I’m a Villainess, Can I Die?

"My lady, are you all right?"
"My lady, are you feeling unwell?"
The words my lady, my lady… echoed around me, coming from the servants at my back and sides.

A moment ago, I had left my room with just one maid assisting me.
But the moment I stepped out the door, another maid passing by rushed over and grabbed my other arm.
Then, another maid I encountered on the way, upon hearing my destination, insisted on helping me down the stairs.

And then, yet another servant joined. And another.
When did I become the Pied Piper?
No, seriously. A person has four limbs, yet somehow five people were supporting me. At this point, it wasn’t even assistance—it was a full-scale transport operation.

The short maid who had initially supported me moved behind me, while the two taller maids lifted me up by my shoulders. My feet naturally left the ground.
Like a puppet in a marionette show.
My dangling feet kicked in vain for a moment before I gave up and let them go limp.

Going down the stairs was even more of a spectacle.
The five servants hoisted me up in a cross formation, each holding onto one of my limbs or supporting my body, and carried me down like a sacred relic.
Having already accepted my fate, I simply let myself be transported.

Staring up at the high ceiling, I started to regret leaving my room.
Jesus Christ.
How was it possible to be this far from normal the moment I woke up?

Was this the fate of a villainess?
At one point, we even ran into my mother.
She patted the servants on the back with a satisfied smile.
I wanted to ask if she genuinely found this satisfactory, but I held my tongue, fearing she might assign even more people to escort me. Instead, I simply greeted her while still staring at the ceiling.

Thankfully, once we reached the bottom of the stairs, I was allowed to face forward.
Though my feet still weren’t touching the ground, I had grown so accustomed to the absurdity of the situation that it barely fazed me anymore.
By the time we arrived at Aiden’s door, our numbers had grown to a grand total of eight.

I was completely exhausted.
It felt like my life force had been drained.
"Thanks for helping me. I need to speak with Aiden alone, so you can all go now."

"But when you return..."
Eight voices replied at once, and my head started spinning.
"I'll have Aiden take me back.

I'll count it as overtime pay or something. And well..."
Won't I just end up being followed like the Pied Piper again anyway?
I swallowed the last part of my sentence, afraid that speaking it into existence might make it come true.

With a dismissive wave, I sent the servants away.
Though they glanced back at me with concern, I paid them no mind. I waved my hand again, and, just like that, the crowd dispersed as quickly as they had gathered.
The once-cramped hallway now felt spacious, and even the air seemed fresher.

More importantly… when did my servants start treating me like this?
When I first woke up in this world, they were stiff and wary around me.
Well, I was going to be living here for another four years.

Better to have a good reputation than a bad one.
"Is Aiden inside?"
Now alone in front of his door, I checked my surroundings before plopping down on the floor.

I didn’t have the energy to keep standing.
I knocked lightly and spoke toward the door, but no response came.
Was he somewhere else?

But where would he even go?
I sifted through my fragmented memories of the novel, but there was no place Aiden should be.
Knock knock.

I knocked again, pressing my ear against the door.
A faint rustling sound came from inside.
Ah, so he was in there.

And pretending not to be.
If only he knew what I had gone through to get here, he would have opened the door immediately.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t looking out the window.

I let out a small sigh and decided that when I finally saw his face, I would make sure to tell him all about the ridiculous journey I had taken from my room to here.
"Aiden. I know you're in there."
So just open the door already.

Aiden heard the commotion outside but didn’t move from his spot.
A wave of helplessness and exhaustion hit him all at once.
He had always wondered why his lady locked herself away in her room, burying herself under the covers…

And now, he was beginning to understand.
The noisy crowd outside his door eventually came to a stop.
Muffled voices—both male and female—chattered for a moment before a chorus of footsteps retreated down the hall.

What was that?
Aiden remained face-down on his bed, ears perked up, listening.
Then, a soft knock.

Followed by a voice he recognized.
"Aiden, are you in there?"
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Ah. She’s still not fully recovered—how did she even make it here?
Just yesterday, she could barely stand on her own.
Aiden slowly lifted himself from the bed.

But that was all he could do.
He had raised his upper body, but he couldn’t move beyond that.
Because the image of his lady collapsing, her body limp and lifeless, flickered before his eyes once again.

The memory strangled him, rendering him immobile.
Her bloodied face wouldn’t leave his mind.
She had spoken so gently, telling him she was sorry… and then, as if it were nothing, she had tried to die.

