Resetting The Villainess

The storm didn’t come from the sky.
It came from the church bells.

They rang that morning not for prayer, but for accusation.

“Lady Seraphina Valeria,” proclaimed the High Cleric,
“has defied the will of the Divine by crafting devices that mock the sacred order.
She shall stand trial under holy law.”

By the time the bells fell silent, the world already knew my name.

---

I was in my study, elbow-deep in a disassembled Whisper Glass, when the door flew open.

Father never entered my rooms. Not without knocking.

He stood there, rigid, the morning light spilling around him like fire. In his hand, a parchment sealed in crimson wax — the Church’s mark.

Notice of Divine Inquiry.

He threw it onto my desk. “They’ve accused you of heresy.”

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard correctly. “Heresy?”

He paced like a caged animal. “The Saint’s clergy claims your invention defies divine authority. They’ve called for a public trial — my daughter, paraded before the city like some witch.”

“That’s absurd,” I said, my voice steadier than my pulse. “The Whisper Glass channels mana, not miracles.”

“Semantics,” he snapped. “The people don’t care about logic. They care about fear. And the Saint gives it to them, gilded in holy light.”

I wanted to argue, to say reason would win, but even I wasn’t that naïve. Faith didn’t need facts — just fire.

Father turned to me, his tone sharpening. “They think they can shame this family into submission. They forget who feeds their empire.”

Then, calmer — and somehow far more terrifying — he said, “If it’s war they want, they’ll have one.”

---

By midday, our manor was a fortress. Couriers raced in and out. Seals cracked. Orders flew.

From the grand staircase, I watched Father command his empire like a general.

“Freeze every temple shipment. Cancel their grain contracts. If the Church wants to eat, let them pray for it.”

Even in anger, he was magnificent — the kind of man the empire feared more than loved.
And for once, he was furious for me.

--

I found Theo sitting by the east window, clutching a small, worn book. His legs dangled above the marble floor, too small for the chair.

“The bells won’t stop,” he murmured when he noticed me. “Everyone’s saying your name.”

“People love to talk,” I said, smiling faintly. “It keeps them from thinking.”

He didn’t smile back. “Are they going to hurt you?”

I knelt beside him and brushed a hand over his hair. “Not while Father’s breathing.”

Theo hesitated, then opened the book in his lap. The pages were old, the corners frayed.

“I was reading this,” he said softly. “It was Mother’s.”

I froze.

The handwriting was delicate, looped — Isolde Valeria’s. My mother’s.

“She used to read it to me,” Theo continued. “It’s about the moon and the sea. She said the sea always follows the moon, even when it can’t see it.”

I swallowed hard. “You still remember her voice?”

He nodded. “I was seven when she died. I remember her coughing a lot near the end. The healers said it was a fever, but Father never believed them.”

He frowned. “I overheard the maids once. They said she saw shadows before she went.”

A chill crawled up my spine. “Shadows?”

He nodded again. “They said she asked if the moon had turned its face away.”

“Maybe they were just trying to scare you,” I said quickly.

“Maybe,” he whispered. “But I think she knew something.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The air suddenly felt too thin.

Downstairs, Father’s voice boomed through the hall.

“Inform the Crown’s steward,” he barked. “If the Church wants to summon my daughter, they’ll need to buy parchment from me first.”

One of his advisors murmured something about provocation.

“Good,” Father snapped. “Let them choke on it.”

Theo leaned close, whispering, “He’s really angry.”

“He’s protecting us,” I said softly. “Protecting me.”

That realization stung more than any insult I’d heard in both my lives. Because in this one, I’d never really believed I was worth protecting.

That night, the manor glowed with candlelight.
Guards doubled at every gate. Sealed letters burned in the hearth — the Church’s wax dripping like blood.

I sat by my window, watching the rain trace patterns against the glass.

Theo’s words echoed in my mind.
The sea always follows the moon, even when it can’t see it.

Maybe that’s what family really was. Gravity unseen, pulling you back no matter how far you drifted.

For the first time — in both lives — I felt it.
Belonging.
Not duty. Not pretense.
Just belonging.

---

In his private study, Duke Valeria poured a glass of wine and stared at the portrait above his desk — Isolde’s face, serene and untouchable.

“They think they can break her,” he murmured. “They’ve forgotten whose blood she carries.”

He set the glass down, eyes hardening. “If they want war, I’ll buy the battlefield.”

---

Far across the city, under the golden light of his tower, Lord Auren Kael stood before the window.

The bells from the cathedral still echoed faintly, haunting the air.

He flexed his gloved hand once — and for a moment, the illusion flickered.
Pale scars glowed faintly beneath his skin before vanishing again.

“She shines brighter every time they try to burn her,” he murmured.

His reflection smiled faintly — but the eyes staring back weren’t quite the same.

“The Church moves too soon,” he said. “They’ll regret that.”