When the Veil Lifts
I died, got thrown into a fantasy world, and somehow ended up as the most irrelevant noble girl in the entire story.
Not the heroine.
Not the villainess.
Not even the villainess’s prettier (or ugly) friend.
Just background decoration with a future death scene.
Fine. Whatever. I can work with that.
Between corrupt servants, exhausting nobles, and misunderstandings forming every five minutes, she decides survival is far more important than romance. If someone insults me, I insults them back. If someone raises a hand to me, I raises mine higher and harder. And if the original story insists on dragging me into disaster after disaster, then the story itself can deal with the consequences, if anyone goes low I go lower. But the more I try to avoid the pointless fate, the stranger the world becomes. Certain memories do not fit. Certain people feel too real. And the “novel” I remembers begins to crack at the edges, the original story starts changing in ways it definitely should not.
When the veil finally lifts, what will remain?
A heroine?
A villain?