✧ Author's Note
**This is not a novel. Not a fantasy. Not even a story.**
This is *reality*. The reality we live.
The reality we often refuse to face.
You won't find heroes saving kingdoms here.
You won't find villains destroying worlds.
But you *will* find people.
Real people. Broken. Misunderstood. Exiled by one mistake.
This chapter is not meant to give you advice about life.
I don't claim to have answers.
But what I *can* offer are reasons.
Reasons to stop seeing only the black parts of life.
Reasons to look deeper — to remember that life, despite everything, is still full of love.
We are all flawed.
We all make mistakes.
No one is perfect — and no one was ever meant to be.
Only our Creator is.
So stop judging others like you're faultless.
You don't know what battles they've fought silently.
You don't know the war behind someone's one mistake.
And maybe, just maybe — instead of pointing fingers —
take a moment,
look in the mirror,
and ask yourself:
**"Am I a good person?"**
If you hesitate…
if you can't answer confidently…
then maybe the problem isn't the world.
Maybe it's you.
This isn't a call for guilt.
It's a call for *honesty*. For *compassion*. For *understanding*.
Because behind every villain you hate,
was once someone who only wanted to be seen, heard, and loved.
Let's begin.
— *Yamina Irain*
*
********************************************************************************
> *You don't have to murder a king to become a villain.
> You just have to speak too loudly in the wrong room.*
There is something cruel in the way the world holds memory —
not as a soft cloth, but as a blade.
Not as truth, but as punishment.
The world does not care who you *were*.
It only remembers what you did **wrong**.
Even if it was once. Even if you didn't mean it. Even if it was all you ever did wrong.
We live in a time — or perhaps we always have — where forgiveness is not a virtue.
It is a weakness, feared more than hatred.
---
They will not tell your story as it happened.
They will write only the part where you shouted, not the thousand times you stayed silent.
They will remember the one day you failed, not the thousand days you saved them.
They will say, *"He hurt me,"* and no one will ask why you bled for them first.
This is the beginning of every villain not born evil, but born in the ashes of love and effort and trust that **wasn't enough** — not for them.
The world does not wait for an explanation.
It waits for a reason to call you names.
And you?
You try to explain.
You open your mouth and they say you're defending yourself.
You stay quiet and they say your silence is guilt.
You cry, and they say you're faking.
You don't, and they say you feel nothing.
You were once a hero.
But the world decided it had no use for your light anymore.
---
Nothing big.
You don't need to kill.
You don't need to steal.
Sometimes, all it takes is a **bad day**.
A single crack in your voice.
A wrong word, said in anger or sorrow.
Sometimes, all it takes is **telling someone "I can't help you."**
It is terrifying how fragile love is.
How little loyalty the world has.
How easily people will let go of you the moment you're not perfect.
They say they loved you.
But love that cannot survive your weakest moment was never love.
It was admiration — and admiration is a contract with conditions.
Fail once, and the contract is broken.
---
The truth is: people need villains.
They **want** someone to blame.
They need someone to be the devil in their story, so they never have to question themselves.
It is easier to point at you and say, *"She was always dangerous,"*
than to admit they were once saved by your hands.
It is easier to forget your kindness
than to confront the fact that they abandoned someone who once gave them everything.
And so, they will change the story.
They will rewrite it without your permission.
You were not cast out because you were evil.
You were cast out because they were afraid of what it meant to still believe in you after you fell.
Because if you are still good, even after failing…
then they have no excuse for never forgiving their own friends.
Their lovers.
Their children.
And so — you are painted black.
---
You see it everywhere.
The woman who snapped at a child — and they forget she raised ten with her bare hands.
The man who left one night and never came back — and they never asked what he was escaping from.
The teacher who broke down in class — and they never spoke of the years he carried his students' pain.
The friend who said something harsh once — and they forget the dozens of times she answered her phone at 3 AM when they were crying.
You don't need to burn down a house to be the villain.
Sometimes, just **closing the door** once is enough.
---
> *No one is allowed to be human anymore.
> You are either flawless — or dangerous.*
What is a mistake?
It's a cry. A breath. A tremble in your hands.
