I was Born the Unloved Twin

Exertion.

Cold air.

The hard pound of clean dirt, chalk lines. The not-too-harsh sun beat down, slowly warming the earth of its freezing chill. It's the mark of good clear weather despite the gloomy wind of winter.

Overall it's a lovely day today to punish Father.

That is if he was even here!

A business trip? A sudden business trip?! More like a trip down bullshit lane! Now of all times? What sort of excuse is this?

Where is that villain so I can give him a beating?!

Thus, for now, my frustrations can only be expressed in the pain of my little limbs and lungs. Running through the tortures of strength training and kiddy obstacle courses at the troops.

Huff huff let's go!

Buff baby, tough baby, gonna be a badass little girl! Let's make those smacks more effective. Something to actually cower under!

"My pumpkin's gotten so HEALTHY! Oh, I'm so proud! We can increase the difficulty of the obstacles." Grampa switches between embarrassing me and giving orders to torture me in the stands.

Why are there actual stands outside my kiddy obstacle course?

Before people would stand around and coo, yes. But now, there are real barriers and viewing benches? Layers of them? Is there even a splash zone if the different colored first row benches mean something? Why?

How official. It feels very exploiting.

"I don't know if that's a good idea." Uncle Geoff stands with his arms crossed, mildly concerned.

It's been a long time. I have not personally seen him up close for a while, thankfully he doesn't look suddenly much older from stress or anything. At least not yet.

Grandpa's quivering ċhėst and shoulders puffing up to make himself even bigger, glaring up with his unconvincing teary cow eyes. Old uncle Geoff squints down at him and leans away instinctively. Lest my Grampa starts crying crazy on him.

I wonder how many decades it takes to get that used to someone like Grampa.

"Rosalia is doing wonderful, I have no doubts about her youthful hops, drops, and rolls anywhere. It's the….obstacle course…. and the troop members I'm worried about….using the course after hours…." Uncle Geoff admits.

"Roll Rosa! Roll! Dodge!" Grampa shouts out, changing topics far too quickly.

I was distracted just enough by their talks, that the swinging sandbag dummies got me. Smack right into my face.

Owie, my nose.

That's what I get for eavesdropping while running the obstacle course. Ow ow ow.

"Ohhhhhhhhh! Awwww!" The surprisingly large but subdued morning crowd reacts to my failure.

The majority of them look as lively as one can be after a night of drinking, revelry, and such nonsense. As if they're bȧrėly blinking alive, some even showing the tell tall traces of a hangover. The steam of their hot soups, fried doughnuts, and thick scary mystery protein shakes makes me feel like cheap entertainment.

Good thing these stands are already here with a perfect view. ...Hey wait ….

"Me too! My turn, my turn!" Lilyanne calls from her place at the start, ready to tag in. The starting point and rest area were oddly renovated and improved.

I sigh and roll-out, too busy nursing my little nose as Grampa pats his hands for me to head over to his part of the stands.

What choice do I have? Defeat is defeat. At least honey 'globi' doughnuts await to comfort me. Keep the fish paste flavored ones away from me.

I hop up, grimacing as Grampa's hand feeds me from his ŀȧp as if they were grapes.

"I said no fish paste one's, Grampa! Mmmmmpf."

Salt is rubbed into the wounds, external and internal. Salty-salty fishy tastes, swimming into my guts.

Right now, Lukas is probably somewhere with Gable, being fed a nice morning meal or tugged along on whatever errands and lessons. Lily is running her turn on the obstacle course, face still a bit sticky from the pastries she's been munching on with the other troopers. Even I'm not doing too bad myself, still the young miss of this place. Still safe under the protection of those who rule.

Father is out on a 'business trip'. Mother is still seeing off guests and cleaning up the afterward of our birthday festival. Grampa is up to general nonsense, again, rolling around the troops finally but more like some senile old man walking his little pet dogs rather than the Lord of anything.

Except Amar and Georgie. Wherever they are.

Some place safe enough, or so I'm told. That's dubious when considering what Grampa, or even this world, considers safe 'enough'. Emphasis on the just enough part.

