Redrafting the Villainess

Episode 1

Camila

I woke up to the soft sound of the alarm clock, earlier than usual. I was so tired, but, as always, I forced myself out of bed. The world was still asleep when I left home, the sun barely beginning to paint the sky. The routine was there, as always: quick coffee, cell phone, messages, all on autopilot. There was nothing new, and that was comfortable for me.

The traffic was heavier than usual, and what should have been a quick trip to work dragged on. I was frustrated, as I always am when I'm stuck in a traffic jam. I gripped the steering wheel harder, feeling a twinge of impatience. I didn't like waking up early, I didn't like living in the city's frantic pace, but it was part of life.

The music on the radio helped distract me, but even that didn't work right. I just kept thinking about my book, my refuge, where stories of romance and magic enveloped me like a second skin. It was there that I felt most alive, and not in that endless traffic. Camila, the villain in my favorite book, has always been my favorite character, perhaps because she has the same name as me or because she is not understood, a feeling we share. She was cruel, elegant, but also full of mystery. Sometimes, I found myself wondering what it would be like to live her life, so far from everything I knew. Maybe, if I were like her, things would be different.

I didn't see the car coming until it was too late. The traffic light was red, but I was too distracted, lost in my thoughts. Before I could react, the crash was brutal. The impact made everything spin in a whirlwind. My body was thrown against the seat, and immense pain took over me. I tried to scream, but the words wouldn't come out. The world seemed to fall apart, my vision darkening.

"No... it can't be..." It was the only thought I could have before everything disappeared. Darkness enveloped me, and for a moment, I thought I had died. What if I had?

As the emptiness took over me, a strange sensation took my body, as if I was going to a place... different. Maybe paradise? No! I highly doubt that a filthy human like me has a place in heaven, I wasn't a bad person but I grew up feeling angry with God how could he see me suffering and do nothing, well deep down I know it wasn't his fault but I wanted to feel angry with someone and he was my refuge, but maybe he held a grudge, well whatever I'm used to suffering.

I was born into a world that didn't want to receive me. My mother died shortly after giving birth to me, leaving me with a father who, at best, was a distant shadow, and at worst, a monster. He never loved me. He never had time for that. He was a drunk who spent his days at the mercy of alcohol, and I was just a burden, a load to bear. I didn't know what caring or affection was. What I learned very early on was how to survive.

As a child, hunger was my constant companion. The hardest part wasn't the pain in my stomach, but the shame that came with it. I saw other children with happy faces, full of energy, while I could barely keep my eyes open from exhaustion. For a long time, I went unnoticed. Not even my father noticed or cared, so immersed was he in his own world of despair. But, somehow, I was growing up. I was learning to fend for myself, to hide in the shadows and work for what I wanted.

I worked in everything you can imagine from an early age — selling sweets, cleaning houses, doing any job that allowed me to gather a little money. I had no choice. At sixteen, I started working in an office, and it was there that I really began to understand how cruel the world could be. But it was also there that I discovered my taste for learning, for studying. School was a refuge, a place where I could hide for a few hours, where words and books became my escape.

With a lot of effort and nights of study, I managed to graduate. It wasn't easy, but it was what I wanted most. I graduated in international relations, an area that required intelligence, wit, and a sharp tongue — something that I, over time, was perfecting. It was an advantage I had, my ability to see the world in a unique way, to perceive the flaws and gaps that others didn't see.

But, of course, that also got me into trouble. My sharp tongue and straightforward manner put me in complicated situations. I didn't know, and didn't want to, be sweet or gentle. I always preferred to be tough, to be strong. That brought me some enmities and an arduous path, but I got a good job, heavy, but good. The truth is that nothing came easy for me. I was forced to fight for every little piece of my life.

Still, the shadow of my childhood never left me. Malnutrition, exhaustion, fear — all of that was still in me, echoing in my weaknesses, in my insecurities. But I was no longer the same girl who looked at the world with hungry eyes. I was stronger now, more resilient. And, if there was one thing I knew, it was that I would never let anyone make me feel small again, well now it didn't matter I'M DEAD! That's what I thought until I opened my eyes. When I woke up, the feeling was strange, as if something was wrong, but I didn't know what. My eyes opened slowly, and when I looked at the reflection in the mirror, a shock took over me. I was no longer me. The face that stared back at me was angelic, with golden hair almost white and blue eyes so deep that they were almost purple. A pale and flawless skin, so different from everything I knew. I was in the villain's body, Camila.