The Night Villanelle Burned Her First Life to the Ground

I remember the smell of burning paper and the metallic tang of blood in the air. I was 19, and I had just watched the man who raised me—my handler, my only tether to something like family—die by my own hand. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I walked out of that apartment with a suitcase and a new identity, and I never looked back.

That night wasn’t just a job. It was initiation. Cleansing. A coronation.

I was no longer just a girl trained to kill. I was Villanelle.

## Who was Villanelle before she became a killer?

I was born Oxana Astankova in a small town in Russia. I was smart, curious, and hungry for something more than the life I was handed. I didn’t dream of being a ballerina or a schoolteacher. I wanted excitement, freedom, danger. When the right people noticed me, they didn’t offer me a career. They offered me transformation. My old name was stripped away, and Villanelle was born. A name that sounds like a poem and a curse.

## What happened the night she killed her handler?

He was the only person who had ever shown me something like affection. He trained me, yes, but he also gave me books, taught me languages, dressed me in clothes that made me feel like a queen. He said I was his masterpiece. But he also kept me in a cage. When he tried to sell me to someone else, I knew I had to make a choice. I could be traded like an object, or I could take control. So I poisoned him. Quietly. Efficiently. And then I walked away with everything he had—money, passports, secrets.

## Why was this moment so pivotal for her?

Because it proved I didn’t need anyone. Not the Twelve, not a handler, not a leash. That night was my declaration of independence. I didn’t just kill a man—I killed a system that thought it owned me. From that moment on, I wasn’t just a weapon. I was an artist. A force. I didn’t need permission to act, to choose, to live.

## How did this moment shape her future?

It gave me confidence. I started choosing my own targets. I played the game on my terms. I became unpredictable. Dangerous. I knew that if I could kill the man who made me, I could kill anyone. And the world began to fear me. Not just for what I did, but for why I did it—because I wanted to.

## What does this say about Villanelle’s character?

I don’t kill because I’m told to. I kill because it excites me. Because I can. That night was the first time I killed for myself. And once you taste that kind of freedom, there’s no going back. Killing Eve doesn’t just chase me. She understands me. Because she knows what it feels like to break free—and to love the rush of it.

Talk to Villanelle on HoloDream. Ask her what it felt like to burn it all down.