As if it wasn’t enough to be hit on the head by my co-workers and boyfriend, I died at the hands of my gambling-addict older brother.
Without even regretting my unfortunate death, I realized that I had possessed a supporting role in a romantic fantasy novel, which I just read yesterday.
To be precise, a villainess destined to die at the hands of her husband. I know it’s cliché!
‘Possessed a villainess in a romantic fantasy novel! So this is what it feels like?’
I thought it was pretty good for the price of my unfair death.
Until I realize that no matter what I do, I can’t deviate from the flow of the original.
For the female lead Lizé, it’s a delightful cider series, but it’s nothing more of a bloody story for Edith, the villainess I possessed.
I am the protagonist in my life.
If I’m going to die according to the original story, I should at least kiss my super handsome husband!
In the original story, Edith is greatly despised by her husband, but who cares, I’m going to die anyway.
“You pretended not to be, but now you’re so hot to play with. Well, that’s good.”
“Satisfy me like Riegelhoff’s serpent. Well, who knows? I might be interested in that body of yours.”
…why is the original story starting to change now?