II ※ Blindfolds and Bullsh*t: A Self-Loathing Villain’s Guide to Forced Royal Matchmaking

It's easier to list the few who don't hate me than to name those who do. Almost everyone I know despises me—or, at the very least, resents my existence. The hatred is palpable, like a heavy fog that follows me wherever I go. But the worst of it started five years ago, during that damned day in the great hall. Daisuke, that bastard, stood before a crowd of nobles and commoners alike and declared—loudly, clearly, and with all the venom he could muster—that I had known exactly when and how Avy would die and hadn't warned anyone. His words cut through the air like a blade, echoing off the walls and piercing through whatever fragile peace I had left in my life.

That single accusation destroyed me. From that moment, I wasn't just the daughter of a Duke or the girl with a cursed gift—I became the kingdom's villain. People didn't need proof or context; they had Daisuke's word, and that was enough. Whispers spread like wildfire. The weight of their judgment bore down on me, suffocating and relentless.

Since that day, I haven't taken off my blindfold. Not once.

Avy's death was already a crushing blow—one I doubt I'll ever recover from. The loss carved a hole so deep in me that I'm certain it'll haunt me through every reincarnation to come. But Daisuke's words turned that grief into something far worse. He made me a pariah. No one even bothered to ask if it was true. They simply believed him, because why wouldn't they? He's the Crown Prince, after all. And me? I'm just the cursed daughter of the D'Arcy family, the girl people already whispered about in hushed tones. His accusation only gave them a reason to speak louder.

Even the King and Queen don't like me. They barely tolerate my presence, and only because of my bond with Avy. They know how much she loved me. I think, deep down, they respect that, even if they don't understand it. But respect doesn't mean affection. It doesn't mean forgiveness. If not for Avy's memory, I doubt they'd give me a second thought.

Daisuke, on the other hand, doesn't even bother pretending. His hatred for me is like a living, breathing thing—cold, sharp, and all-consuming. He wears it openly, unapologetically. I'm certain he's counting down the days until he ascends the throne, just so he can order my execution without consequence. And the worst part? He won't even need a valid reason.

His hatred burns as fiercely as my brother Rai's.

And honestly? I don't blame them.

I hate myself too.

Even though I know—deep down—that none of this is my fault, that their anger is misplaced and irrational, I can't stop blaming myself. The guilt is always there, gnawing at me, whispering in the quiet moments that it's all my fault. Because while I might not be responsible for Avy's death, I am guilty of something far worse.

I know what's going to happen to them. All of them. And I can't do a Gods-damned thing to stop it.

Believe me, I've tried. Over and over again, I've tried to change the outcomes. I've fought against fate with every ounce of strength I have, refusing to believe that the future is set in stone. But no matter how hard I fight, no matter how desperately I try to alter the threads of destiny, nothing changes. Not once.

It's like the universe is mocking me. Avy's disease was uncurable, and so too are the fates of everyone around me. No amount of effort or determination can rewrite what's already been written.

If I could rename myself, I'd call myself Desdemona. Gods-damn miserable—that's what I am, through and through. That name would suit me better than the mockery the Oracle bestowed upon me. My name, my title, and the phrase they gave me—it's all one big, cruel joke. A cosmic taunt. A reminder of how utterly powerless I am.

And then, as if my life wasn't already enough of a nightmare, the Royal Family announced their decree.

Every single noblewoman of marriageable age was to travel to Soleil Keeper, where they would begin the selection process for the next Crown Princess—Daisuke's bride.

I didn't even have to hear the details to know this wasn't an opportunity. It was a punishment.

What else could it be?

A twisted, Gods-damned punishment designed specifically for me.

They were forcing me to spend an entire year in the one place I've avoided like the plague since Avy's death. Soleil Keeper, my second home, the place that used to feel like safety and warmth—it's now a house of horrors. Every hallway, every corner screams Avy's name, and now I'm being dragged back there, all for the chance to marry the man who hates me more than anyone else alive.

It's absurd. It's cruel. It's a living nightmare.

Since Avy's death, I've refused to set foot in Soleil Keeper. Just the thought of it is enough to make my chest tighten, my hands shake. But this? There was no escaping it. As the daughter of a Duke—as a Princess by title, even if I'm not part of the Royal Family—I had no choice but to obey.

But that didn't stop me from trying.

I begged my father. Swallowed my pride and pleaded with him to intervene, to find some way to exempt me from this farce. When he ignored me, I wrote directly to the King and Queen, pouring my heart out onto the page, hoping against hope that they would hear me.

They didn't.

I might as well have been screaming into the void for all the good it did me.

And you know what I think? I think Daisuke made sure of it. I think he went out of his way to ensure my name was on that list, just so he could watch me squirm. He wants to see me suffer. Wants to drag me back to that palace and remind me of everything I've lost.

Well, fine.

If he wants me to suffer, I'll let him try.

Even though I hate myself for it, even though I've spent years blaming myself for Avy's death, I refuse to let Daisuke win. He can hate me all he wants. He can glare, and whisper, and plot, but I won't break. Because no matter what he thinks, no matter how much he blames me, I didn't kill Avy. The Rosé disease did.

I needed a plan.

A way to protect myself from what was coming. Everyone else seemed more worried about my survival than I was—worried about the dangers of being trapped in a palace full of people who despise me. But my fear wasn't death. It was failure.

So, I made a decision.

After sixteen years of wearing this blindfold, I decided to take it off. To finally confront the one thing I've been running from my entire life: my own death.

I would look in the mirror. I would see when and how I'm going to die.

But what I saw wasn't what I expected. It wasn't something I could prepare for.

It wasn't something I could accept.