looking unchanged, trembling where she stood.

She seemed on the verge of tears, and I couldn’t help but find it a little amusing.