Chapter IV
Vidalia hurried through the richly decorated corridors of the Sullivan manor, her footsteps light yet quick. She was careful not to trip under the weight of the heavy sheets piled in her small arms. It had taken her a week to realize this place was not a castle, and another week to accept her harsh reality. She was no longer in her original world—she had known that for a long time. She would never see her stepmother and stepsister again… and honestly, that part didn't bother her.
But she would never see her loving, gentle mother again.
That truth tore at her heart every single day. The time she had spent with her had been far too short, yet infinitely precious.
She had once believed she would live her life hidden from her father. Instead, she had been found—and that was only the beginning. She had met her authoritarian, cruel father, cruel at least to her. She had met her new stepmother, a true villain straight out of a novel, and her half-sister… who was none other than her idol.
Vidalia stopped, breathless, in front of a large white double door and pushed it open softly. With her emerald-green eyes, she took in the lavishly decorated little girl's bedroom. A massive wooden canopy bed stood at the center, enclosed by pink silk curtains. Two large white sofas faced each other with a coffee table between them. Toys and plush animals filled every corner of the room.
The bedroom was larger than her old studio apartment. Larger even than her mother's cabin.
Vidalia crossed the room and placed the heavy sheets on one of the sofas before pulling back the thick curtains to let sunlight flood in. She closed her eyes briefly to adjust to the brightness, then moved toward the bed to do the same. It had been two months since her arrival here—and two months since she had become her sister's servant.
Being the personal maid of a spoiled little noble girl was anything but easy.
Vidalia had already run into plenty of trouble because of her former favorite protagonist. That girl truly had a talent for causing chaos. Vidalia sighed softly as she tied the bed curtains at each corner, then glanced at her sister sleeping peacefully among soft pillows and pristine sheets. She climbed onto a small step stool, bracing herself against the bed so she wouldn't fall.
She was far too small for this work.
Every morning, she woke at six o'clock to prepare herself before collecting her sister's clothes. Thankfully, laundry and meal delivery were not her responsibility—but everything else was. After the clothes, she had to wake her sister at seven, or at eight on days she was allowed to sleep in. When breakfast arrived, Vidalia served her, helped her choose outfits and accessories, followed her everywhere—and went to bed only after her.
Vidalia ate while Angela bathed. During meals, there was no supper for her. Still, every evening, she always managed to snatch a slice of bread and a cup of milk as she passed the kitchens before retreating to her room.
Her room…
Vidalia bit her lip.
Her room was nothing more than a converted broom closet in the servants' quarters—a tiny space with a window facing the main manor, an old bed, and a desk.
She was lucky, she supposed. She had a custom-made maid's dress, proper shoes, and three simple but pretty dresses to accompany Angela during outings. All things considered, Vidalia lived better here than she had in the forest. Despite the insults and mistreatment, all she truly wanted was a roof over her head and food to eat.
"Big sister?" Vidalia called softly, shaking Angela.
Still just as difficult to wake as ever. Vidalia rolled her eyes.
"Big sister, you must wake up," she continued gently. "Madam Wisia is coming to take your measurements."
Angela groaned but eventually stirred—though not without throwing her pillow at Vidalia, who dodged it easily.
Truly childish, that little viper.
Vidalia climbed down from the stool to give her space and went to open the remaining curtains instead.
Madam Wisia was—or rather, would become—the greatest fashion designer in the future, in Angela's Smile. She was an admirer of the protagonist, supplying her with every creation. Thanks to Angela's popularity, Wisia gained free publicity and fame.
Today, she had come to take measurements for Angela's birthday dress. The gown she would design would spark a frenzy among the attending nobles, all eager to place orders. This marked the beginning of Wisia's rise—and Angela's growing fame.
Tomorrow, the Sullivan family would host a grand celebration for their beloved daughter's seventh birthday.
And the day after that… would be Vidalia's sixth.
_________
"Hey!"
Vidalia rolled her eyes. The girl still hadn't bothered to remember her name. She turned and looked at her questioningly.
"Yes, big sister?" Vidalia replied softly, her gentle voice making Angela grimace.
"Take another one. This doesn't go with my dress," Angela said, glancing at the pink headband in her hand.
She was going to change them anyway—why make such a fuss? Vidalia swallowed a sigh and nodded, picking up two flower-shaped hairpins. Her fingers brushed them in awe.
They were real rubies.
Angela sprang to her feet when a knock sounded at the door. The older servant overseeing them opened it, allowing several people to enter, accompanied by mannequins dressed in exquisite clothes and shoes. Angela's face lit up instantly. She cast Vidalia a satisfied glance before slipping on her angelic mask—the image of a perfect little noble girl.
Vidalia clenched her teeth and swallowed before returning to her duties, doing her best to ignore everything happening around her.
Madam Elysia, Angela's mother, soon arrived with an excited woman at her side.
