When she came to her senses, Sierra was in a foreign room. There was a woman she didn't know. And some strange infuse-bottle-like with murky liquid above her. She tried to move, but the excuriating pain overwhelmed her.
"Don't move, Kiddo... just let it be. It's medicine. You will feel better in seconds."
"Where?" Sierra felt pain in the throat.
"This is... hospital. It's been two days."
Sierra's mind struggled to catch up. Two days? Had she really been unconscious that long?
Then it hit her.
She was alive.
And the one who had saved her… was not.
A sharp pain clenched in her chest, far worse than the physical agony she felt. Sandra was gone. She really is gone. The memory of her sister's voice echoed in her mind—warm, teasing, always strong. And yet, in the end, even she had been powerless against death.
Her fingers twitched weakly against the stiff sheets. Did she make it back to Cloud and Sunny?
The woman beside her, sensing the shift in her expression, spoke again. "You should rest, kiddo. You lost a lot of blood. Your body's in shock."
Sierra's lips parted, but no words came. What could she even say?
The slow drip of the infusion bottle was the only sound in the room, each drop marking the time she had been given… while Sandra had lost hers.
Sierra's gaze flickered to her bandaged arm, and an uneasy feeling settled in her chest. "What… what will happen to me?" she murmured.
The woman hesitated, then spoke with measured kindness. "Your lost hand… it will take time to recover. At least two years. It'll be uncomfortable, but it's possible."
Sierra exhaled shakily. Two years… It was long, but not forever.
"Magic is wonderful, isn't it?" she whispered, almost to herself. "You can even grow a hand." A faint relief washed over her. Sandra hadn't lied—there was a way to recover.
The woman smiled. "Do you want to learn magic?"
Sierra hesitated, then nodded. "Hm. But… can I?"
"Of course you can! What kind of magic would you like to learn?"
Sierra didn't even need to think. "Anything but ice and fire."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Do you dislike them?"
"Pain," Sierra said simply, frowning.
The woman studied her thoughtfully. "It's almost like you're allergic to your own magic—specifically ice and fire."
Sierra let out a bitter laugh. "Those are the only elements I have."
Her mind wandered, unbidden, to the Sierra of the novel—the villainess whose power had been so immense, even the King had feared her.
Maybe, because I don't intend to be a villain, my magic refuses to protect me, she thought, the absurdity of it twisting into something almost like resentment.
"Well, those powers came to you instinctively, not through learning," the woman said gently. "Until we figure out the reason, you shouldn't use them, okay?"
Before Sierra could respond, a commotion erupted outside the room. The muffled sounds of hurried footsteps and frantic voices grew louder—until the door suddenly burst open.
A heavily pregnant woman stormed in, her presence crackling with barely restrained fury. A noblewoman, with golden hair, flawless skin, and blazing red irises.
"You monster! I should have killed you long ago!" Duchess Broissco's voice rang through the room, thick with rage.
"Milady, please be careful!" her maid cried, hurrying after her.
Sierra stared, dazed.
A mother who had never once embraced her. A mother whose back she had chased after as a child, only to be ignored. A mother who, even as Sierra lay dying, had never looked back.
And yet, the Duchess was breathtaking—beautiful in a way that made Sierra uneasy. She absently wondered what it would've been like to grow up looking like this woman. But the thought felt foreign, unnatural. She preferred her old face—black hair, deep brown eyes, and an unassuming presence. Less dazzling, perhaps, but more real.
She already knew how the future played out. The villainess of the novel was born from a mother like this.
"You only bring misfortune," the Duchess spat, her voice trembling with fury. "The day you were born, my son was kidnapped. Even then, I let you live! And now, Cassandra is gone because of you!"
Her hand shot up, ready to strike.
Before the blow could land, another hand intercepted it.
Jean Fio moved on instinct, catching the Duchess's wrist. It wasn't until a breath later that she realized who she had just stopped.
"My patient needs to rest," Jean said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Please leave the room, Ma'am."
Sierra blinked. So she's a doctor. Somehow, she had expected doctors in this world to look… different. No white coats, no stethoscopes hanging around their necks. Just a woman in a simple uniform, standing between her and an enraged noblewoman.
At that moment, a new voice entered the fray.
