Embracing the Villainess

Chapter Three

Stinging on my temples causes me to grip my head and hunch over. A hiss leaves my mouth and I can see drops of spit fly onto the mirror right before I close my eyes. Instead of black behind my closed eyelids, I see a blurry figure. I can just make out ivory skin and a white dress.

"Morgan Slate... you'll now retire that name and that existence. Your new identity is that of Chrysanthy Torbum." This person comes forward and as they press a kiss to my forehead, I remember everything. Not just my run in with God, but I have new memories that weren't originally mine before. "This is my gift to you. Live this life how you want and save this unfortunate existence and world."

When I open my eyes again, there's only a dull pounding in my head now. The blonde tresses on my head are a mess now and I look a little more pale than before. As I continue to look in the wall mirror, a tear falls from my left eye first. I had once read somewhere that a tear from the right eye is happiness, while the left represents pain. It was probably a bunch of malarkey from middle school anyways.

But as this woman's memories fill my mind, I can tell that she was a very pitiful person.

Before long, I'm sobbing uncontrollably. The pain welling in my heart is a feeling I have never once felt in my previous life. This body almost feels like it moves on its own after these emotions overwhelm me. One answer fills my head; this must be how she felt every single day for a really long time.

Staring off into my reflection, I zone out and rifle through the memories I was 'gifted.' Her name was Chrysanthy Torbum. Ever since the moment she was born, she's lived a sad and tortuous life.

Born as the third child of an influential family, Chrysanthy was often left to her own devices. She wasn't the first born who is a son to the family. Naturally, he's going to take over the family name which is why he's always been coddled and given more attention. She also wasn't the oldest daughter who is the light of their mother's eyes. Unlike her older sister, Chrysanthy didn't have her mother's vibrant red hair.

In fact, Chrysanthy was born much later than her siblings. Because of that, she was constantly treated as an afterthought. She was also born with blonde hair instead of red like her mother and black like her father. It's like these people don't know how genes work. As I sit watching her memories, I can already tell what kind of person she was; a pushover who was too afraid to speak up. Maybe that's a little harsh to say about her, but from what I can see, she didn't have a backbone.

The door to the bedroom bursts open causing me to instinctively flinch. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch as a maid comes in. With a scowl on her face, she carries a wooden serving tray in her hands. She sets it onto a small table that's to the right of my bed. I raise an eyebrow as she scoffs and shakes her head. Then she begins to pour what I'm assuming is tea from a kettle into a teacup.

"Why am I on duty to serve this figurehead?" the maid asks herself. She smacks her lips and places her hands on her hips. "She won't eat anything anyways." She then picks up a bowl off of the tray as well as a spoon and sets it next to the teacup.

"Hello?" I decide to say something now before she digs her own grave.

Though she reacts opposite to how I thought she would. Rather than cowering in fear, she turns toward me and rolls her eyes. Snatching the tray off of the table, she bows with a mocking air to her. Then she rolls her eyes again and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her.

"What a bitch," I mumble. Stepping over to the table, I peer down at the contents of the soup. It looks like simple vegetable soup with bits of carrot, celery, corn, and onions. "At least it looks appetizing."

It dawns on me that this palace is not on my side. Memories roll through my head of Chrysanthy getting mistreated. I can't help but grimace as I see just how badly she's been treated since she's got into this kingdom.

I can't believe I didn't realize that there's a small kitchen table in here as I pull the chair out. Scooping some of the soup up, I take a bite and sigh in relief. The flavor of the soup is much better than I expected. It seems they're at least decent enough to feed me properly. I guess I do have their heir to the throne in my big ass belly.

But as I eat, I start to feel a sense of deja vu. Going over the information lets me learn that Callum is the name of my husband. Raufort is my maiden name which also has to be the duke family name.

Why does everything seem so damn familiar?

Whatever. It'll come to me when I stop thinking about it.

I polish off the soup as if I'm a ravenous beast. It seems the baby in my stomach is also happy as I start to feel kicks left and right. Feeling it for the first time is odd. It's like my intestines are tumbling around or running in circles. Involuntarily, I smile down at the bump. Looks like Chrysanthy did love her baby.

"I'm sorry that you're stuck with someone like me as a parent," I say. "I never planned on having children as I thought motherhood wasn't for me. Maybe that's also what led me down this path."

Thinking back on it, Jameson did love children. When we really started dating, it was one of the things we argued about. While I always thought I was okay to be motherless, it's funny that I'm now on this road.

"I was born in a place called Earth... as you grow up, you'll never hear this word again. It's a different dimension that has seven continents and almost two hundred countries. I was born in a place called the United States of America which is located in North America. My entire life was like a walk in the park. When I started acting, I was able to land roles really fast, even without any knowledge of the arts."

Sentimentality has never been my strongest suit. But right now I feel like I can shed a tear as I recall my life. It's finally settling in that I've died and I'll no longer be Morgan Slate. At least I was able to see that there were still people on my side and that Jameson is not getting away with being a major asshole.

It seems that it's finally time to say goodbye to my previous life. There's no use in dwelling on the past... or dwelling on my first life.

Struggling out of my chair, I waddle back over to the mirror. The golden locks lay perfectly down my back. I can't detect any split ends when I grab and strand to examine. Fair skin is flawless, save for the mole that sits right above a set of cupid's bow lips. The eyelashes that frame my eyes are long, demonstrating what a natural beauty I am. Despite how I'm treated by the maids here, I'm well taken care of.

"Morgan Slate," I start, taking a deep breath, "it was nice being you. At the moment, I can't mourn your loss, but I'll always remember you. I'll always be thankful for the fruitful life you lived. Thank you for that experience."

With these parting words, I decide to seal away who I used to be; at least as much as I'm able to. I can throw the name away, but I can't toss my attitude, memories, or mannerisms. And now there's only one thing left to wonder.

What the hell does God mean by 'save this existence and world'? And why the hell do I have to do something like that?

*Enjoy chapter three. I think the real interesting parts will start in the next couple of chapters.*