The Villainess with a Blank Slate

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight of my dress—poofy, frilly, and suffocating. Sitting upright felt like I was wrestling a cloud. This is ridiculous, I thought, nearly tripping over the hem as I forced myself out of bed after the morning's thorough checkup.

"Careful, my lady!" Edda squeaked.

"Don't 'my lady' me. Who designs these? I'm wearing a walking hazard," I muttered, shooting the layers a betrayed glare.

Reality continued to hit me like bricks, but it wasn't until breakfast that I truly fell apart.

Seated in a dining hall too grand for comfort, Seraphina's parents watched me curiously as the appetizers were served. I froze, blinking at the steaming bowl placed before me—tomato soup with garlic bread. My favorite.

I picked up the spoon cautiously. Maybe I'm still dreaming. I took a bite.

"Oh. My. God." I blurted out, earning startled looks from the middle-aged couple. "This is heavenly. I have never tasted anything so perfectly balanced. The tangy tomato? The buttery bread? Absolute perfection!"

Seraphina's mother raised a brow; her father coughed behind his napkin. But things escalated when the main dish arrived—a massive T-bone steak, seared golden, sitting beside fluffy bread rolls. My eyes nearly bulged out.

I cut into the steak, juice oozing from the tender center. My first bite left me speechless. Then I erupted.

"This—this is divine!" I gasped dramatically, nearly tearing up. "The meat's so juicy, the seasonings—oh!—it melts on the tongue! Whoever cooked this deserves a shrine!"

I ate like a possessed mukbang YouTuber, stuffing bites with theatrical commentary. "The texture! The balance of oil and herbs! Heavenly!"

Edda, hovering nearby, looked ready to faint from secondhand embarrassment.

Full and satisfied, I waddled through the halls, still adjusting to my unwieldy dress. I tripped every other step, arms flailing as Edda rushed to catch me.

"This is absurd," I grumbled, tugging at the corset string. "How does anyone walk in these?"

Edda offered no answer, her worried gaze following my unsteady path.

"Fine. Fine," I huffed, stopping mid-hall. "I'll just deal with it. I need a plan, Edda."

"A plan, my lady?"

"Yes! I'm going to be the nicest villainess ever. I'll figure out who this Seraphina is, where I am, and—oh—how I got here. And while I'm at it, I'll uncover what happened to the real Seraphina's soul." I nodded dramatically. "Good plan, right?"

"Of… course, my lady."

Before I could elaborate, the sight of two men stepping out of a large office door stopped me dead in my tracks. Tall, broad-shouldered, and armored, they looked like knights straight out of a fantasy novel. My jaw dropped.

"Oh my," I whispered, clutching Edda's arm. "Edda, look."

Edda stiffened. "My lady, please don't—"

"Are they real? That height! Those muscles! Edda, do you see their arms? They could bench-press me."

"My lady—"

"They're like walking, breathing warrior statues! Who are they?!" I nudged Edda excitedly, whispering like a fangirl spotting celebrities.

"That would be Sir Oren and Sir Kael, my lady. But you really shouldn't—"

"Sir Oren? Sir Kael? Even their names are cool! This place is amazing."

I was too busy whispering my admiration to notice a looming presence behind me. A throat cleared sharply. I froze.

Turning around slowly, I found Seraphina's father standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a disapproving glare boring into me.

"Seraphina," he said, voice stern, "it's concerning to see you so… energetic. Especially after fainting yesterday."

My face burned. I gulped.

Great. Day two, and I'm already in trouble.

I stifled a giggle, sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck as Seraphina's father stared me down, unamused. Clearing my throat, I pointed dramatically at the knights now vanishing across the hall.

"Do you… happen to be, let's say, another surveillance person? To, uh, observe your knights when they train?" I batted my lashes innocently. "Just in case they make any mistakes—surely we wouldn't want them slouching, would we, Father?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

My grin only widened as I tucked a few stray strands of hair behind my ear and leaned in with a hushed, cheeky tone. "Because I would love to be a participant. Sign me in, will you? Oh! If nepotism works here, we could sort that out, eh? Just between us. I'm 1000% sure I'd be perfect for observing those mighty knights of yours."

