The room was dim, the air thick with tension. The faint light from the chandelier above flickered softly, casting uneven shadows across the polished marble floor. The muffled sounds of footsteps, armor clinking, and panicked breathing filled the silence like a quiet storm waiting to break.
"She choked herself!! I'm telling the truth, please believe me!!" a woman's desperate voice echoed, trembling with terror.
"Yes, she's right! We didn't do anything! Please, don't kill us!" another cried, her words breaking into sobs.
A weak groan slipped past Hasina's lips. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her violet eyes slowly opened to a blinding light above. The first thing she saw was the ceiling—white and grand, painted with golden patterns that curved like vines along the corners. The light crystals embedded in the chandelier swayed slightly, making the gold shimmer faintly.
Her vision blurred and cleared again, shapes coming into focus. She could hear hurried whispers around her, footsteps, and the sound of metal scraping against the floor.
"She's waking up," said a voice—old, deep, and steady, though faintly touched with relief.
Hasina turned her head slowly. Her body felt heavy, her limbs weak as if her strength had been drained away. On the floor beside her, two young maids were being held down by armored guards. The men's hands pressed hard against their shoulders, pinning them in place. The maids' faces were pale, their eyes swollen with tears, their breaths ragged.
The guards looked like royal soldiers—armor polished until it gleamed, trimmed with blue and silver. The crest of the royal family was carved proudly into their chest plates. They held their positions firmly, though there was hesitation in their eyes.
Near them stood an elderly man, his back straight despite his age. His long white beard brushed against his fine robes, which were embroidered with golden thread that glimmered softly in the dim light. His expression was both kind and deeply troubled. Behind him, a few people dressed in white uniforms waited nervously, holding glass bottles filled with shimmering blue and green liquid. The faint glow from the potions painted their pale hands with color.
Hasina blinked a few times, slowly pushing herself upright. Her head throbbed, her neck still sore where her fingers had pressed into her skin earlier. She raised a trembling hand to her forehead, breathing unsteadily.
The old man immediately stepped forward, his voice urgent. "No, Princess, please do not move! You must rest. Everything is under control. We have already arrested the culprits—"
His words faltered as he looked toward the maids, whose terrified eyes silently begged for mercy.
The room felt still. Even the flickering of the chandelier seemed to quiet down as Hasina lowered her hand, her long black hair falling over her face. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, yet it cut through the silence like a blade.
"Release them..."
The old man blinked, unsure if he'd heard her correctly. "P-Pardon, my lady?"
Hasina lifted her head. Her face was calm, expression unreadable. Her voice came again, clearer this time—gentle, but with a tone that left no room for argument.
"I said release them. They did nothing wrong."
The old man's lips parted, his words stumbling. "But, my lady—"
Before he could finish, Hasina turned her gaze toward him. Her violet eyes caught the faint light, glowing faintly under the golden hue of the room. Cold. Sharp. Unwavering. The kind of stare that froze the air itself.
The old man's voice died instantly. A chill ran through everyone present.
The attendants in white gasped, their hands shaking as the bottles they held slipped from their fingers and shattered on the floor. The blue and green liquid spread like spilled light across the tiles.
The guards hesitated for only a heartbeat before they slowly pulled back, their armor clinking as they released the maids.
The maids fell forward slightly, stunned. Their bodies trembled as they pushed themselves up on weak arms. Their eyes were wide, disbelief and fear mixing in their expressions. They looked at Hasina, lips trembling, but said nothing.
The silence that followed felt heavy—no one dared to move or breathe too loudly. Only the faint sound of the broken glass dripping onto the marble floor echoed through the room.
Hasina moved slowly, as if the weight of sleep still clung to her bones. Her bare feet met the soft carpet with a quiet whisper as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The silk sheets fell away in a loose tumble, and her long black hair slid forward, brushing against her collarbone. She pushed it back with one smooth motion, fingers cool against her skin.
She lifted her head and looked at the gathered faces. Her eyes were steady and calm, the violet irises catching the chandelier's light like distant stars. There was no frantic panic in them—only a cold, careful calm that made the room hold its breath.
"Thank you for saving me," she said, her voice soft but clear. "You can go now. I'm fine."
The words stopped everything. Silence pooled in the room like water. The guards' hands tightened on their spears, the maids' shoulders hunched, and even the attendants frozen mid-step. The old man's mouth opened and closed once, twice, as if sound had been misplaced.
'Did she just thank us?' he thought, unable to hide his shock.
The guards' faces betrayed the same disbelief—two hardened men unmoored by a single polite phrase.
Hasina's eyes swept them all again, slow and deliberate. There was a new edge in her voice now, thin as steel but spoken as if naming the weather.
"If you don't leave in the count of five," she said, each word measured, "then I'll hang your heads on my balcony."
It was said without heat, almost courteous. That made it worse. It wasn't a threat shouted in anger—it was a promise spoken like a schedule. No one dared test the clock.
They moved like shadows melting away—guards, maids, attendants, even the old man—retreating so fast the room sounded too empty when they were gone. Footsteps scuffed tiles, doors clicked, the hush of hurried breath faded into the corridor.
Hasina blinked once, the tiniest lift of surprise crossing her face at how quickly the room emptied. "That was… fast," she murmured, an almost amused whisper.
She let her hand fall to the edge of the bed, fingers resting on the fabric as if anchoring herself. Her jaw set, the line firming with a resolve that felt new and frightening.
'I've decided,' she thought, steady and cold. 'I'll take this chance. I won't walk the old path. I'll change my future with my own hands. But I won't be weak… I am a villainess, after all.'
Her gaze traveled to the large mirror across the room. The reflection looked like a portrait come to life—elegant, poised, and unflinching. Her violet eyes met her own and held.
She leaned forward a breath, voice dropping to a hush that only she and the glass shared. "You just wait and watch…"
A smile ghosted her lips—small, precise, and without warmth.
"And this world too…"