The Heroine Feels More Like a Villainess to Me! - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Count Chernov stared down at me, surprise evident on his face. The servant -- the butler, I surmised -- also stared, though his surprised was much more subtle than that of the count's. Then again, perhaps that was simply because his large, salt and pepper beard hid most of his face.

"Elizaveta." My attention was pulled back to the count as he patted one of the other chairs at the table. "Come sit with me. Ilya, please set a cup for my daughter."

"Yes, My Lord."

I settled on the chair next to the count, my feet dangling a bit. I could feel the counts eyes on me, even as took a sip of tea. I murmured my thanks to Ilya as he placed a steaming cup of tea in front of me. My instincts had me taking a sip of the slightly bitter drink before adding any milk or sugar, as was proper. It was mildly perfumy in that way floral flavors often were. I wondered what flavor it was but didn't ask.

"Elizaveta?"

"Yes, Father?"

"You say you want a friend?"

There was curiosity in his tone, rather than surprise. I nodded up at him with a serious expression.

"It would be good for me to form relationships with people outside the family," I stated bluntly. "For when I debut and enter the academy. Besides..." I fiddle with the cup, Elizaveta's memories of long, repetitive days flashing through my mind. "I'm a little lonely..."

I felt a hand settle on my head, patting gently at my curls. I looked up from my teacup to see Count Chernov's soft expression.

Ah...he's handsome.

I dug my fingernails into my palm to keep from slapping myself for such a thought. It's only because you never see Elizaveta's parents in the game. That's why it took me by surprise. That's all.

Elizaveta had to get her looks from somewhere, after all.

"I'm sorry for not realizing you were so lonely, Liza," the count said gently.

"I didn't want to be a bother," I said, for a moment wondering if I was truly lying or not. How often did I keep things to myself to keep from bothering others in my past life? How often did Elizaveta before she snapped? How many emotional burdens did we both carry? How long would it have been until I snapped and did something crazy like Elizaveta?

"My dear, you are never a bother," the count assured. "Not to worry. I'll do what I can."

"Father told me you asked for a friend."

I looked up from my books to see a boy not much older than Elizaveta standing in the study's doorway. Dark hair framed a pale face and brilliant violet eyes, their color dulled somewhat by the glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose.

Anton Chernov, Elizaveta's older brother. He was a minor character in the game, only showing up on routes where Elizaveta was involved and one other -- that of love interest Belenus Mac Dairmada, Anton's childhood friend.

He was just beginning that gangly age, where the body grew long before the face and voice could catch up. The poor thing was currently something of a beanpole, the hem of his pants just a few centimeters too short to look right on him.

"I did," I answered, hoping I hadn't mused too long.

"What do you need one for?" Anton asked, seemingly perturbed by the idea. "You've got me!"

My brows furrowed, put out by that. Did Elizaveta not have any friends as a kid  because her brother was a protective little nuisance? That certainly was an interesting way to interpret things.

"You have Belenus," I pointed out. "Why can't I have a friend?"

Anton scowled at my argument. "You've never wanted one before."

"And I want one now," I said bluntly. "Why does that bother you?"

Anton opened his mouth, only to quickly close it again. His brows knitted together in some sort of mix between irritation and confusion. "It's just...weird for you. You've never cared before."

I wondered, for a moment, if perhaps this was some reaction to me changing the story. It was true that Elizaveta never asked for a friend, at least not so far in the text we were given. But what I could still feel of her memories and past feelings, I could tell she desperately wanted one. But some combination of her brother's protectiveness and her own lack of confidence kept her from asking for one.

"You'll be nice to them, right?"

Anton blinked at the question. "Huh?"

With a mouth set into a thin, determined line, I repeated my question, "Whoever becomes my friend...you'll be nice to them, right?"

Anton stared at me for a moment before rolling his eyes. "Of course, I'll be nice to them. Jeez, Veta, you're such a worrywart sometimes."

I hoped down from my seat, shuffling over while Anton was muttering to himself. He noticed me when I finally got close enough, opening his mouth to ask what I was doing just as I wrapped my arms around him in as tight a hug as I could manage.

"Thank you, Anton."

I could feel him rolling his eyes at me once more. Even still, his hand settled atop my head just like the count's had. "Whatever. Don't make a fuss about it."

I sat with the count in his study, watching him read through a stack of letters. Apparently, the way noble children made friends was their parents sent letters out asking for playmates for their bouncing bundles of joy. If a family was interested (usually in forming a political tie rather than finding an actual companion for their children), they'd send back a letter with a small portrait of their own child and ask to arrange a meeting. If they weren't interested, they would simply respond with a polite declination, typically using their child's temperament as an excuse to say no. The number of times I'd read the same sentence about how the child was 'of too wild a temperament for the Young Lady Chernov' would make anyone dizzy.

It made me feel bad for Elizaveta. It almost seemed like fate was determined to keep her lonely. I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as the count tossed yet another rejection letter into the bin, the same words in a different handwriting covering the paper.

"I'm sorry, Father," I muttered, voice muffled by the pillow I held to my chest to hide tears that felt like they weren't mine. "I guess no one wants to be my friend."

Ah, now that did bring forth tears that felt like mine, memories of my own lonely childhood rolling over me like the tide. How long did it take me to make any real friends of my own? Freshman year of high school? Yeah, at least that.

God, what had I done wrong all those years?

"Nonsense, my dear," Count Chernov assured me. "I'm not yet through the letters."

I slumped over on the study's very comfortable couch, practically covering myself with pillows to hide my whole, sad self from the count. He continued to flip through letters, humming occasionally at whatever he read. Eventually, the sound of shuffling papers stopped, and I peeked out from behind the pillow to see the count's smiling face.

"Elizaveta," he said, "I think you're in luck."

Two weeks passed, but I found myself standing in the foyer, staring wide-eyed at a young girl Elizaveta's age. Her eyes were a soft sky blue, her short blonde hair flouncing with every excited bounce. I couldn't help but try and hide behind the count's leg, compelled by something intrinsically Elizaveta.

"It's so good to meet you, Count Fairchild," Count Chernov said, shaking the man's hand. "Thank you for coming all this way. This is my daughter, Elizaveta."

"Think nothing of it!" the man said jovially, his blue-green eyes glittering like the sun on the sea. He glanced down at the girl at his side, who beamed back up at him. "Introduce yourself, sweetheart. That's why we're here, right?"

The girl nodded before turning to me, her beaming smile never wavering. "Hi, Elizaveta! I'm Clara. Do you want to be friends?"