I stood tall with my hands proudly on my hips, eyes closed, grinning to the high heavens.

"Seraphina."

Before I could revel in my victory, Seraphina's father grabbed my wrist firmly—though not unkindly—and began dragging me toward his office. I barely managed to squeak out a "Wait, wait, wait!" as Edda scampered nervously behind us.

He finally released me once inside, slumping into his grand leather chair while massaging his temple. "Seraphina," he began, his tone heavy with the weight of fatherly disappointment, "you made an entire scene in the rose garden yesterday. I know you're… not quite yourself, and you're still healing, but what you need is rest. Rest, Seraphina. Not fawning over knights."

I tried to look contrite, lips pursed as I nodded obediently. But that only lasted about two seconds. My grin broke free like a prisoner escaping confinement.

"But Father," I piped up cheerfully, "there's research that staring at fine men increases happiness! Especially for girls. Oh! And especially for girls who've just lost their memories!"

"By who?"

I opened my mouth, about to blurt out "Google," before realizing how catastrophically bad of an answer that would be. I quickly snapped my lips shut, pivoting as smoothly as I could. "Never mind that! Forget it. I, uh… I actually have a few requests. Just a few, Father. Will you hear them out, please?"

His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Requests?"

"Yes!" I chirped, fingers delicately playing with the edge of the small floral arrangement on his desk. "Only a few. Tiny ones, really. It'll only take a moment of your time."

For some reason, he just kept staring at me, head tilted slightly. I blinked back at him, unsure why he looked so confused.

"Seraphina," he finally said, slowly, "what on earth is this… tone you're using? What happened to your voice?"

I froze.

"Voice? What d'you mean, Father?" I asked, deliberately leaning into an exaggerated, prim British accent. "Surely this is how we all speak around here, no?"

He blinked at me. Once. Twice.

"I've never heard anyone speak like that in my life."

Well, that's awkward.

I blinked awkwardly, my smile turning stiff as I scratched the back of my head, desperate to salvage whatever sanity remained in the room.

"Alright, so! About my requests, Father," I started, forcing my voice into something softer, less dramatic. "What I really hope you could allow me is, first—um, I want an assistant." I hesitated, one eye squeezing shut and my nose scrunching in that old, familiar way I used to whenever I wasn't sure what the heck I was saying. "Well, I do have my maid, Edda—but I need one more person! Someone you can really trust, someone who knows everything about this world—uh, I mean this kingdom—to help me… study?"

There. Nailed it.

Seraphina's father arched a brow, unimpressed. "That voice. If getting you an assistant would help remove that voice, I'll have one here by tomorrow."

I blinked. "In just twenty-four hours?" I blurted, my accent still present as though it had taken over my soul. "You really are rich and powerful, eh?"

His fingers paused mid-temple-massage, his exasperation somehow doubling. "And you really are an oddball. Are you sure someone didn't poison you that night? What on earth have you gone through to become like this?"

"Investigating that mystery is precisely why I need an assistant, Father!" I shot back triumphantly, flapping my hand for emphasis. "Think about it: an assistant is the first step in solving this… this situation we're in. I'll get answers, I swear. You just need to trust me." I put on what I hoped was my most serious, "I've got this" face.

He sighed again—poor man must've been close to retirement with how often he looked so done—before tossing the papers he'd been pretending to read onto the desk.

I took that as my cue. "Look, I'm old enough to get back on my feet without your help," I declared proudly. "Well… except I still need your connections, obviously. Small details."

I barely finished before a sharp ache shot through my feet. The torture devices—uh, I mean the heels—were finally catching up to me. Wincing, I spun around, grabbed a nearby armchair with both hands, and dragged it—squeaky sounds and all—right in front of his massive desk.

The silence that followed was deafening.

His eyes were wide. Edda looked one step away from fainting. I plopped into the chair with a groan of relief, rubbing my poor soles.

"Oh, God…" I muttered, finally catching on to the room's energy. My cheeks flushed crimson. "Did I just do something odd again? Please bear with me, Father."

He stared at me for a moment longer, visibly questioning all his life choices. Finally, he leaned back into his chair, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Poison. It has to be poison."