The Villainess with a Blank Slate

As I strode out of the meeting room, the faint sound of laughter and resumed discussion tickled my ears. My stomach, which had been in knots moments before, suddenly felt lighter, though not for the reason I'd hoped. The ministers' laughter—undoubtedly at my dramatic proposal about toilets—was soon replaced by hushed yet unmistakable talk of increasing taxes. Their voices, though low, were laced with greed, a tone so universal it felt like a slap to my face.

I froze mid-step, my hand gripping the edge of the ornate doorway. My heart raced, anger bubbling like molten lava within me. Taxes. These men were openly discussing burdening the people further, their words soaked with indifference. This world, despite its gilded walls and elaborate traditions, was no different from my own. Powerful men exploiting the powerless. Rats in silk robes.

The fire in my chest burned away any trace of hesitation. My stomachache forgotten, I pivoted on my heel and stormed back into the room. The large oak doors slammed open with a resounding thud, silencing the laughter and murmurs in an instant.

"Oh? Have you come to apologize for your little outburst earlier?" one minister sneered, a portly man with a face as oily as his words. The others chuckled nervously, clearly unsure how to react to my fiery return.

"Not quite," I said, my voice steady and sharp. My black hair, which had fallen loose during my hurried steps, swayed with each determined stride. Their eyes followed me as I walked to the long table where maps, documents, and quills lay scattered. Without asking, I seized a pen and a blank sheet of parchment. Their murmurs grew louder, but I ignored them. My hands worked quickly, sketching with precision borne from years of modern-world education. A toilet seat. A squat toilet. A urinal. Each on its own sheet, labeled and annotated.

When I was done, I slammed the drawings onto the table, the noise echoing like a gunshot. The ministers flinched, their smug expressions faltering.

"These," I said, pointing at the sketches, "are what your 'historic' waste systems should look like."

"Excuse me?" one minister sputtered, his thin mustache quivering with indignation.

"Excuse you," I shot back, my glare pinning him to his seat. "Do you realize how outdated and unsanitary your current system is? And yet, you sit here debating ways to squeeze more money from the people who've endured your incompetence for generations."

"How dare you!" another minister snapped, his face reddening. "You forget your place, Lady Seraphina."

"And you forget yours," I countered, my voice rising. "Your place is to serve the people, not bleed them dry. Do you have any idea how hard they work just to scrape together the taxes you demand? Farmers, merchants, laborers—they prioritize their payments to you over their own survival. And what do they get in return? A golden pot to defecate in? You should be ashamed."

The room fell deathly silent. Even my father, who had been quietly observing until now, seemed taken aback by my words. His brow furrowed, but he did not intervene.

I turned my gaze to the minister who had mocked me earlier. "How much were you planning to raise the taxes?" I asked coldly.

He hesitated, glancing at the others for support. "That… that is a matter of state affairs," he stammered.

"No," I said, my voice cutting through his weak deflection. "It's a matter of human decency. Answer me."

When he failed to respond, I slammed my hand on the table, making several documents flutter to the floor. "Answer me!"

"Ten percent," another minister finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ten percent?" I repeated, my tone dripping with disbelief. "Do you have any idea what that means for a family barely scraping by? For a farmer who loses half his crop to pests and the other half to taxes? For a merchant whose profits are already dwindling thanks to your exorbitant tariffs?"

"Lady Seraphina," my father interjected, his tone warning, "you are speaking out of turn."

"And you," I said, turning to him, "are allowing this corruption to continue. Are you so blind to their greed? Or have you simply chosen to look the other way?"

The room erupted into chaos, ministers shouting over one another, my father's voice booming as he demanded order. But I wasn't done. I raised my hand, commanding silence once more.

"Let me make something very clear," I said, my voice low but filled with conviction. "If you want to increase taxes, you had better ensure that every single coin is put to use for the benefit of the people. Infrastructure. Education. Healthcare. And yes, proper sanitation. Until then, you have no right to ask for more."

One of the younger ministers, a man with sharp features and a calculating gaze, leaned forward. "And how do you propose we fund these improvements without raising taxes?" he asked, his tone challenging.

"Start by cutting your own salaries," I shot back without missing a beat. "Audit every expenditure. Eliminate corruption. And perhaps," I added, my gaze sweeping across the room, "you could sacrifice a fraction of your own luxuries for the greater good. Or is that too much to ask?"

The silence that followed was deafening. The ministers exchanged uneasy glances; their confidence shaken. Even my father seemed at a loss for words.

Finally, I took a step back, my chest heaving with the effort of reigning in my anger. "You may not like what I've said," I continued, my tone softer but no less firm, "but the truth rarely makes for polite conversation. The people deserve better. And as long as I'm here, I will fight to ensure they get it."

With that, I turned on my heel and strode out of the room, leaving behind a stunned silence. As the heavy doors closed behind me, I felt a strange mix of exhilaration and dread. I had made enemies today, of that I was certain. But I had also planted a seed of doubt in their minds. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would grow into something more.

