Chapter 2

Warm blood dripped between Eris’s fingers, staining the rug beneath her. The metallic taste lingered on her tongue, sharp and nauseating. She forced herself to breathe, though each inhale felt like dragging glass into her lungs.

What kind of world did this to people?

What kind of curse punished a simple lie with *blood*?

“Lady Marie?” the maid called through the door again, her voice wavering. “Are you… alright?”

Eris wiped her mouth with the back of her trembling hand. Her mind raced. She couldn’t speak the truth—no one here would believe she wasn’t Marie. But she clearly couldn’t lie either.

She needed time. She needed silence.

She needed to survive.

“I—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. “I need a moment.”

The maid paused.

“…Of course, my lady.”

Footsteps retreated down the hall, soft and hesitant. Eris sank back against the bedframe, breathing slowly until the burning subsided. Her heart hammered in her borrowed chest.

Marie Margaret.

She was Marie Margaret.

Eris forced herself to stand on shaking legs and approached the mirror again. The girl staring back was stunning, regal even—but her violet eyes trembled with disbelief. Eris reached up and touched the reflection, half-hoping it would ripple and reveal her real face beneath.

It didn’t.

Her surroundings looked exactly like she remembered from the game’s lore posts—the villainess’s infamous bedroom. The chandelier dripping with gems. The velvet canopy. The heavy, ornate furniture carved with serpents and roses.

This wasn’t an illusion.

This wasn’t a dream.

And she wasn’t logged into a VR interface anymore.

A soft chime echoed through the room.

Eris stiffened as the door creaked open without warning.

A tall man stepped inside, dressed in a black uniform trimmed with gold. His dark hair fell loose past his shoulders, and his amber-brown eyes locked onto her immediately—sharp, unblinking, assessing.

Cyril Ravehart.

The crown prince.

Marie Margaret’s fiancé. Well ex-fiancée.

And the man who executed her in every route of the game.

“Marie,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a dangerous undertone. “They said you were unwell.”

Eris’s breath caught.

He approached slowly, like a predator testing the distance before striking. When he reached her, he lowered his head slightly, peering into her face as though searching for something.

“You look… different,” he murmured.

Her stomach twisted.

She forced herself not to step back—not to flinch. His gaze dropped, and she realized too late that he noticed the faint smear of dried blood at the corner of her mouth.

“Were you injured?” His tone remained calm, but something cold flickered in his eyes. “Or is this one of your games?”

Eris shook her head too quickly. His brow arched.

“You know I dislike lies,” he said softly.

Her entire body froze.

If she lied—

She would bleed.

Violently.

Right in front of him.

“I…” Her throat tightened painfully as she thought of a safe answer. “I’m not feeling like myself today.”

That was true—horribly true. The curse didn’t react.

Cyril studied her for another long, chilling moment before he moved closer. Too close. He reached out and tilted her chin up with two fingers.

“Then I will accompany you,” he said decisively. “We have matters to discuss, and your… change in temperament concerns me.”