THE VILLAINESS IN AMETHYST
Fiona gasped.
Cold air rushed into her lungs — not the salty air from the cliff, but the scent of roses and burning candles.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a grand bed draped in crimson silk. Golden chandeliers glimmered above her, and a soft voice murmured in the distance,
"Lady Wisteria, you've finally awoken."
Fiona froze. "Lady… Wisteria?"
A maid in a black-and-white dress bowed at her side. Her reflection in the mirror caught Fiona's breath — she wasn't herself anymore. The face staring back had pale skin, ruby lips, and her wide and unblinking, gleamed like amethyst jewels eyes. Her hair was a soft cascade of black strands fading into deep violet, glimmering whenever the light touched it.
She whispered, "This… this isn't me."
But the maid only smiled nervously.
"Please, my lady, you mustn't strain yourself. The Duke awaits you in the grand hall. He says the council meeting cannot begin without you."
The Duke? A council?
Fiona's mind spun. She clutched her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.
Her eyes fell to a familiar object resting on the bedside table — the book, its cover now engraved with the name Wisteria De Altherra.
"You opened me," the voice whispered faintly from within it.
"Now live what you've read."
Fiona — or Wisteria — walked through the marble halls, each step echoing like the heartbeat of a stranger. Servants bowed as she passed, their eyes filled with fear.
Whispers followed her.
"The mad dog lady…"
"They say she poisoned her Lady Seraphine."
"Her beauty hides her sins."
She didn't understand — until she entered the grand hall and saw the portraits lining the walls.
Every painting was of her — the same black/violet hair, and amethyst eyes.
Her blood ran cold.
"So this is who I am here," she whispered.
"This person looks like a goddess"
In the council chamber, nobles sat in silence as she approached the throne at the end of the room. A tall man with dark hair and sharp eyes — the Duke — stood beside it.
"Lady Wisteria,"He said slowly, "we were beginning to think your little... 'illness' would excuse you from judgment." the judge said.
Fiona forced a cold smile.
"Judgment? For what this time?"
The Duke's eyes narrowed.
"For treason, my lady. They say you tried to kill lady Seraphine again." the lawyer replied.
Fiona's heart stopped. Again?
She laughed faintly, though fear crawled through her veins.
"You're mistaken," she said carefully. "I… I don't even remember what happened."
The eyes of the Duke's look disappointed — almost cruel.
"How convenient. The villainess forgets her crimes."
The lawyer leaned closer, his voice low enough for her alone.
"Tell me, Lady Wisteria… how much longer will you keep pretending you're innocent?"
Fiona clenched her fists beneath the table.
*I'm not pretending… I'm not even her.* Fiona said in her mind
But as she met his duke's eyes, a flash of memory tore through her mind — a silver dagger, blood on her hands, and a woman falling to her knees before her.
Her vision blurred.
Her breath came in gasps.
The Judge's words hung in the hall like the toll of a death bell.
"Lady Wisteria De Altherra, for your crimes against the crown and your repeated acts of cruelty, you are hereby stripped of all privileges. Until your repentance is proven, you will remain in isolation. Let your hunger teach you humility."
PUNISHMENT OF THE FORGOTTEN
The nobles bowed their heads—not out of sorrow, but satisfaction.
Whispers slithered like snakes among them.
"Finally, the witch will rot."
"She deserves far worse for what she's done."
"Even her beauty can't save her now."
Wisteria stood still, her heart beating too loudly in the silence. She didn't even know what she had done…
But the hatred in their eyes told her they didn't care about truth—only punishment.
Guards took her arms roughly, dragging her through corridors lined with portraits of her own face. Those painted smiles mocked her, their jeweled eyes glinting with a cruelty she couldn't recognize as her own.
When they threw her into the tower cell, the door slammed shut with a metallic echo that seemed to swallow her name.
The room was cold, bare, and silent.
There was no bed—only stone, and a bucket of water. The single barred window painted thin stripes of light across the floor.
Days bled into each other. The walls never changed. The narrow slit of a window offered no comfort — only a thin, cold light that made her beauty ghostly, her violet eyes dimmer with each sunrise.
Her meals arrived irregularly — a half-rotten crust of bread, a cup of water that tasted like metal. The servants who brought them never spoke. They looked at her as though she were something less than human.
When one maid accidentally met her gaze, she dropped the tray and stammered, "D–don't look at me, monster."
And she ran.
Wisteria laughed, softly at first, then bitterly. "Monster? I barely have the strength to stand."
Her voice sounded strange — as if it belonged to someone else.
She turned to the book in the corner, its silver cover dulled by dust.
"You're still here," she whispered. "You brought me into this world, and now you're silent?"
The book lay still, yet its silver letters glowed faintly under the moonlight.
Wisteria crawled closer and rested her forehead against it.
"I wonder if they're worried about me," she murmured.
"My family… back home."
Her eyes softened. "Do they think I ran away? Or that I'm dead?"
The memories came in fragments — her mother folding laundry by the window, her younger sister humming off-key, her father's quiet sigh when he thought no one was listening.
She closed her eyes. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."
Tears burned her throat, but she didn't let them fall.
The book's pages shifted — a faint rustle.
Something slipped out from between them.
A note, yellowed and thin, fluttered onto the floor. She hesitated, then picked it up. The handwriting was elegant but old, almost fading.
"This world is a cage of memory. To leave it, you must find the truth buried beneath the lie you call life."
Her heart skipped. "Who wrote this?"
The book didn't answer.
Wisteria read the line again, her mind racing even in exhaustion. "A cage of memory…" She clenched the note in her shaking hands. "Then maybe… I was never meant to live here at all."
She sat back, pressing her palm to her hollow stomach. "If that's the truth, then starving me won't kill me, will it?"
The book shimmered faintly, as if amused.
"You will live," a faint voice whispered from within its spine.
"Because your story isn't done."
She stared at it — a small, defiant smile ghosting across her lips.
"Then I'll finish it myself."
By the time the door opened again, she'd already lost count of how long she'd been there.
A maid stood at the threshold, her hands trembling.
"L–Lady Wisteria," she said quietly. "The council has declared your punishment over. You may leave the tower."
For a moment, Wisteria didn't move. She simply stared, dazed — the world beyond that door seemed foreign now.
Then she whispered, "How generous of them… to free a ghost."
The maid flinched at her tone but didn't speak.
Wisteria picked up the silver book and the note, hiding both beneath her sleeve.
As she stepped into the corridor, her voice barely rose above a whisper:
"If this world is a cage, then I'll find the key — even if it kills me."
The torches flickered as she passed, and the faint silver light of the book pulsed once, as if in quiet agreement.