The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 39: At the Ballroom

“Do you really have to smoke that?”

Raphael appeared behind me and extinguished the flame on my cigarette holder as he spoke.

Irritated for no reason, I emptied the leaves and powder from the holder onto the floor.

Feeling regretful almost immediately, I refilled it with fresh leaves and tried to light it again, but Raphael snatched the cigarette holder from my hand.

“You suddenly show up, take my stuff, and that’s all you have to say?”

“…Marie, you’ve seen it back when we were in the slums. You know what addicts are capable of when they lose control.”

“That’s because those people didn’t have money for this stuff. I have more than enough. I’ll never run out.”

“…You know that’s not what I meant.”

I knew he was genuinely worried about me. That made it a bit harder to speak to him in the sharp, cutting tone I usually used with others.

“Raphael, stop worrying about me and just think about your happy future. You’ve finally become the knight you always dreamed of.”

I leaned lightly against Raphael, naturally grabbing the cigarette holder back, and pushed his shoulder away with my right hand.

“If we stick together, we’ll just keep arguing over trivial things like this and end up hurting each other. Just forget about a worthless fool like me.”

Raphael frowned at my words, clearly upset. He snatched the cigarette holder from my hands again, this time tucking it into the chest pocket of his jacket.

Well, there goes my holder. Looks like I’ll have to go buy a new one tomorrow at the market.

“Then why didn’t you just leave me in the orphanage? Why did you bring me here?”

“I promised, didn’t I? I said that if I ever became someone important, I’d come back and take you with me.”

“No, you didn’t. You said that if I finished embroidering something for you and brought it to you, you’d hire me.”

“Same thing.”

It wasn’t yet dinnertime, so it wasn’t quite night, but it was still late enough for the Duchess to make a fuss if she caught a man and a woman meeting in the garden like this.

I laughed at the thought, finding it strangely amusing. Raphael frowned even deeper and asked, “Marie, what’s wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“You’re living the life you used to sing about every day. Three meals a day—more than that, delicious meals. You have all the instruments you wanted to play and as many books as you could ever read…”

Raphael looked confused, or perhaps he was hesitating to bring up such a topic.

I didn’t mind trailing off when I spoke, but I hated it when others did. So I pressed him to finish his sentence. “And what?”

“So why do you act like you’re just waiting to die? I crawled out of that slum and found happiness every day, but you—why? At the very least, isn’t this better than being there?”

I closed my mouth. A lump formed in my throat, and I felt like crying.

Raphael was right. It’s true that my current life is far better than the one I used to live. 

I might still face bullying here, but it wasn’t any worse than the torment I endured at the orphanage.

Without Raphael, I likely would’ve continued to be bullied even as I grew up. But still, emotions don’t operate on rationality.

I tried to hide the redness in my eyes and, with a trembling hand, pointed a finger at Raphael, half-shouting in frustration.

“Don’t… don’t ask me that.”

I didn’t want him to sympathize with me, to be sad with me, or to understand how miserable I was. If I ever cried, it would be when I was alone. That’s just how I was.

It would be pathetic to break down like that in front of others. I still had my pride, flimsy as it was.

Keeping my expression blank, as always, I ensured that no sadness, joy, or anger was visible. Maintaining emotional neutrality was better for my mental health.

With those thoughts swirling in my mind, I walked back to the mansion. After dismissing the servants who followed me, I handed over my decorative garments and outerwear. Then, I entered the bathroom, stripped off my remaining clothes, and washed myself.

Sinking into the tub, I submerged my lips halfway in the water and exhaled, watching bubbles rise to the surface.

Raphael’s words echoed in my mind.

At least this is better than back then.

Yes, it’s definitely better.

Sure, there were frustrating moments, like when my food was unexpectedly taken away, but at least no one handed me moldy bread and told me to eat it.

Even if that hadn’t been intentional, it had been a miserable experience nonetheless. I still remembered fighting with other kids over scraps, desperate to eat more.

Eileen and Libian, along with a few nameless servants, might have tormented me here, but their bullying had decreased, and some of them had even come to apologize.

