The Villainess is the Villainess [Otome Isekai LitRPG]

Book 3: Chapter 1 - A Place of Memories [Part 1]

- Rosa Parks.

The young girl moved quietly through the woods, gathering herbs and picking nuts beneath the dappled light of the late autumn sun. Gold leaves danced in the breeze around her, framing the forest in glory before winter’s hush. She had a gift for this kind of work, it seemed. Her hands were skilled and dextrous, moving as if by instinct to find whatever it was she was looking for. Half the time, she didn’t even have to look; the plants she wished for seemingly appeared in her hands. Housework, however, was another matter entirely, and her attempts at cooking were little short of catastrophic.

Still, this was the least she could do for Levine and his father.

The beautiful girl hummed a soft tune as she worked, and soon her voice lifted into song. It was a simple melody, but rich with something deeper—something that stirred the quiet soul of the forest. Her notes twined through the trees like sunlight through branches, warm and inviting.

Birds fluttered down to perch along the low-hanging limbs above her, their heads cocked to better hear her song. Squirrels paused in their foraging, inching closer with twitching tails. A timid fox crept from behind a mossy log, its amber eyes wide with cautious wonder. Then came more—a pair of plump rabbits, a sleek brown weasel, even a young fawn stepping gently through the underbrush as though drawn by some ancient instinct.

The girl giggled softly, crouching down and extending her hand.

The fox reached her first, brushing its narrow snout against her fingers, only to be bumped aside by an eager squirrel who clambered up her arm with no shame whatsoever. The birds chirped in a chorus, fluttering close enough for her to stroke their tiny heads. One rabbit nudged her knee, demanding attention with impatient thumps of its hind foot.

“Oh, you’re all so greedy,” she said, laughing as she scratched the fawn behind its ear and gave the jealous fox another affectionate stroke. The animals crowded around her in a gentle flurry of fur, feathers, and bright, curious eyes, each one angling for her touch, her warmth, her approval.

For a moment, she sat among them like a young forest queen, radiant and serene. The forest—alive, watching—seemed to pause with her.

The girl smiled faintly. Yes, this was the least she could do for the family who had pulled her half-dead from the river’s grasp. But as the creatures nestled close and the sun dappled her golden hair, she felt, if only for a moment, like she belonged—not just to the village, but to the world itself. She had a feeling that part of her, at least, had never quite felt at home in this world.

They had fed her, clothed her, nursed her broken body back from the edge. Levine’s family was not poor, but still, relying on their kindness left a bitter taste in her mouth. Something in her rebelled at the idea of being a burden.

She ran a hand through her short-cropped blonde hair—an oddity in these parts, though she wasn’t sure how she knew that. Why had she cut it? She had asked herself that question a hundred times, yet the answer always slipped through her fingers like water. The memory was gone, washed away with so many others.

The river had taken more than her strength that day. It had stolen her past, leaving only fragments behind—whispers at the edge of waking, colors too bright to name. Gold and rose-pink. Two titans that loomed in the shadows of her forgotten life.

The young girl had reached for them again and again, but they were like mist—vanishing the moment she tried to hold them. She sighed. Her basket, she realized, was now full—mushrooms, nuts, bundles of edible grass. Her hands had worked on their own while her thoughts wandered.

The animals rose as she did, their eyes following her as she stepped out of the woods and onto the well-worn path toward Milani Village. They lingered at the treeline, silent sentinels of fur and feather.

The girl skipped along the path, careful not to spill her gathered harvest. A little further up, she spotted old Grena kneeling by the mossy stone wall that marked the edge of the village, stacking fallen stones with stiff determination.

“Hello, Grena!” Mina called, her voice light and bright, like sunshine breaking through the trees.

The old woman glanced up and offered a crooked grin. “Ah, good day to you, too, Mina. Lovely weather, eh? Been off collecting Kali nuts again?”

Mina nodded cheerfully. “Yes, I thought they’d be perfect for the Soutirers stew Levine’s father is making.”

A shadow flickered across her heart. Mina. That name had once belonged to Levine’s older sister—a child who had died many, many years ago. Levine’s father, Gaellan, had given the name to her, and at first she had accepted it without thought. Now, she wasn’t so sure. The meaning behind it unsettled her. Was she a replacement? A memory given flesh?

“Pah,” Grena scoffed. “Gaellan’s stew is a disgrace. That madman adds honey like it’s going out of fashion. That makes it more a dessert than anything. If you want real Soutirers stew, come by my place sometime.”

“I will, I promise,” Mina laughed. “But I’ve got to run. See you later!”

“Off with you then, girl. Hah! You’re a pretty one, just like I was at your age. I can see why that Levine lad’s sweet on you. Oh—Arnell’s been looking for you. Wants help at the smithy when you’ve got a moment.”

