faeni

I did nothing with my entire life. Literally nothing. Then I died — not saving a cat from a tree heroically, not even struck by Truck-kun — but of a heart attack caused by a BL manga confession scene. Pitiful? Perhaps.

When I begged for a second chance, the gods listened. Or at least, they jeered at me. Instead of returning as a mighty sorcerer or a spoiled heiress, I found myself as a young woman with awful vision in some obscure nobleman's manor house.

My eyesight is so poor I can hardly recognize faces. I trip, blink, and consistently confuse people with chairs (and vice versa). But here's the kicker: I've been reborn as the young stepmother of a future villainess — a child who will grow up to be the "evil empress" in a bestselling romance novel that I used to detest.

And so, with only my half-working eyes, shreds of memory, and sheer obstinacy, I'm going to do something — anything — other than waste this life. Whether that is steering my evil stepdaughter, making it through treacherous noble schemes, or just learning how to walk straight without crashing into a wall.

I've got my chance now. And this time, I won't let it slide through my fuzzy fingers.

The Blind Stepmother Of The Villainess

I was half-snoring, sloppily drooling into my pillow, when I became aware of the door slowly opening.

"Alexendra," said a low, cautious voice.

I sat up with a start, nearly tumbling out of bed. "WHO GOES THERE? Reveal thyself, scoundrel!"

There was a hesitation. Then a sigh so profound that it must have risen from the depth of the sea.

"It's just me," said the Marquis, his voice as if ten years older already from having to contend with me.

I rolled back theatrically, embracing my pillow. "Oh, it's you. Here to read me more hot romance scenes? Because you're horrible at the dramatic declarations."

In place of his typical groggy comeback, I heard a strange noise: a soft whine.

My ears pricked up. I carefully turned towards the blurry shape by the door.

"Marquis… what is that? Is that a ghost? A demon? A very hairy intruder?" I jabbed accusingly with my cane.

He released another protracted sigh (his lungs must be made of iron by now). "It's a dog, Alexendra."

"A… dog?" My voice climbed three octaves.

"Yes. A trained guide dog," he explained, increasingly resigned with every sentence. "She will assist you in navigating safely. Her name is Biscuit."

I was stuck. A dog. An actual, real dog!

Charlotte burst in just then, screeching, "Miss Alex! Miss Alex! Papa brought someone for you!"

With my foggy vision, I could hardly see a wagging tail and two shiny blobs that could possibly be ears.

A wet nose nudged enthusiastically into my palm, followed by a wave of hot, eager panting.

"OH. MY. GODS," I screamed, knocking over my cane and flailing like a child who's just been handed a festival sweet. "SHE'S REAL! SHE'S SO SOFT! CHARLOTTE, I'M TOUCHING A CLOUD!"

Charlotte was laughing so hard that she ended up in a sitting heap on the floor.

Biscuit lapped at my fingers, her tail thwacking my legs with a force that indicated she held a personal grudge against all my previous gloom.

I bent awkwardly down (and almost fell over), feeling my fingers run over her soft fur, her floppy ears, her broad shoulders.

"Look at you!" I cooed, tear drops welling up in my eyes. "You're more dependable than this whole household put together!"

Biscuit replied by bestowing my chin with a large, sloppy kiss.

Later, once the initial whirlwind had died down, the Marquis stood quietly in the doorway, observing me stroke Biscuit with a soft, almost mournful look on his face.

"I thought," he said quietly, "that perhaps… this would make you feel less trapped."

I was a moment too stunned to be sarcastic.

"Marquis…," I started, voice shaking. "You… you actually did something right."

He snorted at that, wheeling away hastily — but not hastily enough for me to miss the relief in the relaxation of his shoulders, as though some weight had been removed.

That evening, Biscuit snuggled up beside my bed, a living, breathing wall of warmth and comfort. Charlotte lingered until she drifted off to sleep, cuddled up against me, her small hand holding onto my sleeve.

For the first time since entering this ridiculous world, I didn't feel like a fractured outsider.

Instead, with a girl laughing like spring rain around me and a dog who loved me before I even knew how to love myself, I felt. nearly complete.

A Tail-Wagging Surprise