Villainess's Guidebook

Thirty-two-year-old Maggie Warren had always believed her vacation would involve cocktails, poolside cabanas, and overpriced resort food. Instead, she found herself sprawled on her couch in her New York apartment, drowning in a sea of takeout boxes, fluffy blankets, and the worst book she'd ever read: 'The Crimson Heir.'

"This is unbelievable!" Maggie shrieked, tossing the paperback onto the coffee table before snatching it back up again. "Why is every character so dense? How does this garbage even have fans?"

Maggie wasn't just reading the book; she was dismantling it, line by line, as if her critical commentary could somehow will the plot into something coherent.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, kicking her feet in frustration like a child denied dessert. "Lady Celeste Varrow, you absolute idiot! Why would you throw wine at the Crown Prince? You already know it's a death sentence! Gods, I could run circles around these characters!"

The irony wasn't lost on her. Maggie had built a successful career as a day trader, mastering numbers, analyzing patterns, and staying ahead of trends. But here she was, yelling at a fictional noblewoman as if her critique might save the poor girl.

"What's next, Celeste?" Maggie mocked, flipping the page. "You gonna pick a fight with the heroine too? Oh wait, you already did. Brilliant move, genius."

She wasn't sure what kept her reading. Morbid curiosity, maybe? Or the masochistic urge to watch the protagonist fail spectacularly, one bad decision at a time.

Three cups of cold coffee and several pages later, Maggie groaned, burying her face in a throw pillow. "If I were her, I'd just fake my own death and retire to a cute little countryside cottage. Why bother with all this court intrigue nonsense?"

She sighed, tossing the book aside. "Honestly, I'd make a better villainess. At least I have some sense of self-preservation."

The clock struck midnight. Maggie stretched, reaching for her glass of wine. "One more chapter," she muttered, though she knew it was a lie.

The world around her felt strangely heavy as she read on, her vision blurring slightly. "Weird," she mumbled, blinking hard. She dismissed it as exhaustion and maybe the wine.

Her eyelids grew heavier, the words on the page warping and twisting until they no longer made sense. The last thing she remembered was the phrase:

"Lady Celeste Varrow stared into the abyss, unaware that it was staring back."

---

Maggie woke with a start, her head pounding like she'd spent the night at a college frat party. Only, she wasn't on her couch.

The room was gilded in gold and cream, with ornate furniture and heavy drapes framing tall windows. A faint scent of lavender wafted through the air.

"What the…" she muttered, sitting up. Her voice sounded… different. Softer.

She glanced down at her hands—delicate, pale, and utterly unfamiliar. "No," she whispered, dread pooling in her stomach.

Rising unsteadily, Maggie stumbled toward a full-length mirror on the far wall. Her reflection stared back: a young woman with lustrous black hair, striking green eyes, and a face that was equal parts stunning and intimidating.

"Lady Celeste Varrow," she croaked.

Her hands flew to her temples as fragments of Celeste's life flooded her mind. The venomous stepmother, the scheming half-sister, the cold, judgmental Crown Prince. And the poisoned tea she'd been drinking when...

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Maggie shouted, pacing in a frenzy. "I can't be her! I hate her! She dies in, like, twenty chapters!"

As if summoned by her panic, a soft 'ding' echoed in her mind.

「Welcome, Host. You have been selected for the Villainess Reformation System. Your objective: avoid all death flags, repair your reputation, and achieve a happy ending.」

Maggie froze. "Oh, you've "got' to be kidding me."

The glowing interface appeared before her, its cheerful font a stark contrast to the existential crisis brewing in her chest.

「Current Status: Critical. Recommendation: Begin Phase 1 - Avoid Immediate Doom.」

"Immediate doom?" Maggie repeated, her voice climbing an octave. "You're telling me I'm already screwed?"

「Correct. Phase 1 Objective: Apologize to the Crown Prince.」

「Failure to comply will result in a 95% probability of death.」

The ornate mirror loomed over Maggie, no, Celeste, like an unflinching judge. The soft glow of the gilded frame cast a light on her new features, making them appear almost otherworldly. She leaned forward hesitantly, her breath catching as her unfamiliar reflection stared back.

Her hair was impossibly silky, cascading in midnight waves past her shoulders. Her emerald-green eyes sparkled with an intensity she had never seen in her own dull brown ones. Her face was a masterpiece of sharp cheekbones and full lips, the kind that could silence a room with a single glance.

"Am I... beautiful?" she murmured, tracing her delicate fingers along her jawline.

The image felt alien, like she was wearing someone else's skin. And she was. The dissonance in her mind grew louder, memories of Celeste bubbling to the surface. Tea parties filled with venomous gossip, bitter arguments with her stepmother, the Crown Prince's cold eyes.

She stumbled back, gripping the edges of a nearby vanity. "This isn't real. It can't be real," she whispered.

Maggie, or Celeste, sank onto the plush stool. Her reflection flickered in and out of focus as her mind wrestled with the impossibility of it all.

Her old life on Earth felt like a distant dream, yet she remembered every detail with aching clarity. The tiny apartment on 34th Street. The endless hum of New York traffic. The comfort of her oversized sweatshirts and the smell of stale coffee in her kitchen.

She swallowed hard. 'What happens to Maggie Warren if I die here?'

The thought chilled her. Would her body on Earth simply be found lifeless, a mystery for her few acquaintances to solve? Was this some twisted coma dream?

Her mind raced, picking apart every decision she had made in the last hours of her old life. She had read *The Crimson Heir* out of boredom. Mocked it out of spite. And now...

'Now, I'm Celeste freaking Varrow.'

Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her hands into fists. She thought about the consequences. Thirty-two years spent building a life. It hadn't been glamorous, but it was hers. She had made her own choices, carved her own path. And now, she was trapped in someone else's nightmare.

She looked back at the mirror, her reflection no longer stunning but suffocating. "If I die here, is it over for me? Or do I go back to Earth? What if... what if there's nothing after this?"

Her thoughts spiraled, tugging her into a vortex of fear and self-pity until the system's cheery voice chimed in her head.

「Reminder: Reflection Time Exceeded. Recommend Proceeding to Objective Phase 1: Apologize to the Crown Prince.」

"Shut up!" Maggie snapped. Her outburst echoed in the quiet room.

Her reflection glared back, lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she saw something other than Celeste. A flicker of her old self.

"Focus," she muttered, gripping the vanity tighter.

She took deep breaths, letting the sharp tang of lavender in the air calm her. Celeste's memories were her lifeline now, a guide to navigating this insane world. She recalled the events leading up to this moment: the scandal at the banquet, the spilled wine, and the cold, accusing eyes of the Crown Prince.

'Why did I have to insult him?' Maggie thought bitterly. 'I didn't even like him in the book!'

Still, she knew what needed to be done. If she had any chance of survival, she couldn't afford to wallow. She had to play this game.

She straightened, taking one last look in the mirror. The fear in her eyes hadn't disappeared, but there was bravery, albeit cowardly bravery.

"I might not know what the hell I'm doing," she said aloud, "but I'm not dying here. Not like this."

The system chimed again, as if in approval.

「Acknowledged. Objective Phase 1: Begin Protocol.」

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going."

As she turned toward the door, her reflection lingered in the mirror. Her eyes glinted with something unreadable. She hesitated for just a second before stepping out of the room.