“So, here is the finished product,” the dressmaker said and turned the mannequin around to show off the white dress, intricately embroidered with red flowers that were so miniscule you could barely see them. Artesia didn’t know how to tell her they were so small they looked like literal bloodstains. 

It was on brand, at least. It was very much, in fact, on brand. 

She would definitely look like a white lotus villainess in this dress. Gods. She really couldn’t escape from the death flags, couldn’t she? What was more, Georgina DeVille was about to step through the front door and befriend her on the sly. Could her life get any worse?

“It’s beautiful,” Artesia forced out, because she didn’t know what else to say. “I love it.”

“This is a one of a kind gown; you’ll definitely be the only one that stands out at the ball,” the dressmaker said, and it really was a beautiful gown, but…

“Well, I’m very grateful. Can we get this packaged up?” Artesia asked, and the dressmaker gasped.

“Well, you should at least try it on. I need to make sure it fits,” the dressmaker said, but Artesia wanted to get out of here before Georgina got here.

“Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Let’s try it on.”

“I will assist you, my lady,” said Lisa, and the mannequin was rolled into the changing room. Artesia was loath to pull off her robes, but what other choice did she have? She didn’t want to get into the dress. It practically looked like a wedding gown. She really didn’t want to get into the dress. It would make her look delicate, like a little flower, a flower presented for slaughter, and she did not want to wear it.

“You’re not happy with it,” Lisa murmured, and Artesia took a deep breath in.

“I prefer the robes,” she replied, and Lisa helped her climb out of the robes. Artesia stood there in her undergarments, feeling weird and uncomfortable with another person in the room. She still hadn’t gotten over that yet.

“Begging your pardon, Your Holiness, but you need to grow accustomed to fine things,” Lisa said, and Artesia hummed and looked around the pink room. It was very brightly painted, but tastefully decorated.

“I don’t think I do,” Artesia said as she stepped gingerly into the dress, terrified she would rip it if she stepped wrong. Unbidden, her thoughts drifted back to Mally, so self assured in their own skin and acting like there wasn’t a thing wrong with their existence. She longed to have that kind of confidence in her life. She wasn’t transgender, but she just… wished she fit this meat suit a little bit better.

The dress was pulled up around her shoulders, and she slid her arms into the delicate lace sleeves. Lisa stepped behind her, and Artesia swept her hair over her shoulder so she could start the laborious process of buttoning up the back.

“Have you heard?” someone asked from the other side of the door, and Artesia stared in the mirror as the buttons were slipped into the loops. “My mother just wrote to me. Georgina DeVille was found dead.”

Wait.

What?

“No!” someone gasped.

“Yes! They said someone slashed her throat and burned her body!”

“Ugh! That’s horrific! How can you say that so casually?!”

“I’m not, really I’m not, but my word. Imagine being the DeVille brothers right now. Sister, murdered right before her debut.”

“Do you think it was a warning to her father?”

“Shhhh,” the first person hushed the second, and Artesia felt faint. What? What just--- What?

“What? You think the big, bad DeVille is going to come into this boutique and kill me for loose lips? Everyone knows they’re villains.”

“At least everyone knows who they are,” came a third voice. “What about you two?”

“Oh, calm down, Greta, it’s just a little gossip,” said the first voice with a high laugh.

“Gossip is unladylike. A girl was murdered.”

“Well, it’s not like anyone would care. She’s illegitimate. I doubt her father even shed a tear over it,” the first voice said with a mean, cutting laugh.

“That’s still a person that died, and I’m sick of you two treating topics like these lightly.”

“Then leave,” the second voice said, and there was a huff.

“Maybe I will,” the third voice said, and there was the click of heels.

“Greta is so full of herself,” the first voice said snidely, and Artesia’s knees went out from under her. She collapsed to her knees, gasping for air, and there was a panicked squawk from Lisa.

“My lady!” she said, and Artesia shook in place.

She caused this, didn’t she? Somehow, her coming here caused a butterfly effect that got Georgina killed. That was the only thing that changed. Where would the plot be without Georgina? She was the mastermind, the puppet master, the one pulling the strings. What was going to happen? Georgina was dead? Right before the novel started? Who was going to---

Throat slit?

Body burned?

Who came after her with such violence? Artesia certainly hadn’t ordered her death. Oh, gods, what if Daisy really was a green tea bitch and was going to pin this on Artesia? She had… she had seen her at the cafe after Edwin asked her to have tea with her. She had seen her, and what if Daisy was a yandere and didn’t want any women around Edwin?

Wait, no, she was thinking irrationally right now. Daisy didn’t have the kind of power to order the death of the daughter of a marquis. She was the daughter of a count. And she couldn’t have predicted the future. If it reached the capital, that meant it had to have happened at least a week ago. The news wouldn’t have hit that fast. There were ways of sending word magically, but those girls wouldn’t have heard anything. That was for officials, who wouldn’t gossip about it, which meant word got around normally. It had been yesterday that Daisy saw her at the cafe. She was panicking over nothing.

But, even so, there must be a butterfly effect. There had to be.

