Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

This was still her first attempt upon conjuring a spell but it was, a lot, harder than she thought. Somewhere within her, in her torso lied mysterious jolts and chills that coalesced, now drained towards her fingertips.

Within the distance, she saw how the sphere increased in size, creating a small vortex of wind around it, her hair stood on its end as she realized what she deemed amiss.

'Shit! How do I freaking stop this—' Her eyes widened, reflecting the image of the cracking ice.

The moment its brilliance cast a glow on the room with its impending doom, out of instinct, she looked away with eyes shut from the crisp sound akin to shattered glass, afraid of getting herself in danger.

Her skin could feel the bits of ice that almost swathed her skin, not one bit did she hiss from pain.

It took her a few moments to muster up the courage to look at what she had done.

'That. Wasn't. Fun. At. All.' Nathalie bit her lip.

Now that she could finally interact in this fantasy world from the lucid dreams she had ever since, it was rather easier said than done.

'I'm somehow scared to use this power.'

But there were more issues that pressed on her as soon as her eyes landed on her manuscript.

The only way for her to determine and assess the situation was to learn the current timeline and possibly change the route of her life.

Nathalie had to take her words in good faith, but it was interrupted when she sensed a svelte silhouette that brisked from the hallway now got close to her door.

'A trespasser?!'

Everything happened in a blink of an eye; upon opening the door, she lashed out a shard of an icicle that flew close to the maid's cheek before piercing the wooden surface.

'Oh shit!'

The maid had her body convulsed, and her face paled and devoid with vigor when her life was on the line.

'Oh no! Wrong move! I need to rope people to my side.' Then she remembered how Mystique would communicate most of the time.

It was as though her body acted on its own; her glaring eyes gleamed and caught the maid's attention once more.

Raising her finger, she wrote the words she wanted to convey, leaving a trail of mesmerizing ice flurries before vanishing into thin air.

[You! Over there!]

The fellow maid flinched and screamed from her calls. She turned around with eyes wide open, dropping the clothes.

"Y—Your Grace!" She was trembling and peering downwards; the clothes fell in one swoop. As a maid that she was, she wanted to do so, but Nathalie beckoned her again.

[Come here.]

Once she got closer, Nathalie wanted to write again when the maid groveled against the cold floor as though pleading for her life. This had taken her aback, but she had to act accordingly.

[Answer my question, and I shall set you free.]

Nathalie looked at her, from her freckles that splashed across those beige cheeks and the coral eyes that had great contrast from her teal braided pigtail.

All she remembered was just a short note that described her character, aside from the memorable appearance that she wrote for this girl, who would be one of the greatest pawns of Mystique Blackwell.

Within the Grand Duchy Blackwell, Iris Melbourne, a countess from a distant town in her territory, was one of the personnel that involved intricate plots and sinister plans for Mystique's bidding.

Then again, she ought to have some reservations with this pawn in her hands and served Mystique's arch-nemesis, who stayed in such leisure at the Royal Capital.

The maid nodded ceaselessly and didn't dare to stare at her cold gaze. It was just their first meeting, at least for Nathalie, but the lowly servant acted with dread and wanted none but to survive.

Her body twitched so bad, which made Nathalie wonder if it was that one attempt that the maid did that sealed Mystique's body to rest.

Only she could tell when she got to ask the current timeline.

So much so she wanted to ask for some information; it would be safe to keep it low and assess the situation at hand.

[What date is it?]

Iris looked up, gulping hard before mustering the courage to talk. "It's the 1st day of January…"

[Why the hesitation?]

"Your Grace, it's the first year of the 18th century…"

'No way!'

She already got the gist of what she was in already.

A lot of events happened, one of which already entailed the reaction of Iris, who was almost caught red-handed with her actions.

'Since she's still working with Athan, might as well go with the flow. Bring your friends to close, bring your enemies closer.'

Nathalie only glanced, but it was a beam that had Iris kissing the cold, polished floor while her body trembled as though she was just outside, paying respects amidst the cold, harsh storm.

She then scurried over to the bed and went on her manuscript. She was flipping the pages again as her gaze wandered from left to right.

Immersing herself for a couple of minutes, unbeknownst to her, a series of thuds trampled outside grew stronger like a stampede in her ears. Only at proximity, she took notice.

'Huh? What is this earthquake?'

Nathalie arched her neck after the large door creaked and saw a couple of butlers, maids, and even knights on duty present and lingered behind some prominent figures.

From their gallant statures, outfits, and their get-up, she could somehow discern them.

Prominent figures and characters belong to the House of Blackwell.

Silence loomed before them, but to her, she continued her intense look. Before she could scrutinize them one by one, a young man stepped forward among the crowd.

In that moment, it was as though someone dropped the bomb for her to accept the fatal surprise.

"Your Grace, you're awake at long last." Thereon, he was on a bent knee and gestured a bow.

The man in front of him bore great resemblance, of who else she could think of at the moment.

Nathalie got rooted, lips parted as she was unable to speak.

'Jonathan?'