Why Did I Reincarnate as the Heroine When I Wanted to Be a Villainess?

Chapter 91: Chapter 91 — "Four Days"

The first night she didn’t sleep.

Not because of nightmares.

Because every time she closed her eyes the dead garden came back.

Not frightening.

Just present.

The tree.

The grave beneath it.

The way Corvin had adjusted his glasses one final time.

She lay in her actual bed.

With actual blankets.

In her actual room.

And stared at the ceiling until gray morning light found the curtains.

Then got up.

Washed her face.

Went downstairs.

Ate breakfast.

Said nothing about the night.

The second morning she found Tax in the kitchen.

He had apparently negotiated an arrangement with the head cook.

The terms were unclear.

The result was that Tax now had a designated corner of the kitchen counter and the staff had accepted this as permanent.

"Tax."

The crow looked up from a silver spoon he was examining.

"Boss."

"Why do you have a corner."

"It was given to me."

"By who."

"The cook."

"Why."

Tax set the spoon down.

"I stopped stealing things."

Seraphina stared at him.

"You stopped stealing things."

"From the kitchen specifically."

"Why specifically."

"Because she feeds me."

A pause.

"I have principles."

Seraphina looked at the cook.

The cook looked at Tax with the resigned fondness of someone who had lost an argument with a crow and decided to make peace with it.

Seraphina looked back at Tax.

Something loosened slightly in her chest.

Small.

Almost invisible.

"Obviously."

She said.

Tax picked the spoon back up.

Then set it down again.

Then looked at her.

"You didn’t sleep."

"I slept."

"You didn’t."

"Tax."

"Boss."

They looked at each other.

The crow who always knew.

The girl who never admitted things directly.

"I’m fine."

She said.

Tax said nothing.

Which meant he disagreed and had decided not to push.

Which was its own kind of care from him.

She stole a piece of bread from his corner.

He immediately objected.

"Hey."

"Principles."

She said.

"Those are my principles."

"Not yours."

She walked out eating the bread.

Tax cawed after her.

Indignant.

Completely.

The kitchen staff pretended not to smile.

She visited Daren first.

He was sitting up in the guest room.

Eating.

Obviously eating.

He looked better than she expected.

Worse than she hoped.

He looked up when she walked in.

Something crossed his face.

Fast.

Then gone.

"Hey."

He said.

"Hey."

She said back.

She sat in the chair beside his bed without being invited.

He didn’t comment.

Just moved his food slightly to make space on the side table.

A small automatic gesture.

The kind people made without thinking.

For a while neither spoke.

The kind of silence that had earned its right to exist.

Then Daren said:

"I keep thinking about what I’m going to tell people."

Seraphina looked at him.

"About what happened."

He poked at his food.

"Like."

Another poke.

"How do you explain that."

Seraphina considered this seriously.

"You don’t."

Daren looked at her.

"People who weren’t there won’t understand it anyway."

She said.

"So you just."

A pause.

"Say you went on a journey."

"And came back different."

Daren stared at her.

"That’s it?"

"That’s it."

He looked at his food.

"That feels insufficient."

"It is."

She said.

"Most true things are."

Daren was quiet for a moment.

Then:

"Corvin would say something smart about that."

Seraphina looked at the window.

"Yeah."

Just that.

Daren looked at her.

Then back at his food.

"I keep."

He started.

Stopped.

Started again.

"I keep expecting him to say something."

"When something happens."

"I think."

"He’d have something to say about this."

He gestured vaguely at the room.

"The mansion."

"The fancy bed."

"Your terrifying parents."

Seraphina almost smiled.

"My parents aren’t terrifying."

"Your father looked at me for thirty seconds without blinking."

"That’s just his face."

"That’s a terrifying face."

She did smile then.

Small.

Real.

Daren saw it.

Something in his expression settled slightly.

Like he’d been checking for something and found it.

"You okay?"

He asked.

Not the way people asked when they expected yes.

The way he asked.

Direct.

Actually wanting to know.

Seraphina looked at the window.

At the summer garden outside.

Full and green and completely indifferent to what they’d survived.

"Working on it."

She said.

Daren nodded.

Once.

Accepting the honest answer instead of the easy one.

"Me too."

Rowan was already up when she found him.

Of course he was.

He was sitting at the writing desk in his guest room.

Reading something.

Taking notes.

Like a man who had survived Hell and responded by immediately returning to work.

He looked up when she knocked.

"Seraphina."

"You’re working."

"Reading."

"Same thing for you."

He almost smiled.

She sat on the window seat.

He turned slightly in the chair.

Neither forced conversation.

It arrived naturally after a moment.

