The Villainess' Play

Ch3.

The grand theatre that we stood in, vanishes with the bright light.
Aisa the strange goddess no longer in sight, only Casmil and I are alone.

The candles all blown out within a swift second, the theatre transforms.
The theatre we once stood in—gone. The large auditorium now changed into a small theatre. The colours of the room turned into a shades of silver and white. The once gilded walls and floors, now changed into pristine white marble walls. Iridescent sparks of light flash by the room.

Casmil's unbothered attitude towards them puts me to ease as I realize they're probably safe. Watching as he walks towards the white stage, I follow far behind him in awe. The curtains now replaced with an ethereal waterfall. At the base of the waterfall stands a low height fountain made from cream stone and intricate detailing.
The waterfall being so gentle, the water's surface remains still—not even a ripple or splash to be found.

Glancing around the room, the only thing that remained the same—the grand golden doors we entered from, securely closed.

"Where did Aisa go?" I ask, looking around the empty room.
"She has other duties. This is a small speck of dust in her schedule, so I'll be the one helping you." Casmil says, stretching his neck.

He simply stares into the reflection of the water.
Following suit, I glance at the water. The water so clear it becomes a mirror.
My hair soft and cleaned up, my eyes appearing puffy from when I had cried. My eyes falter, glancing at Casmil's reflection.
His clothing and silver mask reflected onto the water—but his vibrant golden eyes don't show.
Uneasiness falls over me as I glance at the man who stands next to me. His eyes glistening from the water's light, and back at his reflection that shows a mask with dark voids in the eyes.

Worried about staring too much, I turn. My eyes glancing at the golden doors behind us.

"If you want a way out, that's the exit." Casmil speaks up, sensing my curiosity.
"The exit to where?"
"Asphodel."
"What's Asphodel?"

His eyes slanting—hinting a small smirk under his mask—simply giving an admiring look at the elegantly framed golden doors.
"It's the place you'll go if you fail your deal. It's the place between life and death, but the gods have named it Asphodel." His tone is relaxed, yet surprisingly has an unexpected chilling undertone.

Small shivers rush down my spine as I notice his eyes focus back to me.
His brilliant golden eyes sharp, almost resembling the calculating eyes of the prince, yet they hide behind the appearance of smiling kind eyes.

"If I go through those doors, I'll be gone forever?" I ask, my back straightening more as I try to gain my composure from his watchful gaze.
"You made a deal, if you can't hold up your end than you'll go. Most mortals can't handle rewatching their lives, since most of them lived cruel lives like you. Even when knowing it's been written, you'll still find it difficult to break from who you've become. If you feel like it's impossible to change and hold your end of the deal, the door's right there." Casmil turns, holding his hand up to the waterfall.

Clenching my jaw. I simply do my best to ignore his rude comment.
Even if I know it's the way I am, I set my ego aside—especially when he could throw me out those doors any second.

"Apart of the deal, you only get three chances. However, the chances can't be used right before your death."
"If I did, wouldn't it benefit your cause if I avoided the same death, however I could?"
"It would, but that's not the purpose of this."
"So, there's more rules?" I can't help but scoff.
"You're trying to change your fate, what good is it if you remain the same as the first life? It'll only repeat your ending."
"Even if I escape the day I get killed?"
"You mortals are too slow. When it happens, doesn't matter. The only thing that hag cared about, is how you're killed by the prince. It can happen anytime, and it doesn't matter if it's sooner or years later than initially."
Casmil's stare frightens me slightly as he easily speaks about my death.

Maybe his unbiased view is optimal for escaping my fate, but his rude tone of speaking to a princess irritates me beyond belief.
Keeping my composure I stare back at his perceptive eyes.

"Wouldn't it be changing the course, if I used all three before the incident even happens?" I question.
"No. While we're here watching, your 'original self' will be following how your first life went."
"My original self?"
"You're here because your death happened. The version we're watching, is you from your first life."
"And? What about my original self matters?"
"She's following the timeline. If you use your chances too late, there'll be no effect. The empire and your family would already have gained the discontent they had for you in your first life. By then, the 'original you' would have bared enough fangs to deserve execution."
"Is there a chance you'll help me decide when to use my chances?"
"I'll discuss with you, however I can not interfere and direct you to the answer that'd be optimal. This is your chance to live again, nobody else should interfere or write your new life."
"I see."
"We can stop at any time if you need a moment to think. Only remember it well, you can't use your chances in a row. You can only use one chance in one day period."
"Okay, I understand." I obediently nod, hoping my agreeance with him will make his annoying nagging cease.
"If you're ready then let's start, we have a lot to go through."

His fingertips graze the water causing ripples to spread down the wall, a bright light emerges causing an image to form.
My eyes widen as I see the image of a woman struggling to give birth. The room is old and dusty, even spiderwebs in the corners of the room, and a chipped old wooden bed.

"What is this?..." I ask.
"Isn't it obvious? It's your birth."
"My birth? There's no way the archduke's princess would ever be born in a lowly dump like that, this is a mistake-" My voice trembles slightly as I stare at the image.
"Get off your high horse Princess. This is your life we're looking at. If this is the beginning, then it's not a mistake you were born in some dirty dump like this."

I can't help but keep my eyes on the image.
The woman sweating in pain as she tries pushing. A maid assists her with a doctor in a stained and ragged coat.
The woman is beautiful. Her eyes a beautiful shade of red, her white-blonde hair glistening from the candles that light the room.
Suddenly, infant cries wail throughout the room. The doctor hands the wrapped child to the mother.

"This is a mistake! That goddess Aisa must have done something! I was born in the archduchy, this is not my life!-"

Before I can register what's happened, Casmil grips my jaw, his clear golden eyes piercing back into mine with a tense glare.

"Didn't you hear me? This is your life. You opened the door, so this is your auditorium. It's connected to your fate, your life. If you want to hold up your end of the deal, I suggest you stop that incessant whining, and get off your high horse to accept what you're seeing." Casmil's voice is aggressive yet feigned as he holds back his annoyance, "The goddess would never make a mistake like this. She has no need to ruin your story we watch."
"Okay." I reply, taken aback with his harsh actions.

His eyes curl, almost like a smile as he releases my jaw. He turns back to the waterfall, watching the scenes play out.
Hesitantly I stand beside him, watching it too.

Just like a play, I watch as the moments speed up.
Days after my birth, my 'mother' carries me to a gate.

"That's the entry gate... But, why?" I whisper.
"Don't forget your goal." Casmil interjects, "Pay close attention and decide what moments you want to change."
"Even when I'm just a baby?"
"You could do a lot to determine your fate. Even if you're a small infant, you could do a lot to change the future effect of your life."

The scene plays as I watch my mother hiding her face in a cloak. Attaching a note to the ripped, rag-like blanket, she lays me on the grass.

"What? What is she doing?-"

My question is answered as I watch her disappear into the night, without even glancing back.
The infant simply sleeps in the grass, unable to even open her eyes. The dark cold autumn night passes until the sunrises.
The infant's lips blue, she doesn't cry even after being left outside overnight.
I simply watch in horror as the child begins to stir, the cold dew of the grass grazing the child's cheek, waking her. The child begins to wail, tears dripping down her bright red frosted cheeks.