Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

'Violette!'

Mystique was alive after the tragedy that befell her.

It was a miracle.

Somewhere deep in Athan's heart, eased like a couple of nails punctured in him, finally plucked out.

But it wasn't as simple as it seemed.

Nero was in her embrace when he found out, and it looked like he was sleeping soundly.

It only brought him more confusion for himself.

But he diverted his attention from it when her voice echoed throughout the glass ceilings and whitestone foundation within the castle's interior.

'Her voice...' Athan had his ears perked up, as much as how alluring her voice was, and it alarmed him the very first-time Mystique uttered such a word.

It was when they reunited, but it was already in the middle of the battlefield. Athan spent his time with her for all this time, from previous lives, never did he once knew about it.

A simple conversation would only communicate through the raw emotions found in her gaze, despite having a statuesque face. If needed, she would have to write them in the grimoire she carried all the time or scribble in the air.

Mystique may be a mute, but the moment she uttered the sounds, it's always her voice that would entice him.

His face began to heat up, remembering the night he had with her before putting her to sleep for good.

He couldn't help but admit he was so much in awe, more so the lady that descended from the stairs.

The silk robe that donned her fluttered with the strut she took, swaying along with her hair that cascaded like waterfalls up to her wide hips.

Upon closer look, she had a youthful yet brimmed with strong feminine features—from her captivating indigo eyes, alabaster skin, and to her luscious matte lips. His jaws went rigid because of her, trying to cool down the rising temperature, his body reacted.

Athan had to restrain himself, not after all he did to her, and with her father around, almost trying to skin him alive.

Although he caught the sudden shift of her face, genuinely surprised to see him.

'I wonder why she is surprised? Moreover, what am I getting nervous about?' He gazed—downwards, with his fist slowly lost to muster strength from within.

But his train of thoughts interrupted when Arnold was livid, the streaks of vein etched around his neck as he looked at her.

"Mystique! Didn't we have a deal already?!"

[Father,] Mystique beckoned; she held his hand, rubbing gently to somehow ease the anger he had. [I think we should take this opportunity, for he came here all by himself.]

"What if he would harm you?!"

Athan kept a straight face, but he couldn't help but flinch every time. His anger was no different from his father, the Emperor.

[If he did, he would have done it already. Look at me, right beside you—almost healthy and well, am I not?]

The corner of his lips quirked up a little.

Arnold always had a soft spot for her, that he covered his face and groaned aloud. It was clear as day how frustrated he became.

"My Mysti, I don't know why you came here when I told you I could handle this, but…" Arnold leered at Athan. "Now that she's here, you may now go—" Then he got interrupted when Mystique nudged his waist.

[Greetings, Your Highness.] She bowed with grace.

"Greetings, My Lady." Athan, as a sign of courtesy between aristocrats, was on bended knee and took her hand. When he was about to kiss the back of his hand, a white-gloved halted his advances, a thin sheet of ice crawled his skin. It was akin to shedding his skin to pieces.

He shut his eyes, grunted from the acute pain when Mystique halted his father.

[Last warning…]

Arnold stared at her in disbelief, stuttering as he wanted to defend himself, but dropped his shoulders while he let out a deep sigh.

Meanwhile, Athan knew he didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble that he just stood and gave a curt bow.

"I'm glad that you're living well throughout these days, Violette." He glanced at her once more; inevitably so, he saw the glimpse of her future self as she aged like a fine wine.

Except for her eyes that gazed at him, a myriad of emotions glinted.

From her eyes that once filled with desire and affection, it's different now.

Out of mockery.

Out of contempt.

So many of these emotions, but it didn't let it get to him.

[Indeed. It seemed that 'A lot of things happened, but Father was there for me. Would you like some tea, Your Highness?]

"I admire the hospitality. I would love to, but I'm pretty much fine without it with His Grand Ducal Highness around." He took a jab at Arnold for dropping the noble pretenses.

However, Arnold harrumphed and said, "This might be a long conversation. This was a sudden visit, and we shall take it to the study chamber. I hope you don't mind, but please do help yourself in this humble abode of mine."

'Right, a humble abode that is…' he thought so dryly, looking around—from the lavish ceilings with large arrays of chandeliers, the walls with grand portraits, to the carpeted floors along the polished ceramic floor.

Athan followed them closely, but his eye couldn't take off of Mystique—her slender neck seen.

'Such a distraction, I could feel my fangs protrude and back often…'

He pinched his nose bridge and shut his eyes as he had to focus now that he got this far.

Even Nero, who was asleep, gave him a headache. He had yet to know what happened. But instead of doom that awaited him, it was as though Mystique considered him as her own familiar.

'Should I confront her?'

His thoughts bothered him for a while that he didn't know they have reached one of the study chambers in the castle.

With Arnold opening the doorway, he glared at him.

"A brat like you deserves a beating; be grateful my Mysti is lenient of your actions." he then looked at Mystique. "I shall wait outside. Rest assured, I won't hear a single word."

"I believe in you," Mystique responded. "Your Highness, shall we?" She gestured her hands inside the room.

His thuds echoed right after her soft clacks; he looked around carefully and adored the organized shelves and tidy furniture.

But Mystiques' steps stopped; he heard a creak and a final clinked before he turned around, noticing her deadly gaze. She wrote.

"For old time's sake, one question—one answer, like your life depends on it."