"How’s your shoulder."

She asked.

"Functional."

"That’s not what I asked."

Rowan looked at her.

"It’s healing."

"Slowly."

She nodded.

Accepted it.

Then:

"Did you send word to anyone."

About where you were.

About what happened.

She didn’t say the second part.

He heard it anyway.

"My family knows I’m safe."

A pause.

"I didn’t explain details."

"Good call."

He looked at the notes in front of him.

Then away.

"Seraphina."

"Hm."

"His uncle."

The words landed carefully.

Rowan’s voice was even.

The particular evenness of someone who had been sitting with something for days and decided to finally say it.

"I know we didn’t find him."

"I know."

"I’m not."

He stopped.

Started again.

"I’m not finished looking."

Seraphina met his eyes.

"I know."

"After everything."

He said.

"I still."

He looked at his hands.

"I need to know."

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then nodded.

Not a dismissal.

Not reassurance.

Just acknowledgment.

The most useful thing she could offer.

"Obviously."

She said.

Rowan exhaled once.

Small.

Then looked back at his notes.

The conversation was finished.

Not because it was resolved.

Because it had been said.

That was enough for now.

Lysette was the quietest.

She was sitting in the south room garden when Seraphina found her.

One arm still carefully held.

The other resting on the chair.

Eyes closed.

Face turned toward the sun.

She looked like someone who had decided recovery was a task to be completed efficiently.

Seraphina sat beside her without speaking.

Lysette didn’t open her eyes.

"You’ve been visiting everyone."

It wasn’t a question.

"Obviously."

Lysette’s lips moved slightly.

Not quite a smile.

Close.

They sat in the sun together.

Not talking.

The garden warm around them.

Birds doing normal bird things.

The world being aggressively ordinary.

After a while Lysette said:

"Corvin’s grave."

Seraphina looked at her.

"Is it marked."

A pause.

"Properly."

Seraphina thought about the tree.

The careful space between roots.

What Atlas had done before he left.

"Yes."

She said.

Lysette nodded.

Eyes still closed.

Face still turned toward the sun.

"Good."

One word.

Carrying everything she wasn’t going to say directly.

Seraphina understood.

Some things were like that.

Too large for more than one word.

Too real for speeches.

The third night she cried.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Quietly.

In the dark.

With the door closed and the curtains drawn and nobody to see.

She cried for Corvin.

For Fen and Ash lying still in the grass outside Valemont.

For Lyra turning to dust while saying sorry.

For Atlas’s empty space.

For the bracketless weight of her own hands.

For the journey.

For the people it cost.

For the fact that the world was green and beautiful outside and felt slightly wrong because of it.

She cried until there was nothing left.

Then lay flat on her back.

Stared at the ceiling.

Exhaled once.

Long.

Shaky.

Then said to nobody:

"Okay."

Just that.

Then closed her eyes.

And finally slept.

The fourth day.

The birthday.

She woke earlier than usual.

Lay still for a moment.

Then remembered what day it was.

Her eyes opened.

She stared at the ceiling.

"Kaelie."

She said to the empty room.

Testing it.

Then immediately:

"No."

She sat up.

Tax was on the windowsill.

Already watching her.

"Good morning Boss."

"Morning."

"It’s your birthday."

"Obviously."

"You’re an hour older than Kael."

"Obviously."

Tax tilted his head.

"How do you feel."

Seraphina looked at the summer morning outside.

At the garden full and alive and real.

At the sky genuinely blue.

At the day that was going to contain a ceremony she hadn’t asked for.

And Kael.

Who was one hour younger than her.

And had called her funny.

From his deathbed.

Something moved through her expression.

Complicated.

Warm.

Embarrassing.

She pointed at Tax.

"Don’t."

Tax looked innocent.

The most suspicious expression he owned.

"I wasn’t going to say anything."

"You were absolutely going to say something."

"I was going to say happy birthday."

"After whatever face you were making."

"I don’t make faces."

"Tax."

"Boss."

They stared at each other.

Then she got up.

Started getting ready.

Tax watched from the windowsill.

Then quietly said:

"He called you funny."

"Tax."

"From his deathbed."

"TAX."

"ehehe."

The laugh came small and smug and completely him.

Seraphina threw a pillow.

Tax dodged easily.

The pillow hit the curtain.

The curtain survived.

Barely.

"Get out."

"It’s my windowsill."

"GET OUT."

"ehehe."

He left.

Seraphina stood in her room.

Alone.

Her face slightly red.

Her expression doing something complicated.

Outside—

The birthday morning waited.

And somewhere in the east wing—

Kael was one hour younger than her.

And didn’t know what was coming.