"Otherwise there would be no point," Grampa had explained.

Then followed up how it might be unexpected, but it wasn't too bad for my Georgie to be an accidental stowaway. Something about a free exotic training trip and what doesn't kill you usually makes you stronger, short of maiming, traumatizing and disabling you for life. Thanks, Grampa.

Grrrr, stupid magical fantasy power trip world.

It's somewhere that I haven't been to obviously. Very far, and where I can't get to easily. So I can't just demand them back. Not very effectively at least. Father's 'business' trip better be the same place on this issue or else. I don't take well to magically disappeared and or dead minions and ȧssistants.

What a headache. Time to chew my depression into silence.

"Go go go puffball! Don't make the same mistakes as your sister, ooooh ouch. But first, you gotta get there! Oh, another hit!" Grampa cheers and comments on Lilyanne's performance run.

We watch as her fat little limbs go. Occasionally, Grampa feeds me a honey glob or a peeled orange slice, then continues his side conversation with uncle Geoff.

Does Grampa probably run a hidden speakeasy tavern somewhere around here? Possibly.

With some stupid numbers to note them off as well, since there's a Third Thirsty goat up north of the vineyard farmlands.

Hmmm though I didn't bother to notice much earlier, especially on my first three runs and fails, there are some new features on there. I just attributed those add-ons or repairs to Grampa. An obstacle course with constantly changing features, good and bad.

But that seems not to be the case?

Are others using my tiny obstacle course too? The way uncle Geoff was talking made it sound like that.

I mean, it's not like I'm so greedy as to ban other people. I just didn't think or realize it was being used by anyone else. Because why would it be? It's so childishly little?

What would any full-grown military-trained ȧduŀt do on a brightly colored children's themed playground obstacle course?

You know what, never mind. Let's not question humanity too much.

Life is much easier when we don't question or even care. Too many minuscule and stressful thoughts. Though in Lilyanne's case, I don't know how many thoughts are even in that pretty little head of hers.

It's not like her minion and personal ȧssistant were poofed out of the country.

The whole damn country. That much I managed to get out of Grampa, not that I managed to intake much in my own messed up sobs. An embarrassing moment of my second life, yes. But I'm pretty sure my entire childhood is supposed to be an embarrassment, one that will be covered over with my villainess reputation once I am of a more intimidating age.

Nothing like a workout to run your thoughts out! I admit I feel a bit less pent up and stressed now.

For now at least.

It may be near impossible to do so, but let's not stress myself out so much already. I have a lot more troubles waiting for me as I grow up.

It's compartmentalizing!

Sorry minions. Please stay well, safe, and thoroughly brainwashed as mine till I can order you all back. Everyone, work hard. I'll be sure to get revenge later, especially when that villain gets back. I still have so much to do here.

Like, focus on the main bad story of my life.

"OWIE!" the future heroine goes flying like a ping pong ball, smacked by multiple swinging dummies in the obstacle course.

Left, right, round and round she goes. That can't be good… But to see the future holy maiden and idol of this world so beaten by mere crash dummies. Oh, how that soothes some primitive and very violent piece of my brain.

Another part of me is oddly proud that her body is strong enough to take such a beating and more. How fat and chubby her little limbs are. A full dumpling of good eating, well raised, and not sickly at all. Oh, what a long way we have come.

Focus on the main story. Focus on Lilyanne, your routes, and all your possible bad ends. How to avoid them.

This is your key to survival, Rosalia. The path to a good safe life.

Not some random side quests that I inadvertently made for myself.

Nothing changes just because I got too comfortable and attached to some useless mob characters.

It has nothing to do with personal feelings. Me relying on, or even befriending anyone.

These people were unrelated to Rosalia Therese Ventrella. A lot of people in my current life are. So it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

Ahhhhrrrg! Who am I kidding!?

I'm so mad, no amount of self reasoning or doughnuts can soothe me! Let me at that villain! Bring me to Father and all responsible parties at once!

