Episode 4

Camila

The following hours were filled with silence, lukewarm tea, and very serious reflections on how not to die tragically like the villain in a novel. I was in dangerous territory. Literally.

And as much as everything still seemed like a strange dream, one thing was certain: if I was really inside the book I'd read a thousand times, then it was better to act with the wisdom of someone who has already seen this movie—and doesn't want to repeat the ending.

I decided to start with a simple request to Matilde, who looked at me with the same shock as before, as if I were a bomb about to explode.

"Matilde, could you... bring me a list of the people who were fired because of me?"

She widened her eyes as if I had just asked her to poison me.

"Madam?"

"Please. I'm not going to do anything with this information, I just... want to fix things."

Matilde hesitated, but ended up obeying. A few hours later, she returned with a pile of names bigger than the number of friends I've ever had in my life. They were gardeners, maids, tutors, cooks... even a harpist. A harpist!

I felt my stomach churn. I didn't know those people, but the thought of having been the reason for their suffering bothered me in an unexpected way.

Then, I made a decision.

"Matilde, I need paper, ink, envelopes... and also for you to tell me where I can sell some dresses."

She, once again, panicked.

"Madam, here everyone receives fair compensation for working with... with the madam. We receive much more than the madam imagines."

"It's not enough," I replied, firmly. "I need to do this my way. With my money. Or rather, with my dresses."

During the following days, I began to write letters by hand, one by one, with the most sincere apology I could elaborate. With each sealed envelope, something in me was relieved. It was as if, little by little, I was clearing the weight of the original Camila's past. Even if it wasn't mine.

Meanwhile, I also decided to apologize to the employees who still worked in the mansion. Some cried. Others seemed confused, as if I had been replaced by a doppelganger from another planet. But soon the distrustful looks began to change. Small smiles appeared. Gentle gestures. And for the first time, I didn't feel hated.

Between one letter and another, I did what any sensible person would do in such a situation: I created a survival list.

Camila's Plan: How Not to Die in the End

Apologize to everyone (done—or in progress)

Be kind and dedicated (even when you want to strangle someone)

Stay away from the prince (golden hair? No, thank you)

Avoid any contact with the protagonist (heroine = trouble)

Gather a good amount of money (dresses sold so far: 4)

Move to a quiet town with flowers, peace, and a cat perhaps

Find the original Camila's diary (who knows if she left tips?)

Understand my magical powers (because yes, I have them... maybe?)

It was then that I remembered an important detail: in the original story, the villain was accused of witchcraft. But it was never clear if she really had powers or if it was just another tragedy pushed by the narrative. And, honestly, if I have a spark of magic in this body... I'm going to find out. And learn how to use it.

Because this time, the villain will survive. And who knows, maybe even... be happy?

The days passed like leaves carried by the wind. I was beginning to adapt to the new routine: letters, apologies, distrustful smiles, and the sound of cautious footsteps through the corridors. But something still bothered me. A piece was missing. A bridge between the Camila from before and the one now. And if I really wanted to understand where I had gotten myself into—and especially who I was in this body—I needed the truth.

I needed to find the diary.

I rummaged through rooms, closets, drawers. I searched old furniture, went down to the library basement, and even crawled behind dusty curtains. Nothing. Until, ironically, it was behind an old biscuit tin behind the dresser in my office that I found a small, aged leather volume, hidden like a secret.

My fingers trembled as I opened it.

The first pages had hurried, anxious handwriting, as if the owner of those letters was always in a hurry to vent.

""They didn't come today. They didn't even ask about me. Mom sent flowers. Dad sent silence. I just wanted one of them to sit next to me and ask me how I am. But no one asks. They never ask.""

I turned another page.

""The cook smiled at me. I was curt again. Why do I do this? Why do I speak so coldly? Maybe because if I seem strong, no one will see how broken I am inside.""

""Today, something strange happened. I was crying in the room and suddenly the windows opened on their own. The mirror cracked. I felt as if a wave had come out of me, as if my feelings took shape and broke the world around me.""

I stopped, my heart aching. It was as if the old Camila was whispering to me in every word.

""I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just don't know how to control what happens when I'm sad, when I'm angry. Something inside me... throbs. Burns. It's scary.""

I turned more pages, with tears welling up in my eyes.

""I would like to go to a ball. Wear a light blue dress, with flowers in my hair, and dance with someone who looks at me as if I were important. But no one invites me. They say I'm bitter. But the truth is I'm... empty.""

I closed the diary slowly, hugging it to my chest. Now I understood. The Camila of this world was not just the villain that the pages of the novel told. She was a lonely girl, forgotten, desperate for love and understanding. And her powers... maybe they were the manifestation of everything she could never say.

"I'll take care of you now," I murmured softly, even though she wasn't here anymore. "I promise."

I am more than determined to live a good life, I will do everything she dreamed of, I will do it for both of us. Before I finished the line of thought, one of the employees ran into my room.

"Madam! Madam! A letter from your father has arrived."

Illustration of the diary

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