Morning arrived, bright and cruel, with sunlight streaming straight into the punishment room and lighting up the wrinkles in Mother's favorite gown. Somehow, the world felt even more unfair in daylight.
The maid-in-charge appeared promptly, like she had set her alarm to glare at us. "Rise and shine, ladies. Laundry waits for no one."
Mother sat up immediately, fanning herself furiously. "This is barbaric! Do you see this? We are aristocracy! Aristocracy, I say!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Mother, we are also currently being punished, for your benefit, yes?"
Drizella giggled. "For everyone's benefit, apparently."
Cinderella also came behind her, standing near the door, looked slightly terrified. I wasn't sure if it was because of the looming chores or my mood. Honestly, maybe both.
"Cinderella," I said, voice still a little sharp, "What are you doing here? Go enjoy your princess treatment."
Cinderella flinched. "I... I came here to help."
"oh so you want to show the prince how good we are to treat you as a servant." I pressed. "Or do you have other plans."
"N-No I volunteer to help, as your sister." She said sincerely.
But I ignored her and after getting ready we followed the maid in charge to the linen room.
The room erupted into chaotic motion. Linen everywhere. Drizella tried to fold too fast and ended up with a towel on her head. Mother dropped a shirt into a basket and immediately regretted it, wringing her hands as if it were an ancient relic.
Cinderella stood quietly, hands folded. I watched her hesitate for a moment, then step forward. "I can help," she offered.
I shot her a sharp look. "Help? After nearly destroying our reputation?"
She winced. "I thought... maybe if I help, it'll make up for some of the mess I caused."
I let out a long exhale. "Just stay where you are. I don't want another misunderstanding."
At some point during the morning chaos, Cinderella edged closer again.
"I... really can help, Anne," she said gently, glancing at the pile I was wrestling with.
I opened my mouth to argue, but she was already sorting with frightening efficiency - neat little stacks, everything by size and fabric like she'd been born for it.
I watched her for a second. Then two. Then I dropped the towel I was folding into her pile.
"Fine. All yours. Try not to overthrow the monarchy while folding," I muttered.
Cinderella blinked, confused, but nodded.
The maid-in-charge passed by, inspected my abandoned basket, and nodded approvingly. "At last, delegation! A noble skill. Continue."
Before anyone could ask me to "delegate" something else, I escaped. Slipping out the side door into the courtyard felt like breathing properly for the first time that morning.
It was quiet out there - too quiet. The kind that makes your thoughts line up whether you want them to or not.
I sat on the little bench under the shade, fingers digging into the rough fabric of my skirt.

Sometimes, being transmigrated into Anastasia's body felt like wearing someone else's dress - stiff, wrong, stitched for a different person. I'd been here long enough to survive, long enough to adapt, long enough to accidentally cause social reform via sarcasm... but some days felt heavier than others.
Like today.
Because whatever sins the actual Anastasia committed before I inhabited her weren't mine - but the judgment? The stares? The whispered comparisons to Cinderella's beauty, the nobles pretending not to see Drizella, the Prince's confused sympathy toward Cinderella because he assumed we were her villains?
Those absolutely landed on my shoulders.
And it hurt more than I wanted to admit.
Back in my world, I had bad days - sure - but they weren't decided by how symmetrical my features were or whether I had the "correct" silhouette. Nobody judged my worth based on embroidery density. And the worst punishment I'd ever faced was a group project.
Suddenly I missed the stupidest things - morning coffee in a chipped mug, scrolling aimlessly on my phone, my favorite hoodie, arguing about streaming shows nobody finished watching, convenience stores at 2 a.m., my own bed, my own world where I knew the rules.
Here... I was improvising my entire existence.
I hugged my knees to my chest, staring at the garden path.
"Why am I always the villain just for existing?" I whispered to nobody.
The real Anastasia had made choices-rude remarks, tantrums, petty cruelty-and I'd inherited the consequences like unpaid debt.
It wasn't fair. I was trying. Really trying. But the world insisted on slotting me into someone else's reputation.
I blinked hard, swallowing down the ache in my throat.
I wasn't crying.
Definitely not crying.
I just... missed home. And fairness. And being treated like a person instead of a story role.
A breeze passed through the courtyard. Somewhere inside, I heard Mother shouting at either laundry or God, Drizella laughing, and Cinderella apologizing for something that probably wasn't her fault.
I took a breath.
Alright. Fine.
