I open my tear-soaked eyes, and before long, the blurry vision clears, presenting an aftermath of some violent outburst.
The first things I manage to see are a stout man and a shattered vase staining the red carpet. Further scrutiny reveals some onlooking maids whispering in concern at the side.
"Stand up," the man says, clearly irritated.
His words prompt me to notice my kneeling position and how uncharacteristically small my body has become.
Alright, the situation calls for a checklist.
A different body should have been proof enough. Still, I keep tallying.
Firstly, I found myself in an ornately decorated hall that looks... weirdly Victorian-ish. The wallpaper is dazzlingly gold, and the ceiling height is so high I'd need three of me stacked on top of each other to touch it.
Secondly, the angry dude bossing me around looks more like a cosplayer in that goofy aristocrat outfit. While the maids act as a mob, highlighting the status of whoever owns this place.
Finally, the language that has filled my ears with its sound is completely foreign to me, and yet, for some inconceivable reason, I understood everything that has been uttered until now.
"Aeliana Liranthiel, stand up," the insistent guy repeats the same thing, namedropping what I assume is me.
In other words, this is it. The holy grail of wet dreams! Isekai! And my first present is a fancy name.
"Six times this week," he says coldly. "I've indulged you long enough."
The way he speaks is overly dramatic, and the timbre fits just right to deliver those sorts of lines. Has this guy considered performing on a stage?
"And you did this while confined. Get out of my sight."
While what now?
...
Oh, wait, of course!
"You're a moron! I hate you!" I shout, kicking the carpet and flipping the table where the vase once stood. My voice is on the verge of cracking.
"Maids!"
Infuriated, he summons those who have been watching from the sidelines. A whole group steps out of the shadows.
"Escort her to her room. This lady should thoroughly contemplate her behaviour, so teach her a thing or two. Just ensure that within five minutes, she'd be within four walls."
He says that through clenched teeth, turning red from all the unbearable stress I must've put on him. If he's this close to looking like a caricature, I might as well mention how neatly the steam hissing from his ears would complete the picture.
He storms off, leaving me alone with the maids.
They completely ignore my groveling stare, which is practically begging them not to touch me. Instead, the most sinister grins stretch across their faces. Come on, have some self-restraint, guys! It's anticlimactic when you out yourself like this! Do I look that beatable?
"My, my, lady Aeliana, you've been a naughty girl, are you aware of that?"
"Now we must teach you a lesson on manners."
"Stand still and nothing serious will happen."
"How can we even hurt our patroness?"
Immediately after they fill my brain with saccharine platitudes, they collectively grab me by my hair and start mercilessly pulling it until I give in. And even then, they don't let go; since I ceased resisting, dragging me across the floor becomes easier for them.
The mildly tiresome experience drags on for a while until we reach a certain door. It's as tall as the rest of the ceiling, and the same gold theme is present on its exterior, this time the subject of decoration being roses.
They open the door ajar and throw me in like a trash bag. My back sonorously hits the bed, and the sound must've satisfied them, as they finally leave chuckling.
Grimacing, I clutch my throbbing head and slowly crawl onto my massive bed. I guess a noble is a noble, even if treated like a doormat.
Some peace at last. At least, when ignoring the burning feeling on my scalp. All of it happened in the span of a minute, and I didn't have the time to express my protest.
On a brighter note, this isn't just any Isekai, it's a Villainess one!
Which, statistically speaking, does not bode well for my life expectancy.
I've read a lot of stuff, but never encountered a setting where there is a character named Aeliana. I don't doubt my connoisseur abilities when it comes to the Villainess stories. Or at least, I don't want to.
I also don't want to be cognizant of the fact that something as supernatural as transmigration apparently exists in the physical world that supposedly adheres to the fundamental laws of reality. Within the fiction, transmigration might be fun, but experiencing it firsthand is actually quite terrifying.
If I had consumed whatever story this is, I could've spotted all the death flags and sidestepped them with ease. But, uh, it's not that big of a deal, y'know. Stuff happens.
To not allow the miserable death to transpire is to tread the path that the original would've never trodden herself. A more correct way of living, otherwise known as redemption. It's axiomatic, tested by genre convention and time itself. And even if I strongly disagree with the very idea of betraying the villainess' ideals, I have no other choice but to comply.