She had always sympathized with Georgina. The way the author wrote her, you wanted to sympathize with her. Naturally. She was abused from a young age, desperate for any kind of affection, and of course her first crush would be massively blown out of proportion. Her etiquette teacher used to beat her shins black and blue, her father made her look at his torture victims, and her brother Marcus killed animals in front of her. There was a reason the author punished the entire family and didn’t let them get off scot free with their crimes. They were all put to death.

Throat slit?

Body burned?

What a horrible way to die. Her body was desecrated and turned into kindling.

“You can’t let talk like that upset you, my lady,” Lisa whispered, and Artesia realized she was hiding her face in her hands. She was shaking like a dog in a thunderstorm, and she needed to get it together.

“I’m sorry. It was just shocking to me,” she said numbly. “How could they so callously discuss the murder of a girl?”

“That’s just how nobles are, my lady,” Lisa said softly, and Artesia pursed her lips. Georgina probably wouldn’t even be upset they were discussing her so cruelly. She was very thick skinned.

Artesia stood and took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of the gown. She needed to keep it together. She needed to stay calm. Calm was the most important thing here. She was a villainess. She couldn’t blindly panic the second something went wrong. Or right?

With Georgina gone, anything could happen. The plot had gone off the rails. Why shouldn’t Artesia derail it even more?

She stared at herself in the mirror in silence. Her proportions looked all wrong. Her hands were too dainty and small. Her breasts were too large. They were sitting pretty in this dress, and she thought the immodesty was very unbecoming of a saint. Her bra was poking out, and she would probably have to wear a strapless one. And, seriously, why did this time period have bras but still rode horses? How did that even work? The timeline was all off. She looked like someone had painted a doll, dull and lifeless, doomed to sit on a shelf, and something occurred to her.

That was… going to be her whole life in this world. A pretty, expressionless, porcelain doll. Sitting on a shelf, gathering dust. A figurehead for the church, and even if she got her happy ending as the saint, she still…

She still would be useless. Locked up in a tower, meant to entertain and wine and dine, and be toted out a few times a year for blessings. It was a bleak existence. She didn’t…

She didn’t want it, she realized, and it was like a lightning bolt to the chest.

She didn’t want any of this, but what was she going to do about it? Nothing. She was going to do nothing. Even if she got her happy ending, she would be… effectively powerless. A little ragdoll of the church, controlled and contained and meant to keep the populace happy. That was it.

She didn’t want this, and her breath was coming out in short bursts. She was panicking. She was well and truly panicking, in this tight dress that didn’t allow her to take in a full breath. She was going to pop a button, and she was terrified of ruining it. It was such a beautiful dress, and tears were stinging at her eyes.

“My lady?” Lisa asked in alarm, and Artesia took a deep breath in and released it. No. She was not going to have a panic attack right now.

“I’d like to get back to the carriage,” she said, and Lisa obediently started to unbutton her dress. Her fingers fumbled, and Artesia wanted to snap at her to get on with it, but she wouldn’t do that.

“My lady, are you having a fit?” Lisa asked, and Artesia’s eyes stung with unshed tears.

“I just need to get to the carriage,” she said, and the dress fell down around her shoulders. She stepped out of it and threw the robes on in a hurry, because she could not afford to break down in the middle of the boutique.

Georgina was dead.

And Artesia didn’t know what to do about it. She was sure this was her fault, somehow. The only thing that had changed in the novel was her appearance. She had thrown everything off kilter, and now Georgina was dead, and Artesia had never even wanted her dead in the first place. She would have preferred to talk her down, maybe introduce her to another guy that didn’t mind a little yandere action, not all of this.

This was horrific.

And she was only fifteen.

What kind of monster murdered a fifteen year old?

Unbidden, she thought of Mally once again, honey brown eyes so full of sweetness and violence. They were a dangerous person, and she still couldn’t believe Mally was an extra. And now there was another extra running around that had killed Georgina before the plot even began. What the fuck.

No, seriously, what the fuck was going on? What should she do? She had been gearing up to have her villainess versus villainess showdown, and come out on top, and now Georgina was just randomly dead. There was no sense to it. She had thought she would eventually have to deal with Georgina and handle her before she took things too far. Now, that had gone out the window.

How did the antagonist die before the story even started?

Wait.

Wait.

… Did this mean Artesia could do whatever she wanted?

If there was no villainess… If there was no big bad to take down… Then couldn’t she just… do whatever, damn the consequences?

Artesia stared at herself in the mirror, swallowed in the voluminous robes of the clergy. Could she really do whatever she wanted? If Georgina wasn’t in the picture, then…

Then, she could do whatever she wanted, she realized.

She wasn’t smart enough to investigate Georgina’s death. She knew that, and she knew that may come back to bite her, but… But. She could, theoretically, just completely throw the plot to the sidelines and do whatever pleased her. Act however she wanted. Be however she wanted. She didn’t have to bow and scrape to the ML in the hopes he would spare her. She didn’t have to cling to the FL’s skirts. She didn’t have to avoid either of them like the plague. She could just…

Live.