"Ronald? Is uh….is your finger....is she drawing blood?" the older man by my Grampa's side tentatively asks in worry.

"Oh, this? This is fiiiiiine, really light compared to my baby girl at this age! What healthy teeth she has!" Grampa waves his free hand. The one that was feeding me wiggles in my mouth.

Huh, I was wondering why I tasted blood. I thought that was just me. Bleck!

I start spitting and crying silently for something to get this nasty out of my mouth since I'm not anywhere near angry enough to be biting anyone to death yet. Especially not Grampa, despite being a man cow, he doesn't taste like beef. Ew ew ew.

"Not used to the taste of fresh warm blood yet? Oh well, kids are more finicky now. Here here pumpkin, drink this out." Grampa holds a very vinegary-smelling cup to my face.

"You can't feed her wine?!" Uncle Geoff yells.

"It's so diluted, practically posca at this point! But if you insist. Hmm, the kitchens gotta have some Kykeon ready. That might work." Grampa swishes but reluctantly puts down the vinegared drink before I vomit all over him.

"WATER!? Water will do!? Anything but what you're asking for?!" Uncle Geoff screams at him from behind.

"It's never too early to start their hero training, she could use some more protein to her diet." Grampa ruminates.

"No!?!!!"

And so I am safely confiscated from my very own Grampa. Stuffed with a little orange and patted on my back to go hit the water fountain or something.

Thank you, uncle Geoff.

I'm not ready to suffer through Grampa's mysterious 'hero' protein drinks again. Please no, not again. One lifetime is enough to know 'never again'. If anything is a reminder to stay a good and out of sight, out-of-mind little girl, it's the threat of Grampa's troop sanctioned "hero" recipes, like kykeon. No no no.

I'm too weak and pathetic right, I can only scurry away for my own life.

So no matter how upset I am at anyone or anything, I have nothing to blame but my own weakness. In both this life and the last one...

The weak don't get to choose how they die. They don't get a say in anything.

I may look like a brooding little child in my short walk to a public fountain. I may look terribly out of place, but I can't help it. How can I stop the thoughts even if I can numb the feelings? As expected, I'm still too lacking in every way.

I expect I was making a sour sort of face, far from intimidating.

I expect that my mood brought about a terrible gloom, my own little rain cloud that hazes over the sun in dark grays and foggy white.

I even account of any trooper watching me in awws and coos of how adorable my pathetic little mochi figure is.

I in no way would have ever expected what would come next.

"Aha! Halt! Halt, you criminal!"

In a shout that could almost rival Lukas, maybe on a bad day, I hear some overly energetic child shout somewhere off in the distance. But you never really know who or what is passing through the troops, so I shrug it off. No one I know and certainly not any of my business.

Until an ȧss came flying at me.

It was not very large, and I only had a split second to register it before my world went painfully dirt floor dark, but it was certainly an ȧss.

OOOMPF?!

And it smells awful!!!?!!

"Running away!? Your terror stops here you criminal! I will stop you and bring JUSTICE back to da world!!!"

A great weight pressed onto me, getting unnaturally heavier at each second. At first, it merely knocked me down, crushing me from the impact of buŧŧ to my head. Then through great discomfort of everything, there's the conscious force of something or someone quite literally pinning me down across various points of my body. Back, neck, legs.

Most importantly, it smells just AWFUL!? ACK!

The physical pain is practically nothing compared to my other experiences but this stench…I can't! How do I turn off my nose? My disgust? Oh dear lord, what is this putrid gas bomb? It's even worse than that time Lily had a stomach ache over too much cheese?

Heeeeeelp!!! Grampa!! Help, something is farting on me!!!

"Stop struggling and accept your defeat! Take this! And this!"

No matter what physical attacks fall on me, nothing seems to get through the smell?! The horror of the ripping gas. It's that terrible disgusting smell, of sulfur and the warnings of the most awful shit, that has me desperately clawing my way to freedom.

It's desperate, it's dirty, it's violent, but I must get away!

"Graaa-!" I start to wiggle out, turning to push or claw.