"Good morning, Mother!" Angela chirped happily.
Elysia smiled tenderly and kissed her daughter's forehead, drawing delighted murmurs from the guests.
"Good morning, my darling. Angela, my dear, this is Madam Wisia," Elysia said. "She's here to help you choose your gown for tomorrow."
"Please take good care of me," Angela said sweetly, smiling like an angel.
"Oh! You are absolutely adorable, if I may say so," Wisia cooed. "Don't worry—we'll find the perfect ensemble for you."
Vidalia finished making the bed with great difficulty. She exhaled softly and went to stand beside the other servants, waiting quietly. She watched Angela try on dress after dress, shoes and jewelry alike. Seeing Angela shine warmed her heart. Her jealousy felt foolish—how could she resent a child who looked so genuinely happy?
Unbidden, Vidalia thought of her father. Edwin was the true culprit. He had forced her mother despite already having a family. He had destroyed her mother's life, dragged Vidalia here, and shattered the harmony of this once-happy household. She didn't remember Angela's father being unfaithful in the original story. Vidalia shrugged inwardly.
If she stayed quietly in her place and did nothing, the story would continue—and she would be forgotten in the end.
Several hours later, everything finally concluded. After countless fittings and tea, the guests prepared to leave. Vidalia could finally breathe. Her entire body ached.
"Oh! What a magnificent young lady!" Wisia suddenly gasped.
Vidalia startled and looked around frantically.
She realized—too late—that Wisia was talking about her.
Every gaze in the room was fixed on Vidalia.
Wisia stopped in front of her, staring with the wide-eyed wonder of a child who had just seen Santa Claus. Vidalia shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny. The looks from the others—especially her stepmother and sister—were heavy and cold.
"Madam Wisia," one of the seamstresses coughed, "she is not a lady."
"Oh… what a pity," Wisia murmured, turning back. "Lady Elysia, may I ask a favor involving this charming child?"
Vidalia could practically see smoke rising from her stepmother's composed face. She swallowed hard.
"May I ask why?" Elysia replied coolly.
"I wish to make her my muse," Wisia announced brightly. "I'm certain she will become a true Roséa!"
The room plunged into icy silence. Wisia's radiant smile remained unchanged. Vidalia felt cold sweat slide down her back.
A Roséa was the symbol of beauty and elegance among high-society girls in this country. In the original novel, Angela held that title.
And now Wisia had just signed Vidalia's death warrant—right in front of Angela and her mother—on the eve of the birthday celebration.
"Oh? Unfortunately, this child is the daughter of my late servant, whom I cherished deeply," Elysia said slowly, glaring daggers at Vidalia. "I cannot part with her."
Vidalia kept her eyes down. If she met anyone's gaze, she was certain she would faint.
"That is truly unfortunate, but I understand," Wisia said softly, gently running her hand through Vidalia's hair.
Then she sighed, pulled something from her case, and delicately fastened it into Vidalia's hair.
Was she doing this on purpose?
Everyone gasped.
Vidalia's blood ran cold.
"I wish you a very happy birthday, Lady Angela," Wisia said with a graceful bow before leaving with the others.
Silence echoed through the room.
Elysia dismissed the servants with a gesture. Angela, of course, shot Vidalia a venomous glare before leaving. The doors closed.
Vidalia's trembling legs finally gave out. She collapsed to her knees.
"I–I'm sorry," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Why was she apologizing? She had done nothing wrong. Nothing at all.
"You really are just like your mother," her stepmother spat. "You enchant everyone with your filthy magic and steal what rightfully belongs to me!"
Tears streamed down Vidalia's rosy cheeks. She kept her head bowed, biting back any sound.
"I knew she was a filthy witch. And now that she's dead, her spawn wants to take what belongs to my daughter!" Elysia screamed, grabbing the flower vase from the tea table and hurling it at Vidalia.
Vidalia let out a shrill cry, clenching her teeth as blood and water ran down her face, mingling with her tears. Elysia exhaled shakily, watching her with grim satisfaction.
"I'm sure we can find a use for you," she mused. "Lock that witch away. I won't have her ruin my daughter's celebration."
Vidalia whimpered as she was dragged down the corridor and thrown into her room. She slowly rose, pressing a rag against her bleeding temple. The door suddenly opened. A servant entered, placed a basin of water on the floor, and quickly left, avoiding her gaze. Then Elysia's personal maid stepped in.
"From now on, Madam wants you to wear a veil," she said, tossing two embroidered veils onto the bed.
"Here are your new rules," she added with a cruel smile.
More rules?
"You will never remove the veil, and you will remain silent during service," she sneered. "You will take your place beside the young lady in three days. Until then, you will remain in your room. I trust you understand."
She left.
Vidalia sobbed herself to sleep.
Would her hell ever end?