Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess

“You are not the real Scarlett Hartford?” Arlene gave her a long, inquisitive look. “That is an odd thing to say, if you ask me. What does that mean?”

“…It is exactly as I said. I am not the real Scarlett.”

The two of them observed each other for a while, and a strange sensation wound itself up Scarlett’s spine, like a faint tingle. She wasn’t sure if it was because of worry, uneasiness, or simple nerves.

She never thought she would truly tell anyone about her identity in this world.

“If I recall correctly,” the woman said, “you introduced yourself as ‘Scarlett Hartford’ just a couple of days ago. Was that a lie, then?”

Shifting her hands to her lap, Scarlett had her jaw set as she moved her gaze across the village square and to the houses there. “…To a certain extent, yes. The truth is that I share the life of the woman known as Scarlett Hartford. Not only her appearance, but her traits and emotions all remain within me to some degree or other. To most people, I may very well be considered Scarlett; however, in truth, I am but a stranger in this body, as well as its prisoner.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Arlene studying her closely. “So that is what you mean when you say you are not the real Scarlett Hartford.”

She lowered her head. “Yes.”

She wasn’t sure how this would sound to the woman. Was it perhaps something inconceivable even in this world of swords and magic? Or could it be something she had encountered before?

Actually, what if Arlene thought she was possessed and tried to exorcise her?

“Alright. I’ll believe you,” the woman said in a casual tone.

Scarlett turned to her, eyes slightly widened.

Arlene shrugged, as if Scarlett hadn’t just shared a tremendous secret. “I am not entirely certain how something like the possession of someone else’s entire being—body, emotions, and traits included—would work, but I am not a spiritualist. Not planning on becoming one, either. I will do you the favor of not assuming you’re a demon or a specter, though you can skip the gratitude for that.”

Scarlett stared at her for a moment longer.

The woman leaned back in her chair, giving her an expectant look. “So? You’re not leaving it at that, are you? Tell me — who are you, really?”

Gathering herself together from the surprise, Scarlett shook her head free from any further doubts. Arlene was being candid with her, and so would she be in return. “My true name is Amy. Amy Bernal.”

The words felt strange as they left her.

This was the first time she had ever said her name out loud since coming to this world. Even just the number of times she had thought about her real name since then was frighteningly low, now that she considered it. It almost sounded foreign to her now, spoken in the detached voice of Scarlett. Like a distant memory of a life once lived — even though only a few months had actually passed.

“Amy Bernal, huh?” Arlene uttered the name as if tasting it, then nodded at her. “Pleasure to make a proper acquaintance with you, Amy.”

Scarlett blinked. Being addressed like that felt even stranger. Not only because the woman used her real name, but it was the way she used it. It was so different from how their first greeting went any of the other times where she barely showed her any interest.

“With that out of the way, I’ll ask you the same question as before. But this time to the actual you.” Arlene looked her in the eyes. “What kind of person are you, Amy?”

There was a sincerity behind the woman’s gaze that Scarlett hadn’t encountered before. She almost found herself looking away again, unsure how to respond.

“…Unfortunately, I still do not think I can provide you with an answer to that question.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I do not know how much of Amy Bernal I am at this point.”

This wasn’t a topic she knew how to talk about properly. Even her own thoughts on the subject were scattered at best, and it wasn’t something she enjoyed reflecting too much about. The answer also didn’t matter for how she would continue surviving in this world.

Arlene didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Scarlett suspected the woman was waiting for her to continue. Either that, or she was giving her space. Whatever the reason, Scarlett took the moment to collect herself and manage the swirl of emotions she felt inside. Most of it was the anger she had felt almost constantly since her fight with Gaven, but it was a lot more confused now. Less directed.

Finally, she opened her mouth to speak again. “I killed a man recently.”

Her words were met by even more silence, eventually by followed Arlene’s sober tone. “I see.” The woman seemed to consider it for a breath. “Was this related to that ‘difficult decision’ you had made before? The one we talked about last time?”

“In part, yes.” Scarlett traced a finger over the hem of the breeches she was wearing. They reached down to cover her ankles but were made of a light wool that helped against the stifling summer air here in Freymeadow.

It was funny that Arlene would ask that. From the woman’s perspective, that conversation would have been only yesterday. Most people might not assume that Scarlett would have gone and killed a man in that brief amount of time, or that she would go through such a drastic change.