That made him so, so angry.
But then, those empty, hollow eyes of hers… they made him feel nothing but pity.
"Aiden, I know you’re in there."

Her small voice called out again.
Aiden shut his eyes tightly.
Darkness filled his vision, pulling him back to his childhood.

From the moment he could remember, he had always been alone.
There had been a man in his life—a man who was technically his father—but he wasn’t someone who deserved to be called that.
A drunkard, addicted to gambling and women, who never cared for his child.

A man who rarely came home, to the point that Aiden could barely even recall his face.
On the rare occasions he did bring food, he was always drunk out of his mind, screaming at Aiden in a drunken rage.
The young boy would plug his ears and wait for his father to pass out before quietly sneaking bites of food.

Then, one day, that pathetic excuse of a man drowned in the very alcohol he loved so much.
Too drunk to stand, he had stumbled off the riverbank and fallen in.
A pitiful and perfectly fitting death.

Aiden had been… what, six years old at the time?
He wasn’t entirely sure.
He had only counted his age based on a drunken ramble his father once muttered—something about how his birthday was probably sometime in the summer.

After his father’s death, a kind woman from the neighboring house sent him to an orphanage in the outskirts.
But the other children didn’t accept him.
The orphanage director was indifferent to the children’s well-being.

A pathetic scumbag just like his father.
The adults’ neglect and the harsh conditions turned the children into animals.
Bullying, violence, starvation, and cold—

It was worse than his old home.
Eventually, Aiden couldn’t take it anymore and ran away.
Anywhere would be better than here.

He was seven years old when he left the orphanage.
After that, he joined a group of beggars.
A massive, sprawling network of vagrants, ranging from as young as five to as old as fifty.

Among them, Aiden learned to beg.
Anything was better than surviving in that wretched orphanage.
If he could just save enough money…

If he could just afford a small space, big enough to lie down in…
"What kind of thoughts are those for a child?"
Aiden let out a cold laugh.

Those memories weren’t even worth calling nostalgic.
But life as a beggar wasn’t easy either.
Bowing his head and grabbing at the hems of strangers’ coats, only to be kicked aside—

That was an everyday occurrence.
Getting beaten for not bringing in enough money for the gang leader—
That, too, was routine.

The few coins he managed to save were often stolen overnight.
The person he had chatted with and laughed with the night before would be found frozen to death by morning.
Disease ran rampant, taking even more of them away.

Yet despite it all, Aiden had thought—
This is still better than before.
At least here, he had people to talk to.

People he could call friends, brothers, or leaders.
For someone who had been alone all his life, that was exciting.
But then, he realized just how wrong he was.

The day he was beaten to a pulp by a rival group for trespassing on their territory—
The day he stretched out a desperate hand toward the others—
The people he had lived with for two years.

Someone, someone would help him, right?
But no one did.
They just watched as he was beaten down.

And then, they spat at him.
They turned their backs and walked away.
Somewhere in the background, he thought he heard a familiar voice snicker.

"That bastard’s done for. Too bad, his pretty face brought in good money."
Laughter echoed as Aiden was stomped on again and again.
That day, it wasn’t just his body that was broken.

His heart was shredded to pieces.
At some point, he had closed his eyes.
The pain was unbearable.

Death felt preferable.
And then—
She appeared.

"Aiden... Are you really not going to open the door?"
Yes, her.
Selina White.

My lady.
As he stared at the hand extended toward him, a childhood memory resurfaced.
A few days before he was beaten, he had found an old, tattered fairytale book while rummaging through a dumpster.

Its pages were damp and warped, but still readable.
For some reason, he had picked it up and started reading.
It was filled with pure fantasy.

The story of a poor woman who met a prince and lived happily ever after.
After finishing it, he had laughed bitterly.
It was so far from reality, it was ridiculous.

He had tossed the book back into the dumpster and continued searching for something actually valuable.
And then, just like in that story—
A girl with a face as beautiful as a fairytale princess had appeared before him.

And like a prince, she had casually waved her hand and sent his attackers scurrying away.
Then, with an impish smirk, she extended her hand to him.
"Hey, wanna come with me?"

For the briefest moment, just as her servants lifted him off the ground—
For that one fleeting instant—
He had dreamt of a fairytale ending.

A life that had suddenly changed.
A happy ending.
But that fantasy had shattered quickly.

The moment he was patched up and timidly stood before her again, the first words out of her mouth were—
"Did I really pick up someone like this?"
He was nothing but a whim.

A moment of impulse.
A stray dog she had taken in on a whim, only to regret it later.