Reincarnated as an Antagonist

Chapter 5 - Worthless Winnie

Claude is back in that damn room again.  The one in the upper right wing of the manor, the one that was forcefully carved into his memory, dirtied and destroyed.

It's painful to look at now that he's aware of what being in this room will lead him to. He's not sure how he even got here in the first place.  But he's here nonetheless, in the same spot just a couple steps from the door he entered from. 

There's no fear or heavy feeling in his chest this time, just a little bit of nervousness that he's always carried with him everywhere.  There's no spike of heart rate as he walks around admiring the mess, if anything his mind is clear. Claude feels more clear than ever.

Everything feels real.  The sharp edges and splinters of the broken bed frame and chair positioned across the room are cold and sharp against his fingertips.  The sheets still soft and ruffled when he drags his hands across them, and the sting of pain in his calf is almost wet when he scraps it against a giant shard of glass he didn't notice.

Missing memories isn't something he's exactly foreign too now, and neither is waking up in strange situations, so this must be real right?  It has to be.

It's the humming that stops him in his tracks again.  A gentle melody that, while quiet, seeming enticing enough to silence thunder. It almost makes him drop right there, but the floor is littered with sharp things that hurt and are just waiting for blood to be spilt.  Claude doesn't want to fall just yet, not so soon at least.  The cut in his calf helps him stay upright despite it aching for him to sit down.

On the wall opposite to the window, there's a big oval mirror with a giant crack going down the right side. A stranger stares back at him when he looks at it.  With light golden hair that split in the middle and a pale somber face.  He looks sick and tired and follows Claude's every move, every blink and every shiver.

This is who he is now.  Who he will be for a long time, hell knows how much longer.

This stranger in the mirror looks more attractive than his previous appearance, yet he misses his old one anyway.  There's no more eye bags and plain forgettable face.  His once black hair is now the color of the sun and although it's shorter and looks cleaner, he misses the feeling of easily and unnoticeably being able to yank on it when he's stressed.  It was weirdly relieving.

His eyes—-maybe the most noticeable thing about him—-are so weird now. Almost disturbing.  With his new scarlet irises that looked like stained blood under moonlight, or the way they make him want to turn away when he looks at himself.  Is this what he looks like now?  Is this actually what other people see when they look at him?

In the mirror there's another person next to him, someone he painfully recognizes.  She's staring blankly at him through the mirror reflection, yet when he looked to his side he still stood alone.

In horror movies this would usually be the part where he looks back at the mirror after confirming that no one is next to him at all and the moment he does stare back at the mirror the reflection would be alone too and everything would be back to normal. That wasn't the case.

Her reflection, was still there. Calmingly, unblinkingly, there. Just humming and standing upright without a care in the world despite her tattered bloodied gown and sickly form.

Claude's mood didn't change like he thought it would. He didn't feel that bone chilling instinct to leave while he still could unlike last time. Honestly, he was just fine, calmly walking around the room. Not a hint of anxiety in him from an outsider's point of view.

The lady in red, Edith, retained her nice little smile and soft closed-mouth singing, and watched him look around. She wasn't being subtle about her fixated staring.