There is an old rule in storytelling: the hero gets the victory, but the villain gets the wardrobe, the monologue, and usually the better lighting. Heroes are expected to be steady, decent, and relentlessly sincere. Villains get to sweep into the room, insult the furniture, explain civilization in three devastating sentences, and steal the scene before anyone remembers they are supposed to lose.

In fiction, that imbalance can be delicious. We admire the performance without endorsing the plan. We can enjoy the dragon’s speech and still hope the village survives. The credits roll, the lights come up, and the villain remains safely trapped in the story. In is that scenario that some villains outshine the hero. I can admit I am a hero girl, I fall for the goodness, the positivity, the good aura, and the happy ending. Real life is less considerate. It does not provide a soundtrack when cruelty enters the room, or flash a warning label when a lie has been polished into a slogan. There is no narrator to tell us which character is dangerous. Sometimes the villain does not look like a villain at all. Sometimes the villain smiles for the camera, repeats a simple falsehood until it feels familiar, and calls every objection a conspiracy. It is evident in our world now, in real life.

But for me… there is no villain that I have liked more than a hero, not one…