Another thread that bound her to this place.

Mina paused for just a moment as she walked. The village needed her. She mattered here. In small but tangible ways, she made a difference.

And then there was Levine.

What had begun as simple gratitude had begun to change. She had started noticing the strength in his shoulders, the softness in his voice when he spoke to her. It made her heart flutter—and ache. The warmth of it both frightened and thrilled her.

Yet something inside her remained unsettled. As much as she wanted to forget, a deeper part of her longed to remember. The past called to her, even as it eluded her. And until she found the missing pieces, she would never truly feel whole.

Mina looked back over her shoulder at the forest’s edge, where the animals still watched. Then she turned and continued down the path, the weight of her harvest in her arms, and a far heavier burden tucked silently behind her smile.

***

Milani Village stirred gently under the soft cloak of early evening, and as Mina made her way through its winding paths and cobbled lanes, heads turned, one after another.

Men paused in their work, their tools stilling midair. One baker, arms dusted white with flour, stared for too long. His wife caught the look and smacked his shoulder with a rolled apron. “Eyes front, fool,” she scolded. The man blushed and resumed kneading his dough, eyes firmly on the bread.

Young boys who had once run barefoot and wild now stammered awkward greetings when she passed. One tried to bow, then tripped over his own feet and went sprawling in the dirt. Mina knelt to help him up, her laughter light and musical. His face turned crimson, and his friends hooted in glee.

Women smiled when they saw her. Old seamstresses waved from their stoops, and girls her age called out kind words as she passed. No jealousy clung to them—only affection, the kind reserved for someone who brought something rare to their lives. Mina had become, quite by accident, a kind of sunshine in the village. Something healing. Something beautiful.

She walked with a small skip in her step, the weight of the forest’s bounty cradled in her arms, and made for the smithy.

Arnell’s forge stood just outside the heart of the village, where the clang of iron wouldn’t disturb the infants or the elderly. Smoke coiled from the chimney in lazy spirals, and the rhythmic hammering of steel echoed from within. The scent of iron and hot straw hung thick in the air.

Arnell was a man shaped like a bear—broad-chested and thick with muscle, his beard tangled and black, his voice a rumble. He stood in front of the smithy now, wrestling with a fractious horse that tossed its head and snorted in agitation.

“Whoa there, Ember! Easy, girl!” Arnell barked, trying to calm the beast as it backed and kicked against the post. The mare’s eyes rolled white with fear, and her flanks shivered like taut cords.

Mina stepped forward, not afraid. “Hello, Ember,” she said softly, ignoring Arnell’s surprised glance. She moved with the same gentle instinct she used in the woods.

She reached out and touched the horse’s muzzle, letting her palm rest there. Her voice dropped to a whisper, singing something low and wordless. Within moments, the mare’s ears flicked forward, and her trembling slowed. She let out a long, sighing breath, pressing her nose into Mina’s chest.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Arnell muttered, eyes wide with disbelief. “She won’t even let my boy near her when she’s like this.”

“She was just scared,” Mina replied, stroking Ember’s neck. “She needed to feel safe.”

Arnell grunted, impressed. “You’re somethin’ else, girl.”

With the mare calm, Arnell bent to his task. Mina helped—holding the tools steady, keeping Ember still as he pried off the old iron shoes and fitted new ones. Sparks flew, metal hissed in the water trough, and the sun began to dip below the thatched rooftops of Milani. When the job was done, the mare stood comfortably, nuzzling Mina one last time before trotting off to her stall.

Arnell wiped sweat from his brow and took the bundle of herbs and nuts she offered with a grateful grunt. “Much appreciated, lass. Ember’s got a taste for those grass pods you pick.”

“I thought she might,” Mina smiled. “They calm her stomach.”

Arnell paused, then looked at her sideways, his tone light but probing. “By the way… what do you think of my son, then? Vito?”

Mina blinked. Vito was kind. Always polite. But his voice lacked the softness that made her heart flutter. His presence did not stir anything inside her.

“He’s a very nice boy,” she said gently, her voice carefully neutral.

Arnell raised an eyebrow. “Just nice, huh?”

Mina offered him a bright smile and dipped her head. “Thank you again for letting me help, Arnell. I should be heading back. Gaellan will be wondering where I’ve wandered off to.”

Arnell chuckled and stepped aside. “Anytime, girl. And tell that fool Gaellan that he still owes me ten silver, eh?”

Mina laughed, then turned and walked down the path leading back to the village center. The sun was fading now, spilling the sky with streaks of crimson and amber. As she walked, a breeze tugged at her short hair, and she caught the distant scent of something sweet.

She quickened her pace, but a flicker of unease stirred beneath her ribs.

Mina was smiling, yes. But some part of her still felt hollow, as if she were walking in borrowed shoes and wearing someone else’s name.