Wallflower Villainess

Prologue

A woman tended to the season's growth with weary hands that spoke of labor. The morning air slid past her with a lonely chill. Her hair was not visible, covered by a veil. She wore a long black tunic that covered her entire body, dull gray eyes watching listlessly as she dug weeds from the soil. 

She seemed to be half-conscious, unaware of her surroundings. She didn't hear anything. Not even the sound of footsteps approaching her from behind. 

Perhaps she did hear, and simply made no move to turn her head.

When an arm reached out from behind, driving a shining dagger into her chest, the woman only gurgled. Her voice cracked, as if her vocal cords had deteriorated from years of unuse, rendering her unable to scream.

She fell forward.

Then, she turned her head, as if she'd finally decided to look at the one who'd stabbed her. But a boot forced her head back into the dirt.

She lay in a pool of her blood, a gushing red that tainted the pure atmosphere of the convent she served. She didn't do so much as flinch in pain. As her consciousness sluggishly seeped out of the wound on her chest, her senses faded. Even the strong scent of iron in the air slipped from her mental grasp. But she could still hear quiet muttering from her assailant who stood over her bloody body.

"Such a waste, Celine. You could have had it all."

Celine, distantly, could hear the smile behind the soft voice, jeering.

"If only you weren't so naive."

As she bled out, Celine did not cry. Her tears had long dried.

The day Celine Aquitania died was not the day she lost everything. it was merely the final, inevitable stroke in a tragedy that had begun long before.