As I walked away, I couldn't help but smile. This world might be different, but some battles were universal. And I was more than ready to fight them.

I stepped out of the room, feeling a little lighter after that fiery showdown with the ministers. But as soon as I saw Edda, standing stiff as a board with her hands trembling and sweat pooling on her palms, my confidence wavered. Her face was pale as if she'd just seen a ghost—or worse, witnessed my speech.

"Hey," I said, resting a hand on her shoulder. It felt a little odd considering she was taller than me, but I ignored it. "If you're worried about me, don't be. I know what I'm doing. Sure, I lost my memory, but not my sense of… empathy? Sympathy? Wait, which one's right?" I tapped my chin, thinking for a moment. "Either way, no need to stress about me, or the people outside. I've got this under control."

Edda blinked at me, her hands still twitching. I leaned closer, lowering my voice like I was sharing a state secret. "If you're worried about your family, or the townsfolk, I mean it—I'm on it. I might not be Seraphina in my head, but I've got their backs. Trust me, okay?"

She nodded hesitantly, her lips twitching like she wanted to say something but didn't dare. I straightened up, rolling my shoulders. "Alright then. Now, where does my mother hang out at this hour? Her favorite sitting room, maybe?" I started walking down the hall, Edda trailing behind me. "I'll talk to her about redoing my gown—seriously, it needs help—and maybe I can squeeze in some questions about hiring a good tutor or assistant."

I smirked to myself, feeling a spark of pride. "If I can knock out three tasks in one shot, that's pretty genius, don't you think?" 

Edda didn't answer, but I didn't need her to. I was already picturing how I'd approach Mother. This was going to be interesting.

Edda led the way down the grand halls, her steps still betraying a hint of unease despite her efforts to stay composed. When we reached the massive double doors of the reading room, a guard announced my arrival. Inside, Seraphina's mother sat amidst stacks of books and parchment, her elegance radiating authority but softened by a gentle warmth. 

I stepped inside with a polite curtsy, making sure to keep my expression demure but open. Sliding into the seat beside her, I looped my arm through hers and rested my head on her shoulder. It felt strange but also oddly comforting, like stepping into a role I hadn't been cast for but knew I could nail. 

"Mother," I began, my voice carrying a softness I'd perfected over the years. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. If I am, I truly apologize."

Her gaze softened, though she remained composed. "Not at all, my dear. What's on your mind?" 

"I… well," I hesitated for effect, playing the part of a daughter seeking her mother's approval. "I've been thinking about the gown you chose for me today. It's beautiful, really, but it's so heavy, and the heels—too tall! I've nearly tripped over myself more times than I can count. If you don't believe me, you can ask Edda." I nodded toward her, and Edda offered a subtle nod of confirmation.

Mother chuckled lightly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You've always been particular about your comfort. But tripping, really? That doesn't sound like you."

I bit my lip, letting a hint of sheepishness show. "I suppose I'm not quite myself these days. About yesterday, in the rose garden…" I trailed off, meeting her gaze with a mix of guilt and earnestness. "I'm truly sorry for my outburst. My head felt like it would burst if I didn't let it out. I never meant to cause any trouble. Please forgive me."

Her expression softened further, and she sighed. "You're under a lot of pressure, my dear. I understand. But you must be more mindful of appearances. Our family's reputation is not something to take lightly."

I nodded quickly, eager to show my willingness. "I understand, Mother. I'll do my best to protect it."

"Good." She squeezed my hand lightly, and I felt a spark of hope that I'd won her over.

"And, Mother." I added, carefully shifting the topic, "I've been reflecting… about myself, about everything. Losing my memories might seem like a setback, but perhaps it's also an opportunity. Once I understand who I was and everything I've forgotten, I can use that knowledge to become better—better for this family, this kingdom."

Her expression softened, though a flicker of surprise lingered in her gaze. "That's quite a mature sentiment, Seraphina," she said, her voice warm but cautious.

Encouraged by her reaction, I pressed on. "That's why I wanted to ask for your guidance, Mother. I want to learn everything—about the kingdom, my friends, the regions under our rule, and who I was before this memory loss. I feel it's the only way I can truly fulfill my responsibilities."

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, betraying her surprise. "This is… unexpected. You never expressed such interest before."

I offered a small, self-deprecating smile. "Perhaps losing my memories was a strange blessing in disguise. It's given me a new perspective—and, I hope, a chance to make you proud."

Her hand covered mine, and she let out a soft sigh, her guarded demeanor giving way to genuine affection. "If that's your wish, we'll start with the foundations. History, alliances, and your place within it all."

I nodded eagerly, feeling the weight of her approval. As we discussed the next steps, I caught glimpses of her subtle pride, and for the first time since waking in Seraphina's body, I felt like I was making progress—not just with her, but with this strange, daunting life ahead of me.