The Villainess Who Fumbles the Finish

Your story

You were born a marquess's daughter, hiding behind an unreadable smile a nature that could not bear to lose to anyone.

You loathed dirtying your own hands above all else, and outwardly you never spoke ill of a single soul — but when there was something you wanted, you had a remarkable gift for achieving it by moving people and rumors rather than stepping forward yourself.

High society thought of you as gentle and prudent, but those who watched you from close range knew better. They knew that every word you spoke had a layer of room left in it.

So you always chose ambiguous phrasing, against the chance that things did not go the way you intended. So that later, if anyone came to confront you, you could say this:

“I never said any such thing.”

Then one day, a count's daughter you were close with came to visit and sat down to tea with you. Until recently she had been engaged to be married, but she poured out her rage and heartbreak: he had suddenly lost his heart to a duke's daughter.

You thought for a moment, and recalled how the duke's daughter had looked at the last court banquet. She had ignored your greeting and scanned the room with a faintly uneasy expression on her face.

And then, as though it were nothing at all, you set down your teacup and said:

“Now that you mention it… rumor has it that one of the duke's daughter's maids is often seen in the back alleys. It rather sounds as if there's something being hidden.”

It was mere speculation. To you, in that moment, at least.

But a few days later, high society was turned upside down. It came out that the duke's daughter had been secretly involved with a commoner young man, and the duke, enraged by his daughter's conduct, sent her away to a remote convent. During the investigation the name of the maid you had mentioned so idly came up as well, and the affair grew beyond anyone's control.

At first, you managed to talk yourself around.

'It isn't as though I lied. Something that was going to come out eventually simply came out.'

But once the duke's daughter had vanished entirely from high society, and even the people who had laughed and chattered alongside her stopped saying her name, as if nothing had ever happened — your heart would not settle.

After weeks of wavering, you finally went to the convent.

But even standing at its gate, you had no idea what you were supposed to say. You had not acted with enough malice to lay the whole blame on yourself, and yet you could hardly claim to have done nothing wrong — that one remark of yours had been the beginning of the entire affair.

In the end you came back from the convent having managed neither a full atonement nor a full denial. And when, years later, you were still agonizing over what happened that day, you finally took vows as a nun of your own accord, hoping to set the weight down.

At least there, atoning before God, you could lay some part of that burden aside.

Advice

You're a natural negotiator who tries to stay neutral rather than lean to either side. You give differing opinions their full due and put off deciding until a reason convincing enough comes along. But the very habit of deferral that keeps you safe can sometimes make life harder than it needs to be. Once you commit your heart firmly to one side or the other, you may find it comes as a relief instead.