It's forgetting something once.
It's losing control when you should have stayed calm.
It's a moment when emotion wins — even if just for one second.
But the world does not care that you were tired.
Or sick.
Or scared.
Or triggered.
Or overwhelmed.
The world doesn't care that you were raised in pain.
That you've survived a hundred quiet wars.
That you were having the worst day of your life when you made that choice.
The world only cares that you **didn't act the way they needed you to — at that exact moment**.
---
They say, *"We're all human."*
But what they mean is: *"You're allowed to be human only in the ways that don't inconvenience me."*
You are allowed to cry — as long as it's beautiful.
You are allowed to be broken — as long as you still smile.
You are allowed to speak your truth — as long as it doesn't make them uncomfortable.
And if you fail to fit this mold, even once?
You become the danger.
You become the threat.
You become **too much**.
So they call you bitter.
They call you cold.
They call you angry.
They say you've "changed."
And maybe… you have.
Not because you wanted to — but because you had to.
---
It's always small at first.
A change in their eyes.
A hesitation before they speak your name.
A pause before a hug.
A whisper you weren't meant to hear.
The same mouths that once said, *"I love you,"*
now say, *"Be careful with her."*
The same friends who once said, *"He's always there for me,"*
now say, *"He's not who I thought he was."*
You try to explain — but you can feel it:
they've already chosen their version of the story.
And in their version, you're the villain now.
Nothing you say will fix it.
Because it's easier to believe that you *became bad*
than to admit that they never truly understood you.
---
Imagine writing a book.
In every chapter, you give.
You love.
You try.
You fall, but you get back up.
You forgive.
You build.
You bleed and still stand.
But on the last page — you break.
You scream.
You walk away.
You say something they never expected.
You finally protect yourself.
And they close the book and say:
*"What a terrible story. What a horrible person."*
They remember only the ending.
They throw away the rest.
That's what it means to become the villain of your own biography —
**not because you were wrong**,
but because they only read the part where you stopped being what they needed.
---
Ask yourself this:
When you were drowning in regret — who reached for you?
When you apologized — who actually listened?
When you cried — who believed it?
Most people think villains are made of fire.
But many are made of silence.
No one came.
No one fought for them.
No one said, *"Wait. Let's ask why."*
So the villain learned something:
No one is coming.
There is no rescue.
There is no justice — at least not for the ones who fall first.
And if you must live with the label,
if they've already written your name in ash and shadow —
then maybe it's easier to just become what they expect.
> *You didn't want to be evil.
> You just got tired of proving you weren't.*
---
> *What if the villain is not the one who hates,
> but the one who loved too much — and broke silently when that love wasn't returned?*
Evil is not always cruel.
Sometimes, it is **quiet disappointment** turned inward.
Sometimes, it is a **soul twisted by trying too hard to be good** — until it stopped trying.
The villain doesn't always scream.
Sometimes, they stop speaking altogether.
Sometimes, they walk into a room and smile like nothing happened.
Sometimes, they keep giving — even after they've been emptied out.
And still, they are hated.
Not because they harmed… but because they stopped healing.
The world looks at them and says:
*"They're cold now."*
But they forget that warmth must be **fed**, and kindness must be **nourished**.
No fire survives without fuel.
No heart stays soft when it is only ever used.
---
We love to say,
*"But he was one of the good ones."*
Until he's not.
Until he finally says *no*.
Until he finally refuses to stay silent.
Until he finally breaks down and yells, *"I'm not okay."*
Then — the love disappears.
The myth is shattered.
The same people who praised him will say,
*"I knew there was something off about him."*
No one wants to admit they were wrong about someone.
So they rewrite the past.
They go digging for **evidence that supports the fall**.
They twist every old story until it sounds like a warning sign they "should've seen."
The world cannot stand the idea that heroes fall.
So it must make the fall feel deserved.
> That is how myths die — not by truth, but by fear of being disappointed.
---
Some people are hated simply because they **reflect something uncomfortable**.
You speak with confidence, and they say you're arrogant.
You ask questions, and they say you're dangerous.
You show your scars, and they say you're manipulative.
You refuse to be used, and they say you're cruel.