I get up from the bed and start inspecting the room. It is quite spacious, accommodating a lot of furniture.
Then, my interest is piqued by a lavish-looking mirror from which my reflection stares back at me. This is the first time I have had the chance to take a proper look at myself.
Naturally, I'm a fine lady of ethereal beauty. This body is younger than I expected. Uncomfortably so. Soft, pale skin, full lips, a delicately sloped nose, silky hair of pristine blue, and eyes of the same hue, augmenting it all. The only things that tarnish that image are my disheveled hair and dirty clothes.
By Shoujo standards, the appearance is by no means unique. Key figures have always possessed a vibrant color palette, and I got blue.
*Knock, knock*
My self-admiring session is interrupted by a knock on the door.
The thud that echoes doesn't have a continuation, as the person enters without waiting for my verbal permission.
"Lady Aeliana, healing," the visitor says in a haughty tone.
Oh. Her presence right here answers why Aeliana isn't bearing the visible marks of the abuse she's been subjected to.
A girl with chestnut hair, dressed distinctly from the maids, starts unceremoniously unpacking her belongings, which I assume are needed for my 'healing,' on my writing table. Another NPC, another bully.
"Stay away!!!"
"Hm, it's as they said. Today you're more vigorous than usual. Let me do my job."
"I don't need your help!"
"Fine," she says nonchalantly. "Let's do it the hard way."
She moves before I can react. Suddenly I'm restrained, my arms bound, the floor cold beneath me. Her weight keeps me from moving.
One by one, the needles begin piercing the messy cloth, diving into my skin.
"Aaaaaaah!!!"
Against the backdrop of my exaggerated screams, my body tries to curl up into a ball, but obviously, it can't.
"Will you learn your place already?" she suddenly utters, all while continuing to inject the needles into my body.
Oh my, it's time for the 'condescending talk!'
Go on, spit some lore, woman!
"You're illiterate, spoiled, and barely tolerable. No wonder the Marquess estranged you," she says calmly. "If not for your face, no one would bother keeping you alive."
Yes! What other textbook stuff can you say?
"Argh! At least I was born a noble, unlike you, a filthy commoner!" I cry out, provoking her.
Her face flashes with shock, before it hardens into anger.
"Look who's talking!" she snaps easily. "If it's a matter of who's more tainted, it would undoubtedly be you! Both figuratively and literally! Why am I even bothering myself with the likes of you? I deserve better! I should file a complaint to the Baron, detailing exactly why you don't even need my healing services. In that case, you'd die a dog's death, you know that? I'm out here saving your life every day."
She drives several dozen more needles with newly acquired rigor, flaunting her evident frustration.
"I'd recommend you to shove that cheap savior complex up your ass. Besides, death looks like a far more merciful outcome than being 'rescued' lik-"
The biting remark I hadn't spent much time crafting is cut off as she shoves a ragged gag into my mouth.
"Mhnhhhhh!!!"
Given that my mouth is now busy tasting a rag, my clamors get muffled.
Without leaving any visible wounds, needles sink in like they're gliding through butter, completely disappearing in the depths of my hypodermis. Dissolution. Most likely, this is how their healing properties manifest.
Indeed, in the brief intervals between each needle, I feel a surge of relief before being exposed to pain again. By that logic, more needles equal more suffering, but also more healing.
"And... we're done."
The voice, which was avidly belittling me not so long ago, turns unnervingly sweet. It's accompanied by shut eyes, a smug smile, and hands that are kindly put together with an audible clap.
After deliberately letting me see her pleased mug, she gets off me.
Despite arriving at my own conclusions regarding how these injections work, my interest remains unabated. I've called them needles until now, but they are clearly something else.
Asking questions is clearly a lost cause, but curiosity wins. To her, I'm merely a subhuman asking stupid stuff, right?
"Wait!" I call, tugging on her dress as she heads for the door.
She stops in her tracks right before the doorstep, giving me a look that suggests she's listening.
"What are those... called? The sharp things, I mean. How do they make me feel better after momentary pain?"
She doesn't answer. Instead, she smirks, jerking her dress out of my grasp.