Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess-Chapter 302 - Meet the Hartfords

“Scarlett… Scarlett!” A faint, youthful voice pierced the fog of Scarlett’s consciousness as the world around her gradually sharpened into focus. From the indeterminate haze, vague shapes began to form, her senses slowly returning.

“Scarlett!”

She blinked, lowering her gaze to the young girl standing directly in front of her. The child’s soft auburn hair barely brushed her shoulders, freckles dotted her nose, and wide amber eyes glimmered with a hopeful gleam. In her hands was a worn, leather-bound book.

Scarlett stared, her thoughts feeling sluggish. Was that…Evelyne?

It took a few moments to catch up. The girl couldn’t have been older than five or six, her bright, eager eyes fixed intently on Scarlett’s face. She held up the book, her voice brimming with pride. “I learned it! I really did!”

Scarlett frowned, glancing around, trying to orient herself. She was in one of the rooms in the Freybrook mansion—she was certain of that much — but which one, she wasn’t sure. The decor felt unfamiliar, though she thought she’d been here before.

What had happened to Freymeadow, though? To Vail and Arlene? Her gamble seemed to have yielded some results, but what had it led to?

Her eyes drifted to a nearby window, partially obscured by drawn blinds and a thin lace curtain. Pale light filtered through, casting a dim glow across the room.

Had she simply been thrust into another Memory? The unravelling chaos of the last one hadn’t felt as if it was confined to just that instance, though.

“Scarlett?” Evelyne’s small voice wavered, her earlier excitement dimming. “I promise I’m not lying. Look!” The girl’s face tightened with concentration as she raised her hands, moving them in slow, gangling gestures. A muted, flickering red rune appeared above her palms, producing a tiny flame that danced briefly in the air before sputtering out.

Evelyne’s face fell, her mouth forming a distressed pout. There was a desperate—almost painfully innocent—determination burned into her expression. “N-No, I can do it! Look! I practiced all night in secret!”

Scarlett’s lips thinned as she watched Evelyne attempt the spell again, her small hands gesturing earnestly. For someone so young, conjuring any magic at all was a rare feat in this world — one that most would celebrate. But Scarlett wasn’t the right person for that.

The little flame flared to life once more, steadier this time, hovering for a few seconds. Evelyne looked back at Scarlett, her eyes searching for some sign of approval.

Scarlett stepped back, shaking her head. “I do not have time for this,” she said, focusing back on her surroundings. Whatever this Memory’s purpose—or her feelings regarding it—it wasn’t her priority at the moment.

“But—”

Ignoring Evelyne, Scarlett moved towards the window, hoping for a glimpse of the world outside. She’d only taken a step when a soft sob broke the air behind her.

She stiffened, looking back to see tears streaking down Evelyne’s cheeks. “Y-You said… You said you would help me if I could learn it,” the girl whispered, her voice cracking as her tiny flame vanished.

Caught off guard, Scarlett was momentarily at a loss for how to respond. She hadn’t expected the girl to start crying.

A sharp, familiar voice cut through the quiet. “Evelyne. Cease your crying. That is not how a scion of this house behaves.”

Scarlett’s eyes darted to the source. Stepping up to Evelyne from somewhere unknown was a younger version of herself, her face set in a cool, composed expression Scarlett knew all too well. The younger Scarlett looked a few years older than before, stopping beside Evelyne with a faint frown as she pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the girl’s tears. “Father would be disappointed to see you crying over something so trivial.”

Evelyne sniffled, but her tears seemed to stop as she nodded. “B-But you promised…”

“I did think you capable of mastering it,” the younger Scarlett said. “However, I will uphold my word. I will help you — later. For now, return to your chambers.”

Evelyne’s gaze focused on her, as if forgetting the older version standing nearby. After a moment, she turned and scampered towards the door, leaving the room.

Scarlett was left with her counterpart. Their eyes met briefly, but before she could say anything, her younger self turned and walked out as well.

“Wait,” Scarlett called after her, but the girl was already disappearing down the hall. Scarlett followed, only to stop short as she reached the hallway and found it stretching into an endless, blinding white void. Behind her, the room splintered, its fragments melting into the white light as it overtook her vision.

When she could see again, she stood in the mansion’s dining hall — or part of it. The space was broken, with one section appearing dim and cracked like a greying, broken mirror. At the table in the intact section, a slightly older Evelyne, perhaps seven or eight, sat across from a teenaged Scarlett. Beside Evelyne was her mother, gentle and reserved.

At the table’s head sat a man whose presence commanded attention. Lord Hartford’s dark-red hair and amber eyes cut a striking figure, speaking of someone used to wielding authority. Garside stood respectfully behind him, dashes of colour still visible in the butler’s face, silent and calm. But Lord Hartford’s expression was dark, his focus locked on someone else in the room.

Scarlett paused as she recognised who it was.

A woman in an elegant yet noticeably rumpled dress stood in front of the table, with stark black hair framing sharp blue eyes in a face similar to Scarlett’s own. Her expression teetered on manic as she jabbed an accusatory finger at Evelyne’s mother, two servants hovering anxiously behind her.

