Summary
From birth, I was cast as the villainess’s daughter in a story I never chose. My mother, imprisoned for her crimes, faced a grim fate at the hands of the heroes. As I held her worn hand, I whispered, “I understand. Just rest.” She closed her eyes for the last time, and with her death, my own execution was set for the following night. The tale was meant to continue with the protagonists’ triumph, but I won’t accept this ending. If my time is short, I’ll reshape the narrative myself. Fear won’t stop me—this story isn’t over yet.