"Mother-in-law, you should go home," Herigal Drasil said, stepping into the room. His voice was firm, unreadable. "Father-in-law is on his way back."
Sierra, however, had stopped paying attention to the chaos around her. Her gaze had drifted down—to the Duchess's swollen belly.
For a long moment, she simply stared. Then, her lips parted, her voice hoarse but eerily calm.
"Baby… don't be afraid."
The room fell silent.
Sierra's next words were almost a whisper, but they carried through the air like a curse.
"Death isn't that scary. Anywhere will be better than this family. At least in your next life, you won't be her child."
A heavy, suffocating stillness settled over them.
"You dare curse me?!" the Duchess shrieked, yanking her arm free, her face contorted in rage.
Sierra didn't flinch. Her expression remained indifferent, detached.
"You should thank me," she murmured, her voice like ice. "Losing your son was a misfortune for you… but it was a blessing for him."
A slow, deliberate pause. Then, a final blow.
"Imagine how he'd grow up with a mother like you. He'd be the biggest villain of his generation."
Not a single word was spoken after that. But Sierra didn't need to say anything more.
If the Duchess had been a mother—even just a decent one—perhaps the villainess's story would have had a different ending.
"Enough!" Herigal barked, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Maid, take your master home. Jean, shut your patient up if you must!"
Jean flicked her fingers, casting a sleep spell on the Duchess. "She's just asleep. Please take her home."
The maids wasted no time, quickly moving to escort the unconscious Duchess out of the room.
Silence settled in their wake.
Herigal stepped closer to Sierra's bedside, his presence heavy, almost suffocating. He loomed over her small frame, his expression unreadable.
"What did you provoke her for?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
Sierra didn't meet his gaze. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, her expression unreadable. "She hates me for no reason. I can't hurt her with my hands or my magic, so why not with words? Can't I at least run my mouth? I want her to suffer until the end of her life."
She still remembered every seconds when the two woman abandoned her to die.
Her past life mother promised to come back, even smiling as she walked away. And her mother in current life didn't even bother to lie. She hated her and blamed her. She blantantly left, hoping for her doom.
Herigal's jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
Sierra shifted her gaze toward him, studying his face for the first time. "Who are you?"
Before Herigal could answer, Jean spoke up. "Third Young Miss, this is Captain Herigal Drasil, your sister's husband." She smiled faintly. "Ah! And I'm Jean Fio, a healer. You're my patient."
Sierra's brows furrowed. "You're… my brother-in-law?"
She tried to recall any memory of him, but nothing surfaced. Just a distant, blurry recognition of a name she had never paid much attention to. She had never met him before. She only knew him from the novel.
Herigal, unfazed, got straight to the point. "I want you to undo the magic you cast on Cassandra's body. We can't hold a funeral with her trapped in that ice."
Sierra blinked at him, momentarily forgetting her exhaustion.
"Funeral?" she whispered. "Why would you do that?"
Jean and Herigal exchanged a look.
Jean's voice softened. "Sierra… Lady Cassandra is gone."
"No," Sierra muttered, her fingers clenching the thin blanket covering her. Pain on her left arm reminded her that every second of that day was truly happened. "She's still here."
Herigal exhaled sharply, his patience thinning. "You saw her yourself. She's encased in ice. No breath, no heartbeat. We need to bury her properly."
Sierra's chest tightened. She knew what she had seen. Cassandra's lifeless body, frozen in the thick ice she had unknowingly created. And yet—
"She told me," Sierra whispered, barely audible. "Fairy promised her ten years. She said she would stay with her children. I don't want her to see her own funeral."
"I don't know if she's alive," Sierra admitted, her voice trembling. "But I know she's still here. Somewhere."
Jean hesitated, her hands tightening into fists.
Herigal, however, remained unmoved. "Believe what you want, but Cassandra deserves peace. If you can't undo that magic, then at least tell me how it works."
Sierra let out a bitter laugh. "I don't even know how I did it."
The room fell into silence.
Jean, kneeling beside Sierra, watched the girl's pale face with growing unease. "Then… if we try to break the ice, what will happen?"
Sierra's breath hitched. A sudden, unshakable fear gripped her chest.
"I honestly don't know," she admitted.
Herigal's gaze darkened