Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

In the large bed, Athan laid down sideways with his elbows propped, hands cupping his chin. His gaze had yet to avert from the peaceful countenance Mystique was in her bed.

'Look at this woman, only if she didn't have any crazy and heinous ideas, she would've been the fairest lady of them all,' he pondered while having a low chuckle.

He began to play with her hair by slipping them right between his fingers.

It has been a while since he never felt so good with how his body coped up—far better than he was; a rejuvenated side of him bloomed so fresh.

There was no ounce of fatigue in him. The sore that once invaded his body, stacking tons of pain after another, vanished into thin air.

At the same time, his mind unwinded and steered clear from small nuisances.

'Has the curse lifted already?' The corner of his lips quirked up a tad bit from the glimmer of hope that he realized.

It was hard to admit that she still managed to captivate his heart even with her nasty personality. Her beauty alone was every woman would be, and every man would covet. If not for the bigger picture that awaited him from afar, then he would've fallen into the same trap ever again.

It sparked hope in him; perhaps, he could change her.

For whatever it would take him to get there, he more than was willing to try.

"You've been staring at me this whole time…" 

Mystique's words, all of a sudden, had him stop fussing her hair. 

"My bad," he replied. Hand slowly let go of her and rested onto the warm quilt that covered up to their chests. "I thought that I was too captivated."

"Quite the choice of words." She snuggled to the side, facing away from him.

"Do you really have to turn your back at me?"

Mystique paused before her low hums echoed in his ears.

Taking a glance at her shoulder that reflected off silver glints from the window's moonlight, he pursed his lip. The fresh red and soft swell—almost like a conjoined hickey— from his mark that was still on her neck.

"So," Athan cleared his throat. "You were barred from joining the Auctio Royale?"

She nodded again.

"I've heard that Edmund denied your requests…." He trailed off his voice as he tried his best not to trip on a landmine; the lady on the bed with him was already crazy enough in a calm state. "Would you prefer it telling me what I know before yours?"

She nodded again, but this time, she turned around with a pleading gaze in her eyes.

'...Just how can I fucking refuse her with that look?'

Athan admitted what he knew.

This made her sprung up the bed, eyes and mouth agape, hissing, "What?! Who?!"

"Nathan Kiel Forsberg, you don't know him?"

She shook her head.

"Have you seen him the past few days visiting there?"

Again with a negative response.

Though it was time to test her.

"That's weird… I thought you knew him..." he said implicatively enough to probe her thoughts about his identity.

[No, who is he even?]

Athan's eyes widened; indeed, they were on the same page.

Both of them were in the future and never knew who this person was…

[You?]

"No."

Mystique also had the same reaction.

But Athan knew he wasn't the enemy, or perhaps a new entry of villain. It was still early to know after all.

'Time to test her again.'

Athan queried from his chin on her head. "You can pretty much talk nowadays, right?"

After which, she raised her hand, sighing, and began to scribble through midair.

[Talking uses more mana than what I intended to use, so no.]

'Which is true…' He smirked from the thought with the lifetime curse she had; now, her mana source would be him already. 

For a while, he narrowed down his eyes from such quick responses. Athan already knew that she was the last one of her kind: the merfolk.

One of the strongest creatures that ever dwelled in the Dysnomia Empire, residing in the Southern Territory. Their high affinity for water and their alluring voice made it hard for invaders to attack the south.

From the beginning of the Empires' foundations, outbreaks of war were fairly common until they reached the point of great bloodshed. Sacrifices made of the common good, and a lot of lives have been lost—unfortunately, it was time for the merfolks to go and knock at death's door.

The pure-blooded descendants of the true merfolk may have vanished for eternity; they left a great mark as the sign they continued to live on.

At the expense of their blood and souls, a curse was born: The Thousand Isles.

The memory was still so fresh from his mind, to learn the deepest secrets buried deep in the Starbrooke Castle. There was more to it; how deeply rooted Mystique's origin was to the Southern Territory, than the Northern.

Her newly profound powers and abilities, in a short amount of time, she mastered them, and as much as he tried to know about her, it was already too late.

Now, he finally got the chance; with a conclusion, she got a second wind; like him, it was time to work together.

'She needs me; I need her, perfect combination—'

But he furrowed his eyebrows when she deemed fine; he knew the curse would occur monthly—at an interval, yet there was nothing wrong with her—but then Keith crossed his mind and made him click his tongue.

[What?]

"Do you still need that loyal d—knight of yours?" he asked, and Mystique turned around, glaring at him. Suddenly, a sharp pain bloomed his firm arm from the pinch. "The hell—that hurt, a little…."

[Of course, I do, he's there when I needed him the most.] She huffed. [Don't get the wrong idea, you have Lady Veronica, right?]

Reality swept over him; he acknowledged how he treated Veronica before and after their marriage. 

He wanted to make things right, and now that it wasn't too late. He knew what he wanted.

Athan and Veronica...

[—I know it's a subverted arranged marriage, don't worry.] Mystique then pinched his cheek and scurried to the edge of the bed.

"Where're you going?"

[I'm leaving, duh.] She rolled her eyes. 

"What about me?"

He was almost pleading with himself, body rooted and tensed as he awaited her response. 

"What are we?"

Hoping things would be better for them.

But his world crumbled when her hatred was real, and the grudge was deep.

[What are we? A mutual symbiotic—Just hand over the contract.]