“…I had two subordinates,” she said. “One was a man who aided me in carrying out tasks that I could not afford others knowing about. An unscrupulous rogue whose morals were questionable at best, and who I will admit I saw as not much more than a tool for furthering my goals. The other was a woman who had experienced much grief and pain through her life, yet had been gifted by fate with a power far above most others. Although perhaps some would call it a curse. She was an unfortunate soul with an unstable mind and strength she could not entirely control. Like with the rogue, I also used her to achieve what I wanted. I will not deny this fact, and I am well aware of its implications. I felt it was necessary at the time that I approached them, and I still believe so even now. However, due to my negligence, that woman almost died at the hands of the man acting under my orders.”

Scarlett clenched her fist. The anger inside refocused itself as her thoughts went back to it. “In his mind, it was a pragmatic act intended to remove unnecessary risks. Our original purpose for the woman had been completed, and so he saw no point in having her remain alive. As such, he acted in the belief that I would approve.” She stayed quiet for a second. “…I sometimes tell myself that I do what I do for the better of all. If that was genuinely the truth, then perhaps I would have approved. I do think myself capable of that type of callousness.”

She turned to Arlene with a grave face. “Instead, when I learned of this, I burned him. I burned him and everything around us in a fit of rage which I did not even try to control. Even as he begged for his life, even as I gained a semblance of lucidity that I have only experienced a couple of times since entering this body, I did not hesitate to reduce him to nothing but ashes before my very eyes. And I do not feel regret or sadness. The only thing that persisted was the anger, and it will not go away.”

The woman looked at her with an unreadable expression. “…Is this what you mean when you say you don’t know how much of you is Amy Bernal?

Scarlett gave a slow nod. “Not many are capable of speaking about killing a man without mercy or remorse.”

“But you think Scarlett Hartford was?”

“Yes.”

“Then, is it that you think her personality has affected yours to the point where you’re not Amy Bernal anymore?”

“I do not think that. ” She shook her head. “I know it for a fact. What I am uncertain about is how much of my change is due to the original Scarlett, and how much is simply due to my adjusting to the current circumstances. Would the old me have been capable of the same thing in this situation if I was unaffected by Scarlett’s personality?”

Arlene studied her. “Is it such a fine line where you cannot tell?”

“…Once again, I do not know.” Scarlett sighed. “The original Scarlett was a vile woman. She was arrogant, ruthless, conceited, indifferent, and considered most anyone beneath her as little more than dirt. She did not shrink from dealing with syndicates that committed murder or trafficked innocent children if she believed she stood to gain and she was an ambitious woman. In the time since I have occupied her life, I have learned that she was inordinately capable in many ways, yet she was also held back by her own talents and the position she was born into. Her fate was that of a stereotypical villainess, with her demise already predestined.”

“It does not sound as if she will be missed.”

“One would think so. Despite all of that, however, she was a woman who held surprisingly strong emotional attachments to those close to her, twisted though they were. She cared for her butler in a way I suspect she was not even aware of herself, and even though her own sister disgusted her, I do not believe she would ever have allowed anyone but herself to interfere with their relationship. The same complexity appears to hold true for her feelings related to her parents and the one person who might have been called her friend, though I do not understand the circumstances behind that completely.”

Scarlett looked down at her hands. It was not something she thought about a lot, but while these hands were not much larger than her old ones had been, they were thinner and the skin was smoother. Despite that, they didn’t really feel like a stranger’s hands.

“In comparison, Amy Bernal was a very ordinary woman,” she said. “People often called her kind and considerate, and she spent years of her life caring for her younger sister when their parents died. She had never purposefully hurt another, and while she did not necessarily believe herself to be ‘kind’, she did consider herself a decent person. She was happy with the life she led and the relationships she had, and most of her regrets were not things she would have changed even if she had the choice.”

She paused, trying to order things in her mind. It was hard to distill all her thoughts on the matter into words that accurately conveyed her feelings and didn’t sound misleading.

“…Despite all of this, I cannot recall ever feeling as strongly about those around me as Scarlett did. I cared about my parents, and I still care about my sister. I miss them, and I wish I could see them again, yet I did not cry when our parents died, nor during any of the difficult times that followed. I am not certain I have ever cried for someone else. Compared to Scarlett, who felt strongly about those close to her, my emotions feel much more distant. It is a somewhat disturbing thought, if one is familiar with the type of person Scarlett was.”

She looked back up at Arlene.

