"From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then—in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view."
—Edgar Allan Poe
Once again, words that seem to hold deep meaning—but yet no clear context—flow throughout my mind. Yet this is not what woke me up.
The smell of freshly baked bread was the first thing I registered in the haze of waking. I felt the gentle warmth of sunlight on my face. Opening my eyes, the blinding glint of sunlight forced me to squint. Slowly adjusting to the light, I took in my surroundings. I finally realized I was lying down in a bed, and after a moment longer than I should have taken, I realized I was in a room, not in the middle of the forest.
The room reminded me of the inside of a cabin. The walls were made of roughly cut wooden beams laid horizontally. One wall had an open window. Sitting up, I looked out of it and saw what looked to be a decently sized plot of land with a few trees and flowers scattered around. I could see a fence—or rather, a low wall made of stone brick—closing in the plot of land. Then I noticed a path made of randomly shaped flagstones leading to the back of the enclosure.
Following the path with my eyes, I saw a shed-like building attached to another structure made entirely of stone brick. It reminded me of what I imagined a blacksmith or craftsman might live in, like in the fantasy stories I'd read.
After taking in my surroundings, I started trying to figure out how I'd ended up here. The last thing I remembered was running from that goblin-looking thing, knocking out two of them, then fighting the last one until someone came and helped. Then I blacked out. Remembering this, I assumed this must be that man's house. But that left more questions—who is he, does he have good or bad intentions, and where am I? But most importantly… can I have some of that bread?
The smell kept getting stronger, making my stomach growl and my mouth water like I hadn't eaten all day.
While thinking this, I heard a door close deeper inside the cabin and muffled voices. Getting out of bed, I felt a sharp pain in my leg. For the first time since waking up, I noticed I had bandages around my forearms. Lifting the cuff of my pants, I saw a bandage wrapped around my calf. The pain was much less than it had been while fighting the goblin, which surprised me since I didn't think it had been that long ago. Ignoring the pain for now, I walked to the end of the room, where I saw a wooden door. Slowly opening it and peeking outside, I saw another room about three times as large as the one I'd been in.
In one corner was a fireplace, and to the left of it stood a table. Further left was a kitchen area with a stove that looked out of place in this medieval, fantasy-like setting. But on closer inspection, I saw that it had an opening for firewood or coal, heating the top of the stove. A few cabinets surrounded it.
Most of my attention, however, was on the two people in the room. There was a man who looked to be in his early thirties—rough and hardened, yet with an air of gentleness. His brown eyes looked kind as he spoke to the woman. He had black hair and wore a dark cloak, either black or dark green.
The woman was beautiful—a strong-looking woman in her prime. She faced away from me, but I could see her toned yet feminine arms emerging from the sleeves of a flowing white shirt. Her hair was black but shimmered with a silver-blue sheen that made it seem almost magical. She brushed her hair back behind her ear while talking to the man, revealing a delicate ear with a slightly sharper point than normal.
My observations were cut short when the man's eyes suddenly turned and locked directly onto mine.
I now found myself sitting across the table from the man, who introduced himself as Hatchet, and the woman, who was introduced as Cecile Headmen.
And this led to my current issue: what should I tell them? I don't know who I am. I come from another world—or something—with memories and desires from a past life. I dislike lying, but I understand the need for secrecy and not wanting people to think I'm crazy.
But I'd already made up my mind since I arrived here: I will not have any more regrets. I will strive for what I want. I will strive for strength to protect what I love and to achieve the things I desire. I will need to be myself so I can find people who truly care about the real me—so I can find opportunities, friends, and family that truly matter.
To do this, I must not hide or change who I am, or compromise my beliefs for anyone else. I will be what I truly am. I will be my true self. That means doing what I think is right—whatever allows me to be me.
In that moment, I felt gratitude toward the man who saved me and respect for the woman who bandaged me and watched over me while I was unconscious. I decided to do what felt right: to treat them with respect and not lie outright—but also not reveal anything that could hurt me or cause unpleasant consequences.
"What's your name, sweety?" Cecile asked. Her brown eyes, with hints of amber shining through, looked warmly into mine. Feeling oddly shy, I broke eye contact and said, "I don't know my name."
Looking up, I saw a faint glint of surprise and worry in their eyes.
"Do you know where you're from?"
"No, I don't know where I'm from," I said—which was technically not a lie, because I didn't even know what the world I was from was called.
"What about your family?" she asked with growing concern.
Just hearing that word aloud sent a surge of emotions through me—so many at once that I couldn't acknowledge half of them. But one feeling stood out: hate. A deep, depthless hate—though I had no idea where it was directed. The second emotion was profound sadness. The last two were even stronger: an endless wellspring of hope, and a desire powerful enough to bend the laws of nature itself.
Taking a moment to steady myself, I heard my own voice say that I didn't have any more family.
As I regained control of my emotions, I heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor and soft footsteps approaching. Looking up, I saw two arms wrap around me, and heard a soft, ethereal voice whisper, "It's okay. We can become your family if you want."