Anything to get some leverage on whoever was idiotic enough to attack me like this. Me?!

Fine. Fine! It's go time! I was in a bad mood already and this is my go-ahead sign

"Hey wait, criminals can't do that!? OW?! OW!?! This is cheating!" my young attacker screeches as I go smacking and straight for anyone's weak points.

Their pants.

A suicidal plan. But there is no plan. Just me fighting with everything I got. If that means ripping down some pants and clawing through the tender flesh underneath, then I will!

There is no honor in a true fight.

But fighting is never as cool or easy as anyone makes it look. Not counting how squishy and tiny on a playground we must look. The pain is real, as any child who's been in a fight knows. As soon as I get about half of me out of this bad wrestle, my body is once again quickly pinned, twisted or bent. Painfully.

Despite how flexible my small body is, I end up with my arms feeling like they're being dislocated behind my back. That fat condensed weight pressing against them, growing with gravity and strain. As if my arms will break first, then my spine. The sheer power and brute force overwhelm me, even if I grit my teeth and nonexistent magic to do something. Anything.

A large enough limb knocks the left side of my face firmly back into the dirt. I can grittily taste it and a fresh wave of blood, my own this time.

"You can't escape JUSTICE! You-you evil!" the kid screams, with lack of anything better to insult me with, cries of unexpected tears and grievances in his voice.

I could care less, especially when he grinds my head into the ground, scratching up my cheek. His strength, and age, obviously beyond my own. It's much worse than whatever damage I managed to get on him. From the side I can see, I glare up.

A pinhead of a brat.

Head near bald, shaved by worried parents. A rough boy with an ugly missing tooth. The shadows of this compromising angle make his already unclear face look like a toad, a menacing farting toad, croaking down at me.

It means nothing to me, other than looking upon the face of who I'm killing next. I don't know this face, this idiot. But I know I'm going to pay this back, very very generously.

This is not a pleasant position for either of us. Something about my glare, my expression irks him to finally make another move. Keeping careful in fully keeping me trapped with his stupid strength, he unpins a part of his cloak. His intent to throw it over me was like wrapping a body.

But that's not what caught my attention, what actually mattered.

In the scattered sunlight, a ray caught on the metal pin. It shined itself clearly. The shape, the insignia. Something I finally recognized.

A family insignia. House Doukas.

A prominent name even across the seas. A fellow respected military family, with prestige and merit going back generations, producing heroes of war and legends across the continent and beyond. An ally of the courts and our land.

But that's not what matters right now.

Not to me. It doesn't matter how much honor and prestige a family has gathered in the past. Or what merits or work the ȧduŀt members are known for now. It's the one in front of me, pressing me down to the ground.

Unrecognizable in his youth, except for the disgust sneered in his face.

"Don't look at me, witch."

Gregorios Doukas. The more famous and favored second son. The brave. The mighty. The so-called defender of the weak and innocent. A handsome knight in shining armor.

The bastard that held me down the night I died.

Me.

Rosalia Ventrella. A noble lady at a ball, amidst many others, that men like him supposedly are supposed to protect and serve. One that was foolishly too defenseless and careless.

Shadows where they don't belong. Day to night. Everything is too big, too distorted, too wrong.

It's not real. It can't be. It's not. It's not. It's not!

"Accept it already. Your crimes. It's disgusting to mock the innocent. "

Crippling strength, bending my arms behind my back. I'd be lucky if they didn't break, a blooming bruise of a mark was sure to be left. A sharp throb in the back of my neck where I was sorely rough handled. The overbearing pressure above me, all around me.

My knees clattered even through the layers of my fine dress. Silks and soft fabric are no match for the gravity of a forceful drop on marble floors. But the mere physical pain was nothing compared to this insult.

How dare he? How dare they all?

But my words would fall on deaf ears so I bite them back with blood.

They're not worthy of even my breath, let alone my curses. But their thoughts, their judgments, their sentences on me were already set in stone. I could always feel it from the distance in how they judged me. Their pathetic gatherings and whispers are like a pack of rats swarming. How could I not? When they now loomed over me in such a frenzy, in madness, greedy for a bite. Ready to swallow me whole and to the bones.

