"Grandma… please turn off the lights…" I pressed the pillow to my ear, but the birds outside my window kept chirping. It was annoying, to be honest. I would never understand people who enjoyed the chirp—
Birds? Wait… I don't even have a window in my room…
My opened opened and I pushed myself up, and my muscles screamed in protest. My shoulders, back, and legs all ached as if I'd been folded into a box for weeks. My arms shook when I tried to lift them, and my spine protested with a stiff, hot ache.
Ahh... Why does it hurt? I didn't lift that heavy—
I looked up, ahead and froze.
What in the name of god!?
The sight in front of me made my chest tighten. White curtains hung so tall and wide they felt like walls themselves, letting in sunlight in delicate streams. I looked down and the bed I lay on… it wasn't my bed. Not even close. No rickety frame, no sagging mattress. No threadbare blanket, no crack in the wall with a poster I'd taped up. No broken drawer jammed with scraps of useless things.
Everything here gleamed. And it was too clean and perfect.
This isn't my room. This… this can't be real.
I turned my head slowly, left then right, my stomach tightening with disbelief. The walls, the floor, even the air felt like they didn't belong to me. My old room had smelled like dust and old paper; this smelled faintly of flowers and something… expensive.
Where am I? And whose… whose room is this?
Did my neighbor send me to a hospital?
I glanced down at the bedsheet beneath me. It was soft, smooth and almost glowing under the sunlight. My hand drifted over it and it was weird... My hand didn't have the scar of needles—
My hand… wait… my hand…
It wasn't mine. It had small, slender fingers, perfectly shaped, pale with a faint warmth. No scars, no rough patches, no veins standing out like twisted cords under thin skin. This… this can't be my hand.
My breath hitched. My heart thumped so loud I thought it might burst. What happened to me?
A lock of hair spilled forward, brushing my face. I instinctively reached up and froze again. Long strands, soft as silk, brushing my fingers like… like ribbons. And deep, glossy red, like rubies catching the sunlight. Red? My hair… it was white. It had always been white. Albino… I've always been albino. This isn't possible…
I swallowed hard and looked around the room again. To my left, a huge big mirror stood and besides it an absurdly ornate vanity stood, like it belonged in a queen's palace. Three mirrors, carved details, and a sculpted head wearing a crown in the center. Tiny jars and trinkets cluttered the top, but I couldn't focus on them. I couldn't focus on anything except… my hand, my hair, my body. This isn't me.
I forced myself up off the bed, pressing my palms to the bed for support. My legs trembled violently, like they were made of jelly, and every muscle in my back and arms protested in sharp, hot aches. Why is standing so hard? I gritted my teeth and slowly shuffled toward the mirror, each step a careful battle against my stiff joints and wobbly knees.
My reflection hit me before I reached the mirror, and I nearly stumbled backward.
That's not me… that's not me…
Short hair, silver eyes, freckles....all were gone. Instead, a girl stared back with golden eyes, almond-shaped and sharp at the edges, even half-lidded and weak. Her hair tumbled in soft waves around her waist, red as rubies, catching the light. Her skin glowed faintly, more ivory than white, smooth and unblemished. Even in a plain white gown, with hair messy and limbs weak, she looked… impossibly elegant.
I blinked hard. How could it be—The image blinked with me. It's blinking with me… that's… mine?
My hands shook as I reached forward. Fingertips pressed against the cool glass. The mirror didn't lie, and yet it was impossible. This couldn't be me. This wasn't me.
I barely recognized my own voice whispering, trembling, "W-what… what happened to me?"
My voice… it sounded so bold and heavy…
I grabbed my throat and stumbled back. I couldn't believe that in the mirror that woman was me.
"I—" A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my head. I stumbled onto the soft surface beneath me.
"AHHH!" I clutched my skull. It felt like something was being shoved into my head, poking, twisting. My knees gave out and I collapsed, pressing my forehead to the floor.
"Please… stop! Stop! It hurts… let me go…"
A voice came from behind me.
"Hwæt! Eart þu eall riht?"
I froze. My eyes widened. Who was it? Male or female? I couldn't even tell. And I couldn't understand a single word.
Those Footsteps moved closer. Closer.
Behind me. That person was behind me.
"Hæf þu clypode læce and Hlāford Cirill hrædlice?"
I flinched violently at the loud voice.
What did that mean…? It sounded… ancient… like something from a storybook I didn't know.
"Frófor, hlæfdige Meredia?"
A sudden touch on my back made me shiver uncontrollably. My body shook.