If I was stuck here, I would survive here. And maybe - just maybe - I could change my story enough that I wouldn't have to wear the villain's costume forever.
But I would allow myself three more minutes of sulking first.
It was strategic sulking.
* * *
Anastasia didn't know how long she'd been sitting there behind the laundry line, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the gravel. The faint smell of starch and soap made her nose itch, and somewhere behind the servant's building Cinderella's bright, overly‐cheerful voice floated through the open windows as she tried to help with the linen.
It only made Anastasia's jaw clench tighter.
They treat me like the villain because of her.Because the story painted me that way.
Because it's easier.
She blinked fast, annoyed at how heavy her chest felt. Back home-her real home-she'd had Wi-Fi, instant noodles, her best friend's memes at midnight, and a mother who'd shout only about unfinished laundry, not about representing the family name among nobles. Here, she couldn't even shout without risking "improper conduct."
Bootsteps crunched on gravel.
"Pardon-what are you doing back here?"
Anastasia's head shot up. The guard from the ball stood a few paces away-the one with the unusually good posture and the non-guard vocabulary. He isn't wearing a cap today and traded the dress coat for the plain brown uniform of palace sentries, but she recognized the shoulders. They were princely shoulders. Uncomfortably so.
"Oh, it's you," she said, voice rougher than she wanted. "Laundry break. Or... emotional breakdown. Whichever aristocrats prefer."
The guard blinked. "I believe both are permitted, though one has more dignity."
Anastasia snorted despite herself. "Yeah, well, dignity isn't included in our punishment package."
He hesitated before stepping closer, lowering his voice. "It seems harsh-considering the circumstances."
"That's one way to put it." She hugged her knees again. "Your prince-I mean the prince-seems very fond of judging before hearing full explanations. Just decides things, bam, decree, off you go. Doesn't even ask what actually happened."
She glared at the gravel, as if it were personally responsible. "And now we're the villains of the kingdom. Congratulations to us."
The disguised prince froze for a second, guilt flickering across his face so fast she nearly missed it.
"I... was unaware the perception was so heavy," he murmured.
"Oh, please," Anastasia said. "Servants talk. Nobles talk. And that awful lady with the pearls-ugh-said we were 'the notorious steps.' Like we're folklore creatures." She huffed. "Cinderella didn't say we mistreated her. But no one asked her either. They just saw glass slippers and cried injustice."
The guard lowered himself to sit beside her-not too close, not touching, just enough to show he wasn't leaving.
"I can't speak for the prince," he said quietly, "but I don't believe he intended cruelty."
Anastasia picked up a pebble and tossed it at a bush. "Intent and effect are different things. He might not mean it, but that doesn't make it less miserable."
Silence stretched. Not a cold one-more like someone laid a blanket over all the shouting in her head.
"...You're very brave to speak of him this way," the guard finally said.
"Oh I'm not brave," Anastasia scoffed. "I'm just exhausted. And when I'm exhausted, my mouth has a tendency to commit crimes."
That startled a laugh out of him-quiet, warm, almost boyish. The kind of laugh you'd expect from someone who escaped their duties to breathe for five seconds.
"You misunderstand," he said. "Bravery isn't always swords or speeches. Sometimes it's telling the truth when it would be easier to stay silent."
Anastasia blinked. For a moment she forgot to be angry.
"Anyway," she muttered, getting up and dusting off her skirt, "I should get back before someone accuses me of plotting a coup."
"That would be quite an adventure for one girl." he said, rising as well.
"Please," I said. "If I were plotting something, you'd know. I talk too much."
"...Are you slacking again?" she asked.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, then settled on, "Fresh air."
Anastasia narrowed her eyes. "Huh. Sure. Must be very special air behind laundry."
He winced. Subtle princely guilt level: high.
But before either of them could add more, a maid's voice shrieked from inside:
"ANASTASIA! IF YOU'RE AWAKE COME BACK AND WORK!"
Anastasia groaned. "See? Villainy is a full-time career."
The guard smiled faintly. "If it helps, you don't seem very villainous to me."
She froze-too surprised to respond. And in that tiny pause, something in her chest unknotted just a little.
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SIDE NOTE: Today's chapter got a little long. I wanted to include a scene for Rowan and Drizella but I guess that's for the next chapter. I hope you liked today's chapter. 🥰
If you like my story then give it a star and share it with your friends, this will help me to keep motivated and write new stories.