Their beady eyes and gaudy shadows blurred in a ring of horror. But there was one that was most obviously pressing, quite literally.

After all, he was the one forcing me down to my end.

"Don't look at me, witch." I got in response to even trying to move my head.

A sneer, a warning?

What did it matter? I said nothing but just a look from me brings such fear and disgust. I can't imagine the reactions my bloody smile would incite. From the violent shivers that shook behind me, through his rough hold to imprison… I would suspect it to be fear.

"A witch? You dare to hold down a lady, one of standing that outranks your very own, for this play? This mockery of a witch's trial? What would the public say about the brave and honorable Sir Gregorios? What would your father do?" her voice shudders out, suppressing the anger and fear that bleeds out of her.

It's eerily calm. There is no wind to break through the suffocation in the air. The grand overlooking clocktower ticks on in this fairytale night.

"Silence! You... are no lady. Your spells and trickery have no use here!" his voice booms.

As if this were a battlefield as if this was truly a fair fight.

Maybe it was to one.

The one who would ultimately lose tonight. Not a social battle or a political move, nothing so small. Not anymore.

It's like walking into a bad theater play. The genre was tragedy.

I'm watching a doomed show, living it.

They surrounded me. They used their force on me. Ultimately, unknown at the time, they would kill me.

What....was I supposed to think? To feel?

Nothing maybe?

I wish I could say that?

I wish I was as strong or wise as those before me. Who could keep calm and think my way out? Or even just a tad bit luckier. But there wasn't any of that. I wasn't as smart or powerful as my father or grandfather, nor was I anywhere near as beloved as my mother or sister.

And that's why I died.

I died because I was me.

How unfair. How stupid and unfair.

What was I supposed to do? If you knew you were going to hurt, that it was all just a doomed path of hurt, what would you do? Cry?

I think, not so deep down in me, that's really all that I wanted to do. How useless of me, right?

The great and terrifying villainess Rosalia Ventrella, broken down and crying in her very last moments?

Well….we couldn't have that.

Screams and indignation ripped through the night. The panicked voices of high and mighty noblemen scrambling like common chickens was really something. It's a shame that I couldn't hear it more over the deafening bang I set off.

Like a desperate animal driven into a corner, I had nothing to lose. Whatever magical items and weapons I had hidden in my arsenal were set off. After all, that's what it was for. A lady like me really couldn't be too prepared and I was right.

"How dare you-" ġrȯȧnėd the brute, taken by the surprise attack.

It took a lot of force to blow him off of me, something that I couldn't avoid unscathed. But it was enough, just enough I could escape free.

I really should have just run right there and then without looking back. But I was already doomed to die that night, not that I knew it then. The climax is still building, my end not quite snuffed out.

"Oh? Turning it back on me? Let's see, I am no lady? Then you…are no knight!" I kick dirty, knocking him low.

With our positions reversed, I stomp my whole body weight on him with a strength I wasn't sure I possessed. On his face, his joints, the very weakest point of man. All bets were off.

It was self-defense I reasoned. As the other noblemen running away from the smokey flare were hardly any threats compared to this one. I was merely incapacitating him for my escape.

The sparks of something on his person catching on fire from the earlier attack were a happy coincidence.

In a life and death crisis though, there was no time. After quickly making sure not to stomp out the fire in my wake, I had to go.

I had to run.

But where do you run in the final chapter of your life?

The dark showing continues on, this bad play. This pain. Even if one tries to numb it all, the effects of the body are apparent. Slow and clumsy, adrenaline was the only thing keeping all this moving. I'm going to die and I don't even know it.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

I can't stop watching how I'm going to die. I can't feel it. I don't want to feel it!

Why won't it stop?!!

"Whatcha doing?!"

Just as abruptly as the first time, last time, I don't know when- pain seers through my nose. As if I had hit my face against a brick wall full speed. Whiplash was making everything topsy turvy.