“But that in and of itself is not the primary issue. I do not mean to make it appear as if this is a realization to me, or that I fear what type of person I was. I have always been aware that I did not get as emotionally attached as others, but it has never affected my life severely. In almost all other ways, I would consider myself a more sympathetic, moral, and emotionally mature person than Scarlett Hartford. Of this, I have no doubt. It is simply that now, when I share the personality of a woman as callous as her, I wonder what parts of the current me are mere remnants left behind of her, and what is solely me. Her potent feelings about those around her only serves as a marked contrast between us. An area where I know her personality has overruled mine.”

She met the woman’s eyes for a few seconds, then shook her head again with an annoyed sigh and turned away. “You will have to excuse me. It is difficult to communicate it all properly.”

“…You seem to be worrying about it quite a bit, at the very least,” Arlene said. “Can I take it that you would prefer if yours and Scarlett’s personalities were separate?”

Scarlett scowled. “That one is difficult to answer. It is uncertain if I would have gotten to where I am today had I been unaffected by her traits, so if I were to be pragmatic, the answer might be no. Yet I do not enjoy the unpredictability of it all, and I loathe not being in control of my emotions.” She pressed her lips together. “…In the end, however, these are mostly nothing more but my disorganized ruminations on the matter. Most of my actual feelings on it are numb, in a way. Sterile and removed from myself. Instead, I am forced to suffer through the ones that affected Scarlett the most. In large part, that is anger.”

Glancing down at her feet, she noticed several motes of fire had popped up on the porch’s floorboards, licking at the wood. She closed her eyes, recentering herself and smothering the rebellious flames.

“I suppose the worst part is being unable to tell what the true reason for the anger is…” she muttered to herself.

It would be nice if she could say for sure that she was enraged because of what happened to the Countess and not simply because Gaven had acted against her wishes.

“It sounds like a challenging dilemma.” Next to her, Arlene looked relaxed in her chair, looking out over Freymeadow. “I do hope you believe me when I tell you that I wished I had something to say that could help, but I don’t. I’ve been responsible for enough mistakes in my life that one could consider me an expert in what not to do, but unless it’s related to magic, I often find myself hopeless when trying to discern what the right thing to do is.”

“That said—” The woman turned to Scarlett. “I will say this: The world isn’t a fair place, neither in its workings nor in its reality. But it can be made fairer, if only ever so slightly. What defines you in this world isn’t your feelings about things, but your actions. This can both be a curse and a blessing, depending on the where and how, but it is the truth. Anything else is a privilege. I imagine you might share this sentiment, considering what you have told me.”

Scarlett looked at her for a while, then nodded. “I often choose to put more attention on the meaning of my actions than the motivations behind them, but as you said, it can both be helpful and harmful. Unfortunately, neither makes the reality of my current situation any less vexing.”

“It doesn’t, no,” Arlene said. “If it’s any consolation, I think the day will come where someone brings tears to your eyes. At that time, hopefully you can be certain whether it’s Amy Bernal’s or Scarlett Hartford’s.”

Despite it all, Scarlett almost found herself chuckling at that. “That is perhaps the strangest consolation I have heard. But I suppose I should thank you.” She eyed the woman. “Both for that, and for indulging me.”

She didn’t understand why, she actually felt better now. If only a little. The anger and all the other emotions hadn’t suddenly just disappeared with these last few sentences, but something did feel different after talking about it all. She felt slightly more calm and relaxed. This was the first time she had ever opened up like this, both in this world and back in her own. She had not thought of herself as the kind of person who would get anything from it.

Neither of them said anything for a while as they sat there in silence, looking out at the houses spread out around the village square.

After a few minutes had passed, Arlene was the one to finally speak again. “I’ve been pretty generous here, I would say, with not asking how you got yourself into this situation. How ‘Amy Bernal’ became ‘Scarlett Hartford’.”

Scarlett glanced at her. “Do you truly wish to know?”

The woman’s pale green eyes turned to hers. “Now that I’ve heard this much, I don’t have much choice, do I?”

She hesitated for a moment.

There was a reason she had been vague about everything but her own identity. Could she actually speak about more than that? Should she speak about more?

“It will be difficult to believe,” she said. “An uncomfortable truth to accept.”

Arlene seemed to consider her for a few seconds before suddenly turning away again. “Then maybe it’s best if I don’t hear it.”

Scarlett blinked a few times before slowly nodding her head. She honestly hadn’t expected that answer, but it was probably for the best. Arlene had questioned nothing she said so far, but there was no telling what—

“What are you waiting for?” the woman said. “Go on.”

Scarlett stared at her, and Arlene looked back at her with a small smile.

“Didn’t I tell you before? I always make choices that I regret.”