You haven't changed.
But what you've shown them — **who they are around you** — makes them uncomfortable.
You become a villain not because of your actions,
but because you've revealed their own shadows.
Some people cannot look at you without being reminded of what they buried inside.
---
So they destroy you.
Not because you did anything wrong.
But because you existed too truthfully.
Too freely.
Too unforgivably real.
---
Make no mistake:
Society doesn't hate you because you were wrong.
It hates you because you broke the script.
You were supposed to stay quiet.
You were supposed to smile and say nothing.
You were supposed to keep carrying what wasn't yours.
You were supposed to **be small**.
But one day, you refused.
You said: *"I can't take this anymore."*
You said: *"I'm not your savior."*
You said: *"I matter too."*
And that — that was your crime.
Not violence.
Not cruelty.
Not evil.
But disobedience.
Self-respect.
A declaration that you deserved more.
---
> And in a world built on hierarchy and control,
> the one who dares to say *"I deserve better"* becomes a threat.
So they label you.
So they isolate you.
So they bury the good you did beneath a single flawed moment.
Because it is easier to say *"He's a monster,"*
than to admit, *"He's just like me — and I might be capable of the same pain."*
---
> *It is not the fall that wounds the most.
> It is the silence that follows.*
After the label, comes the distance.
People stop calling.
Your name disappears from the conversation.
Your seat remains empty, and no one asks why.
You watch from afar as they move on — without you.
And worse… you realize they prefer it that way.
The same people who once said, *"We'll always be here,"*
become ghosts in your memory.
You begin to wonder if they ever meant it.
Did they love *you* — or just the version of you that made them feel good?
---
It is one thing to be hated.
But it is far more devastating to be **forgotten**.
To be erased.
To have the world pretend you were never good.
Never kind.
Never strong.
Never there.
And in that silence, the question grows:
*"If no one believes I was ever good, then… was I?"*
---
There is a war inside you now.
One voice says, *"You were good. You did your best."*
The other whispers, *"Maybe they were right about you."*
Every kind thing you did feels like it belongs to someone else.
You revisit memories like crime scenes,
wondering what moment turned the story against you.
You ask, again and again:
* Was it when I said that one sentence?
* Was it when I didn't show up that one time?
* Was it the time I forgot to smile?
You begin to **doubt your own story**.
Not because it's false,
but because the world has rewritten it so loudly —
you can no longer hear yourself.
This is how villains are made:
Not from hatred.
But from **disorientation**.
From trying to hold on to who you are
when no one around you remembers that person anymore.
---
They tell you to be strong.
So you become strong.
Then they say you're intimidating.
They tell you to speak your mind.
So you speak.
Then they say you're too aggressive.
They ask for honesty.
You give it.
They call you disrespectful.
They want you soft.
You soften.
They say you're weak.
> The world doesn't want a real person.
> It wants a mirror that always flatters — never reflects.
And when you fail to match what they expect?
They blame you.
You are the villain for *not being everything, all the time, to everyone.*
They say, *"You've changed."*
But you haven't.
You just stopped trying to be what made them comfortable.
---
Sometimes, the worst thing you can be is someone with a heart.
A heart that cares too much.
That questions rules.
That challenges cruelty.
That cries when no one else does.
This world does not reward tenderness.
It exploits it.
Twists it.
Then discards it.
They call you unstable.
Too emotional.
Too sensitive.
But you were never *too* anything.
You were exactly enough — they just weren't willing to hold space for it.
And when you finally learn to guard your heart?
When you stop bleeding for everyone?
When you let the walls rise and your tone sharpen?
They call it a transformation.
They say you became bitter.
They say, *"She used to be so kind."*
As if kindness should be kept alive even after everyone has stabbed it.
---
They never ask what it took for you to survive.
They only judge who you became to do it.
Maybe you started to walk alone.
Maybe you stopped saying yes.
Maybe you no longer respond to people who only show up when they need something.
They call this bitterness.
But it's just boundaries.
They call it being dangerous.
But it's just being exhausted.
> You didn't become a villain.
> You became someone who finally protected what was left.
And that's the worst thing you can do in a world that only values you for what it can take.