---

🖤 The Villainess Just Wants to Sleep

Chapter 8: The Lesson You Can’t Teach

> “Grace is not something you wear. It’s something you bleed for.”

— Lady Virelia

---

The Royal Finishing Hall smelled of lavender and wax. Gilded mirrors lined the walls. Velvet stools were arranged in a perfect arc before the marble dais.

This was where the empire’s noble daughters were taught how to smile, how to walk, how to become ornaments in a world of weapons.

Today’s lesson was posture, poise, and expression.

And Madam Everen, the legendary etiquette mistress of the court, stood at the front in a pale lilac gown, her hair tied in the imperial knot — her expression sharp as glass.

> “Eyes forward, spines tall, hands relaxed but not soft,” she instructed, moving between the girls like a general among soldiers.

Elara glided forward with a practiced twirl and curtsy.

The other noble girls followed.

Then came Kaelaira.

---

She walked like silence.

Each step perfectly timed. Her arms floated into place. Her bow — exact to the degree. Her smile — ghostlike. Her eyes — still as water.

The entire class seemed to pause.

Madam Everen stared at her for a moment too long.

“…Your Grace,” the instructor said quietly. “Tell me. What exactly am I meant to teach you?”

A few girls gasped.

Even Kaelaira blinked once, unsure whether it was a compliment or a trap.

> “Nothing, Madam,” Kaelaira said softly. “I am always ready to be corrected.”

That humility — spoken with such flawless grace — only made the moment sting sharper.

---

Princess Elara, standing at the edge of the line, gripped the folds of her dress.

> Why does everyone notice her? She doesn’t even try.

When Elara walked again, her steps wobbled.

Her curtsy faltered.

And Madam Everen, without malice, said aloud: “Too rushed, Your Highness. You mustn't try to outshine a shadow. It only makes your light flicker.”

Laughter bubbled up from the corner of the room.

Elara’s cheeks flushed with humiliation.

---

After class, as they left the finishing hall, Kaelaira remained behind, organizing the practice fans and books in silence. She wasn’t asked to — she simply did it.

Elara passed by her with her head held high, but her voice cracked slightly as she muttered:

> “You act like you don’t care about any of this… and yet somehow, you always win.”

Kaelaira turned, meeting her eyes gently.

> “I don’t win, Your Highness. I just survive differently.”

---

Later that night, Elara sat beside her brother in the study, unusually quiet.

He looked up from his sword diagrams.

“You didn’t enjoy etiquette class?”

She shrugged.

“…She’s too perfect.”

Laerion didn’t ask who “she” was. He simply reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

> “You don’t have to be perfect,” he said gently. “You just have to be you. That’s enough for me.”

Elara smiled — small, sad, but real.

“…Then why does she make me feel invisible?”

The Crown Prince's gaze darkened.

> “Because Kaelaira was trained not to shine. But to haunt.”

---

In the moonlit hallway outside, Kaelaira walked alone — her reflection in the glass windows always one step behind her.

> “Even in silence,” she thought,

“they still hate the sound of my footsteps.”

---

End of Chapter 8

---