The Villainess Reverse Hourglass Novels & Stories

At the head of this grim assembly stood Lady Mircalla Le Fey, the infamous Countess, a woman renowned for her ruthless efficiency and sadistic prowess in the arts of torture. Alice, a humble peasant girl of nineteen summers, found herself among the accused, her innocent eyes wide with fear as she was dragged before the Countess. Her raven hair tumbled freely, a stark contrast to the severe bun that confined the Lady's own locks. The Countess' attire was as dark as her reputation – a crimson gown cinched at the waist, black leather gloves that reached her elbows, and boots that clicked ominously against the stone floor. "Confess your sins, witch," the Countess hissed, her voice a silken poiso

It was ancient money. I was escorted by a solemn-faced butler into a smaller drawing room first—decorated in muted greys and dusty rose. There were family portraits everywhere, each face as beautiful as it was intimidating. Then she entered—the mourning mother. Dressed in a long black gown with lace sleeves, she looked like a ghost from another time. Her face was still beautiful despite the weight of grief. She held my eyes with curiosity more than suspicion. “You’re from Petrov?” she asked, voice as soft as ash.

Dressed in a dark amethyst body suit that clung like she wanted to weaponize it, her long, sleek hair falling around her shoulders, and that smile, the one that never reached her eyes. Behind her stood two girls wearing matching amethyst stones around their necks, the telltale sign that they were warlock nobles or their loyal understudies. Their expressions were blank, but their presence wasn’t. They were backup. For whatever Valora had planned. “Evening, Rosalind,” Valora purred.

Several minutes later, a black mass materialized and a hunched figure stood in place of the black mass. “Tche, ruthless as ever, Hazel!” and a female hoarse voice came out from the hunched figure and with a wave of her hands, time seemed reversed and the earlier moment from when Hazel was talking appeared in front of the hunched figure. The woman was silent for a moment before she clicked her tongue and mockingly stated, “what is making you confident Hazel? Do you think that you can actually beat me? But heh, since you have sent such an interesting challenge, then I guess I will stop my pursuit and wait to see you becoming a joke. Haven’t you always wanted to make a name for yourself in fron

The Council's observers moved through the crowd with the awkwardness of people who'd forgotten how to be anonymous. And at the edge, in the shadows, in the margins where the real story was being written, my circle held its position. Seraphina with her wounded optimism. Emberlyn with her fragile brilliance. Austin with his silent blade. Thalassa with her ocean patience. Elara with her rebirth fire. Zephina with her shadow sovereignty. Riven with his beautiful error. And me. The revenant. The anomaly. The villainess who'd stopped playing her role and had started building something that didn't need the narrative's permission to exist.

"Summon Elder Pei and Beta Prime Marcus to the Royal Study immediately!" *** The Phantom Nightshade bloomed only once every five years. Its petals were a deep, bruising purple that emitted a strange, intoxicating fragrance. Under the moonlight, the flower seemed to refract light like shattered stars—breathtakingly beautiful, yet fatal. It was known as the Flower of Death. If a wolf ingested even a speck, their insides would liquefy within moments. Its cultivation was notoriously difficult, requiring a specific balance of soil and shade. Many high-born she-wolves in the Royal Capital had attempted to grow it for its beauty, but only one had succeeded: Beta Prime Marcus’s daughter, Cassandra.

I memorised names, figures, dates, and the specific connections between board members and the companies that had benefited from their decisions during Vivian's absence. Then I got dressed. Maria had made selections the evening before, she had done this without being asked, which told me she had done it for Vivian regularly. I chose a grey suit, perfectly fitted. Dark heels. No jewellery except small, simple earrings. Nothing that sparkled. I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. Vivian Salvatore looked back,composed,Unreadable. Dangerous in a particular way. "Good," I said quietly to my reflection.

"Did you really think we were being nice to a newbie out of the kindness of our hearts?" Brad laughed menacingly. "Stupid little girl. You were never one of us. You were just the lamb we were fattening for the slaughter." "What do you mean?" I took a step back, my heart starting to beat irregularly. "I mean," Jessica said, raising an hourglass-shaped magical item filled with a dark red liquid, "it's time to harvest." The live comments went insane. [OMG! THAT'S A HEARTSEEKER HOURGLASS!] [It's an A-rank cursed item that targets congenital weaknesses!]

I clip. Curled up on her bay window I finally take her in. Freya looks beautiful. The yellow compliments her hazel eyes beautifully. Her chestnut brown hair comes down in voluminous waves all the way to her hip. The yellow ball gown clings to her waist and flairs down elegantly. There's an assortment of gems and diamonds on the bodice and skirt accentuating the already gorgeous gown. Freya is a goddess and the Alpha would be stupid not to pick her... if he could get past the fact she's bat shit crazy.