The Villainess with a Blank Slate

The soft clinking of porcelain echoed in the office, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. I glanced at Edda, who, under Seraphina's father's orders, had set down a tray of tea and an assortment of pastries. Honestly, I wasn't sure if this was a peace offering or his way of distracting me.

He sat across from me, sipping tea in unnerving silence, his sharp gaze pinning me like a hawk observing its prey. I fidgeted under the weight of his scrutiny, munching on a croissant and pretending like this was perfectly normal.

And then it hit me.

"Father!" I shouted suddenly, my voice unnecessarily loud.

The poor man choked on his tea, sputtering before dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief. He stared at me, part horrified, part exasperated. "What now, Seraphina?"

Clearing my throat and grinning sheepishly, I plunged into my next demand. "About my second request… I want to wear simpler clothes. Can I wear trousers? Or better yet, let me design my own outfits. Please?" I blinked dramatically, leaning forward with the hopeful look of someone begging for a puppy. "I promise my designs won't cost you much! Can I, Father? All these poofy gowns made me tripped."

His expression turned from confusion to pure disbelief as he slowly set down his teacup. "Design your own attire? Seraphina, you couldn't draw a stick figure better than a toddler."

I squirmed in my seat, scrunching my nose—a signature move whenever I felt unsure. "That was the old me! The me before I lost my memories! I'm totally capable now, trust me." I waved my hand confidently, a silly smirk pulling at my lips.

He scanned me up and down, eyes narrowing skeptically as if assessing my mental state all over again. "Whoever poisoned you must have done quite the number. I truly don't know what to say."

"Whoever it was, they must be talented," I agreed nonchalantly, popping another pastry into my mouth. "But we don't know for certain that I was poisoned, right? Could be something else entirely!"

He exhaled heavily, massaging his temples. I could almost see him mentally counting backward to calm himself. Ignoring the dark clouds gathering over his head, I grabbed a raspberry tart, holding it up like a prized trophy.

"Father, you need to try this one. It's sweet and tart, like having fruit flavored drink I used to have but in pastry form. Do you think this could be their original recipe that came from this kingdom? I mean, it makes sense…" I trailed off, muttering to myself, already halfway into the next tart.

His chair creaked ominously as he straightened. "I can't do this." His voice was low, more to himself than to me. "You are nothing like my daughter. On one hand, I'm relieved… On the other, I'm deeply unsettled by your bizarre behavior."

I paused mid-bite, his words sinking in like stones. He wasn't wrong. I wasn't his daughter. Not really. Guilt bubbled at the edges of my thoughts, but I pushed it away with an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry, Father," I said firmly, placing the tart down and curling my hand into a dramatic fist, channeling every K-drama heroine I'd ever admired. "I'll figure this out soon. Trust me. I'll solve everything—this memory loss, the weirdness, all of it. And you know what? If I can do it, then so can you. You can do it, Father!"

He stared at me, mouth slightly ajar, clearly unprepared for my motivational speech.

Edda, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with nervous energy in the corner. I sent her a victorious wink, sinking back into the chair with a self-satisfied grin.

Yes, everything was an absolute mess. But at least I had pastries, plans, and my peculiar charm to get me through it.

I lifted my wine glass into the air with dramatic flair, a mischievous smile tugging at my lips.

"For my bravest and dearest Father in the whole universe—cheers!"

His brows furrowed as he blinked at me, clearly thrown by yet another of my odd declarations. After a beat of hesitation, he reluctantly raised his own glass and clinked it with mine.

"Cheers," he murmured, utterly baffled.

With a satisfied grin, I took a small sip of the wine, savoring the sweet richness. Before he could question me further, I barreled ahead, "Oh, by the way, for my last request, I'll just need a few small things, Father. Only five quills and maybe… six notebooks?" I clasped my hands together and beamed proudly. "I intend to use them for my studies. A daily journal will help me regain my memories faster!"

For the first time all morning, Seraphina's father blinked in astonishment—pleasant astonishment, I might add—before nodding with a relieved smile. "Very well. I will have them ordered for you by tomorrow."

Success!

The man had barely survived my barrage of requests, and yet here I was, securing victory. I'd consider that progress.

But, alas, his patience had limits. After enduring another round of chaotic conversations that no doubt left him nursing an impending headache, he finally stood and pointed toward the door with authority. "Enough for today. Out. Now."

Edda rushed to my side like a faithful companion, ready to escort me from the lion's den. Yet as we exited his office, I couldn't resist one final act of rebellion. In the span of a breath, I snatched three—no, four—cookies off the serving tray and tucked them carefully into the folds of my gown like some confectionery bandit.

Edda gasped, barely able to contain her laughter as I casually nibbled on a cookie while strolling down the corridor.

