VRGB 01

Prologue

Is the Villain’s Daughter a Villain Anyway?

“Die!”

“You witch! Cursed daughter of the Count!”

No matter what I did, was I never meant to be loved?

“Let the sinner stand upon the gallows.”

I slowly ascended the steps.

With every step I took, the jeers of the crowd rang louder.

The insults and mockery spewed by the crowd that filled the square heated the air with their fury.

“You should’ve died when your father did!”

“Keeping you alive for a few extra years just wasted precious wheat!”

Thud!

Something struck my already bruised arm.

“….”

I looked down and saw a rotten tomato. Its crushed flesh oozed down my arm with a sour stench.

“Witch of Estellia!”

That marked the beginning. The frenzied crowd began hurling spoiled eggs, tomatoes, and even filth.

The guards were supposed to stop them—but they didn’t move a muscle. They merely stared at me with contempt.

Dodging garbage, I continued to climb the stairs—though all that awaited me at the top was the noose.

The plaza below was packed with citizens. Elevated above the square, seating had been arranged for the royal family and nobles.

My eyes turned toward them. I had people to find—those who would be seated among the nobles.

Toasting to their success in driving me to death.

As I searched through the rows of nobles, my gaze was suddenly caught by someone unexpected.

At the far end of the royal section—so far to the edge, it might as well have been part of the noble seats—someone was staring straight at me.

The moment our eyes met, I felt a shiver as if from a chill.

Claude Valentin.

A prince only in name. The first prince, in title alone. The disgrace of the royal family.

With golden hair like sunlight and gloomy gray-blue eyes, he had a radiant appearance, yet carried an air of uselessness.

He looked like a pathetic loser.

It was surprising to see him present, as he hadn’t shown himself at public events for years.

Even while my feet kept moving in search of familiar faces, I found myself rooted to the spot. I couldn’t look away from him.

He, too, did not avert his gaze. Our eyes met and remained locked in midair.

His stare, as if dissecting my very soul and refusing to let it go, made me gasp.

Why?

We had barely exchanged words—certainly no real conversation.

In fact, deep down, I had disliked him in secret.

I avoided him. I looked away when he was near.

Because every time I saw him… it felt like looking at the person I hated most in the world.

Even being in the same room left a bitter, unsettling aftertaste that made me want to leave immediately. That kind of man.

But now—what was this?

My mind reeled. I felt dizzy.

The noise of the crowd grew distant. Everyone else blurred and faded away.

It was as though the moment our eyes met, time itself stretched out.

And in that moment, Claude Valentin’s expression faltered.

Something flickered in his eyes—an emotion I couldn’t identify, just on the verge of revealing itself.

“Why are you just standing there?!”

“Still putting on a pathetic show to the very end! Shameless!”

The crowd’s jeers hit my ears like a waterfall. My frozen posture only agitated them more.

A soldier behind me jabbed my back lightly with the tip of his spear. The sharp sting jolted me back to reality.

“If you won’t walk yourself, we’ll drag you.”

Ah… But whatever had just passed between our eyes—it didn’t matter now.

My steps moved again, heavy and powerless. I turned my head.

I refocused on the true targets—the ones I had meant to find all along.

Found them.

At last, I arrived. The ones whose gaze mattered most. My relatives, who falsely accused me of attempted murder and sent me here.

My cousin Helena’s face stood out immediately. Contrary to expectations, she wore a blank expression.

When our eyes met, she quickly covered her face with a fan and looked away.

Normally, she would’ve made me kneel for daring to meet her eyes and stomped my head to the floor.

Did she feel a twinge of guilt?

Even for someone as cold and selfish as her, was it hard to watch the end of the cousin she had personally condemned to die?

Or… was she simply disgusted by me staring at her to the very end?

Before I could look for my uncle and aunt, I reached the platform.

“The only daughter of Count Estell, Kalia Estell. You stand here accused of the following crimes.”

I was shoved forward. The executioner approached and slipped the rope around my neck.