“You,” the woman spat. “You think you can simply replace me? Pollute this house with your sordid influence? Steal what is mine by right, by rule, and by blood?”

“Mother, please,” the younger Scarlett interjected, seated opposite Evelyne. Her tone was measured, tempered, but firm. “You know not to leave your quarters. You risk harm to yourself and to others if you behave this way. Stop this needless display.”

Lara—the original’s mother—seemed unmoved by her daughter’s words as her fiery gaze shifted to Evelyne, who shrank back under the scrutiny. Evelyne’s mother protectively extended an arm in front of her daughter.

“That filthy little parasite thinks she belongs here,” Lara hissed. “A few parlor tricks don’t make her worthy. Look at her, cowering. She would wilt at the first breath of true nobility.”

“Enough,” Lord Hartford’s voice cut through the air like steel, his face a mask of disgust and barely contained fury. He looked at the two servants flanking Lara. “Take her to her quarters. Now.” His attention snapped back to Lara. “And you. Mind your words in this house. Time and time again, I have shown restraint, more than most could, for there are moments when you are lucid enough to cling to some semblance of reason. But as always, you overstep. You are no longer the lady of this house—neither by law nor by bond—and you have only yourself to blame. If this behaviour continues, you will leave me no choice but to take more permanent measures.”

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Lara’s lips twisted into a sneer. “You let yourself be ensnared by her lowly charms. For all your supposed wisdom, you’re blind to how she corrodes this house, eroding its foundation.”

Suddenly, she lunged forward, her hand seizing a knife from the table before the servants could intervene. “If no one else will act, then I—”

She screamed as the knife glowed red-hot, forcing her to drop it. The blade hissed as it struck the carpet, leaving a faint scorch mark. Lord Hartford’s stare was cold as ice. “You will do nothing. This is the last time I will ever allow anything of this sort from you.”

“Dear—” Evelyne’s mother began, but he silenced her with an upraised hand.

“No. We can discuss it later.” He turned back to the servants. “Take her away.”

The two men stepped forward, gripping Lara by her arms. She struggled, shrieking as they dragged her towards the door. “You disgrace yourself!” she screamed, her voice rising with every step. Evelyne clung tightly to her mother’s arm, her wide eyes brimming with fear. The younger Scarlett remained still, her face unreadable as her mother was hauled into the hallway.

“I have waited patiently for you to see sense all these years, Castor,” Lara’s voice echoed. “Mark my words, this house will burn for your blindness!”

Her shouts gradually faded, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Scarlett’s eyes lingered on the doorway, a bleak knot of foreboding settling in her chest.

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A soft sob broke the silence, and Scarlett glanced at Evelyne, whose shoulders were trembling.

“Cease your crying, Evelyne,” the younger Scarlett said, sounding detached from it all. “Scions of this family do not weep over such matters.”

Remarkably, Evelyne stifled her sobs, but Lord Hartford’s eyes hardened as he turned towards his eldest daughter. “Don’t speak to your sister in that manner, Scarlett,” he said rigidly. For several long seconds, he studied her, his expression darkening with conflict. “…You may be that woman’s daughter, but you are not bound to her path. And I expect her not to be let out of her quarters like this again.”

“I was not the one who released her,” Scarlett replied.

“Please do not lie to me, Scarlett.”

“I am not.”

“Dear,” Evelyne’s mother said softly, placing a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. He glanced at her, then back at Scarlett, his shoulders sagging with resignation.

“Fine,” he said, almost to himself. “I’m sorry.” He paused, as if about to say more, when a distant commotion erupted from the hallway. A shattering crash followed by a scream cut through the mansion’s stillness. Evelyne’s mother gasped, and Lord Hartford’s eyes widened. Evelyne blinked in confusion, while the younger Scarlett’s head whipped towards the doorway. Scarlett felt her blood turn cold.

Before anyone could act, the fractured section of the dining hall crumbled. Reality splintered, the edges dissolving into the same endless white void. It threatened to engulf Scarlett for a moment, but instead, she was suddenly deposited in another scene — her office, with one wall peering into that infinite whiteness.

Evelyne, now in her early teens, stood in the center of the room, her face streaked with fresh tears once more. Across from her, seated behind the wide desk, was an older version of the previous Scarlett, watching with an impassive expression.

“Cease with this endless crying,” the older Scarlett said. “Tears do not suit our house.”

Evelyne’s face twisted with both confusion and hurt. “Don’t you care at all?” she asked, her voice wavering. “You just told me Mother and Father are gone.”

The other Scarlett remained unmoved. “Yes, and tears will not change that fact. I have repeatedly told you that allowing sentimentality to control you is foolish. Dwelling on the past serves no purpose but to hinder ambition.”

Evelyne stared, disbelief written on her features. “…You really don’t care, do you? Just like back then. How can you be so…heartless?”

The other Scarlett regarded her sister for a long moment before responding with a chilling calm. “If you believed your mother’s death might affect me, you are woefully naive. I have never regarded her as family, nor do I believe she truly ever saw me as such. As for Father’s fate, I have chosen to accept it as it is.”