"Do you ever stop?" she teased, grinning as I crunched happily.

"Nope." I stuffed another piece into my mouth, crumbs trailing in my wake. "The pastries are too good to waste, Edda. Besides," I added with a wink, "life is short, and I'm on a mission to eat all my problems away—one cookie at a time."

As Edda giggled beside me, I marched forward proudly, leaving a trail of crumbs and confusion behind.

I gulped down the last piece of the stolen cookie and drained the warm milk in one go, savoring its soothing sweetness. But just as I licked the last drop from my lips, something shifted. My stomach churned violently, a sharp twisting pain shooting through me as if an invisible hand had squeezed my insides. My eyes widened in horror.

"Edda," I croaked, grabbing her shoulders with an iron grip. "Bathroom. Where's the bathroom?"

Edda blinked at my sudden urgency but, seeing the sheer panic on my face, she quickly gestured down the hall. "This way, my lady!"

I half-ran, half-waddled as the pressure in my gut threatened to topple me. Finally, Edda flung open the door to a massive, luxurious room. At its center, a grand bathtub gleamed beneath the sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows. A large makeup table stood to one side, ornate and pristine.

And then I saw it.

A bizarre, oversized golden pot sat proudly in one corner like it owned the place. I froze, pointing at it with a mix of suspicion and disbelief. "What is that?" My voice dripped with sarcasm. "Every other pot in this mansion is made of plain ceramic, but this one is gold? Seriously?"

Edda turned to me with a perfectly polite smile, unfazed. "That, my lady, is where noble individuals such as yourself… relieve themselves. Please feel free to use it. We will ensure it is properly cleaned afterward."

I stared at her, slack-jawed. "Wait. You're saying I'm supposed to—" My hand shot out to point at the pot again, this time accusingly. "In there? That's not a toilet, Edda, that's a glorified flowerpot!"

Ignoring my panic, Edda simply nodded. "It is tradition, my lady. Your ancestors designed it with utmost care and reverence. It is an honor to use it."

An honor? I edged toward the golden monstrosity, crouching slightly to peer into its depths. It was just as I feared—no plumbing, no clever mechanism. It really was just a pot.

"You've got to be kidding me…" I muttered, my face pale as I pieced everything together. "You expect me to do… everything here? And you'll—" My voice broke as the realization hit me like a runaway carriage. "You'll have to see it? To clean it up? Oh my—oh my God!"

I stumbled backward, clutching my stomach, my embarrassment warring with the steadily growing urgency in my gut. "No, no, no, this can't be right. I have to report this to Father. You're all suffering! This is unacceptable!"

Ignoring the cramps twisting me in half, I bolted from the bathroom, storming through the halls like a woman possessed. Edda's frantic cries trailed behind me, but I couldn't stop now. My pride—and digestive system—were at stake.

When I finally burst into Father's office, I ignored the startled looks of his guests and dramatically slapped my hands on his desk. "Father! We have an urgent situation!"

My father frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion. "Noah, what is the meaning of this? I am in the middle of—"

"I apologize for interrupting your meeting," I cut him off, leaning in and whispering through gritted teeth. "But this cannot wait."

The man seated opposite my father—a tall gentleman with sharp black hair—raised an intrigued brow. I didn't care. I stepped closer to my father, whispering in his ear like it was a state secret.

"I have to go. Badly."

To my horror, my father threw his head back and let out a booming laugh that echoed off the walls. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how to use the golden pot?"

His words hit me like a sack of bricks. I staggered back, every bit of strength fleeing my limbs. "Wait… it's true? You all actually use that thing? There's no other way?"

Father smiled fondly—as if this were normal. "Why would there be another way? It was designed by our ancestors. A noble tradition."

Noble tradition, my foot. I could only stare at him, mouth agape, as I slowly accepted the horrifying truth. With what little energy I had left, I raised a shaky hand, pointing one finger toward the heavens like some tragic heroine.

"Fine," I whispered, defeated. "But I'll be adding a new request to my list."

My father's laughter died, replaced by mild concern as he leaned back. "What request?"

I drew in a deep, dramatic breath, ignoring the sweat beading on my forehead. "I want us—not just our family, but our people—to be able to… finish their business in peace. Without shame. Without flowerpots. I propose the construction of public restrooms across the kingdom. Free facilities in every corner of the city. No, every village, every forest, every field—everywhere!"

The dark-haired guest stared at me like I'd sprouted wings. My father blinked, clearly taken aback. "Noah, that's… quite ambitious."

I nodded firmly, clutching my aching stomach. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, Father. The people deserve better. And so do I."

With that, I spun on my heel and marched out of the office—well, more like waddled—leaving them stunned in silence. I had bigger battles to face now.

Namely, the golden pot.