And yet, what about me?

I just kept whining about how miserable I was, shutting myself in my room to play eerie tunes and indulge in my vices like a pitiful addict.

“Ah.”

It’s all my fault.

The simplest way to solve a problem is to remove it entirely.

A dark thought crossed my mind for a moment—a thought akin to the choices made by women dragged into brothels to pay off their husband’s or father’s debts.

The Night of the Ball

Time passed, and the night of the ball finally arrived.

Unlike last time, this wasn’t just about riding a carriage with the Duchess to the imperial palace to greet the Emperor and Empress. A small card I received made that clear.

The card listed the names of the songs to be played that evening on one side, all pieces I had danced to with Libian before. 

On the other side, there were ornate spaces to write the names of those who requested to dance with me, should anyone do so.

I heard such cards were rarely used, so just how many people were attending tonight?

The maids spent nearly three hours dressing me, despite my preference for the comfort of a tea gown usually worn during tea parties.

They applied cosmetics to add a flush to my pale complexion, trimmed my eyelashes and coated them in some unknown oil, and dusted my face liberally with a mixture of ground rice and pearl powder.

At least my naturally fair skin meant I didn’t need to endure lead- or arsenic-based products, which was a small relief.

The knights escorting us wore serious expressions, seemingly anticipating trouble in such a large gathering. 

Even Raphael, who hadn’t spoken to me since confiscating my cigarette holder, accompanied us.

This time, the streets were eerily empty as we approached the ballroom. 

Naturally, the lower classes had been cleared away to avoid sullying the procession of the nobles.

Libian and Eileen also came along to the ball. We alighted from the carriage some distance from the imperial palace and walked toward the glowing ballroom.

Despite the sun having set, the palace’s lights seemed bright enough to illuminate the entire city. Of course, that was an exaggeration.

The streets were filled with people arm in arm, laughing and chatting as they made their way to the ball. 

They were undoubtedly all nobles, though perhaps a few commoners had managed to sneak in.

Presenting the card the Duchess had given me to the guards, I entered the grand ballroom.

The space was vast—large enough to accommodate hundreds of people dancing at once without any issue. 

The polished floor reflected the chandeliers above and the pristine white dresses worn by the attendees. Tables laden with refreshments lined the walls.

Although the ballroom was already crowded, no music played yet.

Balls never began until the highest-ranking person in attendance arrived. 

If, by some accident, the Emperor decided to fall asleep in his chambers, the ball wouldn’t start until morning.

While performers’ music was meant to be heard, their presence was never to be seen. 

Judging by the size of the venue and the lack of visible musicians, they were likely stationed in a separate room nearby.

“Marisela, I hope you meet someone wonderful. You know how balls work, as I’ve taught you since you were a child. Handle yourself well. If you need me, I’ll be in the tea room to the west.”

With those parting words, the Duchess headed for the tea room, which offered a clear view of the ballroom below.

Watching her retreating figure, I responded quietly, so softly that she likely didn’t hear me.

“…Yes.”

I didn’t feel any strong desire to meet someone or get married. That might be an unconventional sentiment in a society where marriage was expected of women.

Soon, the national anthem began to play, and the attendees started singing praises to the Emperor and the nation. I didn’t feel like singing, so I merely mouthed the words.

Not long after, the Emperor entered the ballroom with the Empress on his arm.

He delivered a dull opening speech, and then the first song listed on the card began to play—a lively polka with an accordion rhythm.

Since I didn’t know anyone and no eccentric young man approached me for a dance, I sat on a sofa along the wall, observing the dancers.

Balls were meeting grounds. Men and women danced and exchanged light conversation to quickly gauge their compatibility. If things didn’t seem promising, they simply moved on to the next partner.

I noticed Eileen clumsily dancing with an average-looking man, her gaze darting nervously around. Meanwhile, the man looked visibly annoyed.

Following her line of sight, I spotted a clean-cut man dancing with the most stunning woman in the ballroom, a blonde beauty.

Our eyes met, and he gave

me a bright smile.

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