“First. You attempted to murder Helena Barden, daughter of Baron Barden—your guardian and the late Countess’s brother.”

The knot tightened painfully around my throat.

“Second. You worshiped demons and ghosts. At the Academy, you feigned hearing and seeing strange things, spreading wicked energy and undermining faith in the true god.”

The executioner stepped back after securing the rope tightly.

“Lastly. Rather than being ashamed of your father’s tyranny and cruelty as the Count, you emulated him—boasting a violent and wicked nature.”

The official’s voice took on a tone of righteous fury.

“You are sentenced to death.”

Waaahhh!

The crowd roared in joy. The sound was deafening.

Through it, I could hear the executioner stepping toward the lever that would drop the platform.

I had only ever wanted to kill one person.

Myself. Kalia Estell.

The cursed Count’s daughter. A ghost-possessed witch. The heir to a monster who deserved death.

To rid myself of that label… to kill the monstrous nature running through my blood… I had fought all my life.

I suppressed myself completely, tried to purify my soul, and worked tirelessly to become what they wanted.

A kind and gentle noble daughter—unlike my father.

But standing on the gallows, I realized one truth.

No one had ever wanted that from me.

What they wanted was the witch of Estellia. The cursed Count’s mirror image.

The ungrateful wretch who tried to kill her cousin—so they could finally seize the Estell estate and wealth for themselves. A monster.

“Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!”

I just wanted to be loved.

Even once in my life.

I tried with everything I had. But no matter what I did, only scorn and hatred followed me.

If I had tried harder—if I’d given everything until the very end—could I have been loved?

By Uncle Barden, by Helena, by the nobles at the Academy, by the people of the estate…

Maybe. Just maybe.

“I will count down the final ten seconds. 10… 9… 8…”

I thought it was raining, but only the platform under my feet was growing damp.

The moment I realized that, I made a vow. I would never lift my head again. Never. My jaw clenched tightly.

Maybe, if I had tried a little harder… if I had proven I was not the same as the monster who fathered me… someone might have seen me. Loved me.

But if love required denying myself, killing my nature, and becoming someone else…

“…4! 3! 2!”

Then I wouldn’t try anymore.

I wouldn’t lick boots like a slaughterhouse dog just to be loved. I wouldn’t kill myself.

“…1! Pull it!”

I closed my eyes. The floor gave way beneath me. The rope snapped my neck with a brutal force. My limbs flailed uncontrollably.

If I were to live again—I would never seek love.

I wouldn’t kill my soul for a single stroke of affection.

Breath caught in my chest. My fingers lost strength against the rope around my neck.

As my mind faded, over and over, I made my vow…

“Haa…! Hah…!”

I bolted upright like a spring.

The sensation of the rope choking my neck was still fresh. I clawed at my throat in a panic.

But my fingers grasped… nothing.

‘What’s going on?’

The hand I raised before my eyes was spotless. Gone were the scars and calluses from cleaning dishes and scrubbing floors for hours.

Yet it felt utterly unfamiliar—as if it weren’t mine.

The unease wasn’t just from the lack of scars. The size… was too small to belong to an adult.

A dry gasp escaped my lips.

“What the…?”

Gasping, I clamped my mouth shut. The voice was mine—but didn’t feel like it.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, familiar sights came into view.

A narrow room.

Ivory curtains fraying at the edges. A sunken, worn-out chair. A cold, unused fireplace.

And then—my eyes widened.

Above the fireplace hung something that stopped my breath.

A portrait of my late mother.

“No way…”

Time froze. A piercing ringing split my ears.

It was impossible. It couldn’t be.

The only existing portrait of my mother had been burned by Helena three years ago.

I staggered toward the mirror.

Even in those few steps, it felt like I was moving someone else’s limbs. My body was clumsy and awkward.

In the mirror, I saw—messy black hair, violet eyes, and a girl so short she didn’t even reach halfway up the glass.

It was me.

From my childhood.