Her words were clinical, almost calculated, but Scarlett—watching from the sidelines—studied the woman closely. She knew herself well enough to recognise that things weren’t so simple.

“…Father would have been ashamed to see you like this,” Evelyne whispered bitterly.

Something flickered in the other Scarlett’s eyes — a brief, dangerous glint. “Do not presume to speak as though you knew him better than I,” she said sharply. “I have no patience for your pointless sentiments. Leave.”

Evelyne hesitated, her gaze lingering on her sister, searching for something that she couldn’t spot. Then, wordlessly, she turned and walked out of the room, passing Garside in the hallway. The butler’s face betrayed a mix of pity and poignancy as he looked back at the other Scarlett before gently closing the door behind Evelyne.

Left alone with her counterpart, Scarlett continued studying the woman. The other Scarlett stared down at her desk for several seconds, before she slowly lifted her eyes to meet Scarlett’s.

“I fail to see why you insist on making me relive these particular experiences,” she said evenly.

Scarlett considered her. “…I did not choose this.”

“Do not deceive yourself. You have held control over what unfolds in these Memories.”

Scarlett frowned. She wasn’t sure how accurate that was, but she knew there was some truth to it. She chose not to argue, allowing an extended pause to settle between them as they eyed each other.

“…What happened?” Scarlett asked at last.

“When?”

“In Freymeadow.”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“I do not.”

“Then why would you presume that I do?”

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed slightly at the deflection. After a moment, she gestured towards the missing wall, changing the subject. “The Memories are collapsing.”

The other Scarlett inclined her head. “Indeed. They likely will not endure much longer. I am rather impressed that you managed to keep them unified despite that earlier…disruption. I had anticipated it would all end then and there.”

“Could you not have helped?”

The woman arched a brow. “I thought I was a mere construct? What help could I possibly offer?”

“Vail was a mere construct,” Scarlett pointed out.

The other Scarlett regarded her coolly. “She was an anomaly.”

“And you are not?”

The woman’s expression darkened, something dark flickering in her gaze. “And what, precisely, are you implying?”

Ignoring the sharp edge in her tone, Scarlett walked to the missing wall to peer into the void. Its vast emptiness stirred unsettling feelings from within, much like the rift’s strange pull. Yet right now, right at this moment, she wasn’t afraid of it.

She turned back to the other Scarlett. “Tell me, why did you insist on those words to Evelyne? In each of these Memories, you told her not to cry. Why?”

The woman tilted her head slightly. “As I said, scions of our house do not cry. They should not.”

“That is not the family’s motto. It is something you chose for yourself, is it not?”

“No. It is something my father once imparted to me.”

“Yet he did not appear to agree with the maxim.”

“That is irrelevant. I cannot account for if his views changed. Nonetheless, I still hold it to be true.”

“Then do you truly stand by those words?”

“Naturally.”

Scarlett observed her closely for a few seconds. “…Then you would consider Evelyne a member of this house? Someone who should uphold those values?”

The younger Scarlett’s expression changed, a faint frown creasing her brow. “Only by circumstance. She still descends from a common bloodline.”

“I see.” Scarlett lifted a hand, letting it hover near the white void. “That is more than I expected you to acknowledge. In fact, it surprises me — I was not entirely certain you were a genuine reflection of Scarlett Hartford as she once was.”

It had been a while since she abandoned the idea that this woman was the real Scarlett.

With a deliberate motion, she conjured a small flame in her palm and, through some intuitive command that she was still trying to understand, she pressed the flame through the wall into the void beyond. The fire’s form seemed to stretch infinitely into the whiteness, its edges blurring as if drawn into the void’s vast emptiness.

“What precisely are you doing?” the other Scarlett asked.

“I am not sure,” Scarlett replied. “Experimenting, I suppose. Preparing myself for something I did not know I was capable of, perhaps? If I am entirely honest, I do believe you may understand it better than I.”

She squinted, scrutinising the flame, trying to trace the intangible link between herself and the fire. She had only realised she could interfere with these rifts in Freymeadow, and there was still much that confounded her.

Suddenly, the flame’s connection dissolved, and Scarlett watched as it vanished into the void.

…That hadn’t told her much at all, unfortunately.

Well, it might be easier to just seek answers directly from the source. Maybe that was the very reason she had somehow invoked these Memories in the first place — whether consciously or not.

With a deliberate air, she refocused on the other Scarlett. “I believe it is time we had a serious discussion, the two of us — this time, without pretenses or evasions. Let us not delude ourselves by pretending either of us does not have any agendas or hidden intentions.”

The other Scarlett watched her with an unwavering gaze, arms slowly folding across her chest. “Very well,” she said after a moment. “What is it you wish to have said?”

Scarlett held her eyes. “Before we begin, should we not introduce ourselves once more? Properly, for once.”

She stepped forward slightly. “As you already know, I am Amy Bernal — an outsider to this world, and the current holder of the identity of ‘Scarlett Hartford’.” She let the weight of her words settle before continuing. “And you, I presume, are the one they call the ‘Anomalous One’.”