"No… no… please don't… don't hurt me… please…" I clutched hands around my arms tighter.
A few more steps came into the room. They spoke in that strange, foreign tongue again.
"Hwæt hæfst þu nu gedon?"
"I—I didn't do anything," I whispered, my voice shaking.
"Þu bist scyldig to wite fram Hlǣford Cirill."
One of them suddenly stepped right in front of me. Shoes on their feet, white fabric wrapped around their legs. Then they bent on their knees.
My whole body tensed, stiff as a board, as if that could stop them from touching me… or killing me.
"Hlāfdige," she said, her hands on my shoulders. "Setta þu up. Þu scealt na beo on þære flor. Winter hæfð eac læt."
"No… no… no… don't kill me," I whimpered, my teeth chattering.
I managed to lift my head, tears blurring my vision. All I could make out was a vague shape. It was a woman in a strange outfit. Puffing sleeves, a weird apron, and a bonnet wrapped around her head.
"Hlāfdige? Hit is ic…"
Her hands moved, and I caught sight of something unfamiliar in her grip.
Sharp… it's sharp…
I didn't know what it was but It was sharp and it's pointy end was shining as if it wanted to be inside my body and suck the blood out of me.
My stomach sank. I pushed myself backward on the floor, palms pressing hard against the cool wood to keep from falling. Every inch felt like my heart was trying to leap out of my chest.
Don't… don't touch me…
I slid back as fast as I could, but my back hit the lamp perched on the nightstand beside the bed. The sudden impact sent it toppling over.
The glass globe shattered across the floor, oil spilling in dark, sticky puddles, the flame flickering and sputtering as it met the slick surface. My chest heaved, my knees trembling, and I pressed my palms harder against the floor, trying to stop myself from sliding further.
I froze, eyes wide, staring at the shards and the spilled oil.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. I ducked behind the bed, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
A figure stepped in. A man, a tall and broad shoulders man, clad in… metal? A armor? My eyes widened. Why would someone wear—
There, on his waist was a sword.
I screamed.
" Don't kill me please! Don't—don't come near me!"
The man's eyes snapped to those woman first. His voice was loud, harsh and unfamiliar.
"Hwæt hæfst þu eow sylfe gedon? Næfre ne geseah ic þæt þu gecweman soðlice min hlæfdige!"
The women scrambled, heads bowed, voices quivering.
"Forgyf us, Hlǣford! We ne wisten… we wisten na…"
My knees shook. I stayed crouched, trembling behind the bed, not moving an inch. The sword glinted in the sunlight through the curtains. My fingers clawed into the floor as if it could keep me from being taken.
Please… please don't hurt me…
He ran his hands over his face, like he was stressed, then—oh no—he looked at me.
No… don't look at me…
"Eri? Hit is riht. Ic eom her. Nān ne sceal þec wundian."
My chest hammered. Every muscle in me screamed. he crossed the room in a few big, fast strides, and suddenly he was… only a few steps away.
"Miht þu up? Standan?"
I froze. I couldn't back up anymore. my back had already slammed the lampshade. I was cornered.
I have to run… I have to…
The door! To my right was Open. My brain refused to think beyond that and it wanted to me to Just run. This was the only way to escape.
"I…" My voice caught in my throat. I stood shakily, knees wobbling. He didn't move, didn't even lift a hand. His sword hung at his side, but his eyes… they weren't angry. He didn't move to grab me immediately.
"Eri… Wilt þu eft slæpan? Hast þu gemærsod?"
I didn't understand, but… his tone? It sounded questioning and calm. I nodded, barely.
1… 2… 3…
I jumped. My knees buckled immediately, threatening to collapse under me, but I forced my legs forward, scrambling toward the door.
I… I did it…
Then—BAM! My head bumped into something or someone. My head snapped up.
What… what…? Who… who is this?!
I looked up. One man stood before me. Only his eyes were I could notice. One blue… one gold. Panic punched me in the gut.
I stumbled backward, fell on my hips again, heart thudding, breath tearing in and out.
Can I… even escape? Who… why… where am I?
Around me, foreign voices started again.
"Seoc þu, Hlāfdige! Ne slean þu…"
"Biðrið! Þu scealt beon gehalgod!"
My hands covered my face in defeat. I wanted to go home but these strange people and stranage language hurt my head.
My head spun.
Grandma… save me… please…
Something was happening to me. I felt heavier as if gravity was pulling me to fall back.
The last thing I saw were those delicate, strange hands that weren't mine, then the world tipped. Everything swirled, and the room, the people, the light....all collapsed around me.