The episode at the bath had been strange. Maria hadn't said anything afterward, maintaining an uncomfortable silence that hung between us like a heavy curtain. If she truly was my sister, then this had to be our house. But that raised more questions than answers. What condition was I in? What could have possibly reduced me to such a state if these injuries weren't from physical abuse?
She led me back to the room where I had first awakened in this world apparently my room. With practiced movements, she opened the windows, and as moonlight streamed in, I could finally see my surroundings more clearly. This wasn't the room of someone who had been mistreated, at least not from what I could tell. The furnishings were modest but well maintained, and there was a sense of care in how everything was arranged.
Maria guided me toward what I could only describe as a vanity table. In the mirror's reflection, I saw my face for the first time since arriving in this body. Short red hair framed delicate features, and an eye patch more medical than aesthetic covered my left eye. My remaining eye was a striking green color that seemed to hold depths I couldn't quite fathom.
The feminine figure staring back at me was undeniably cute, though by my standards, she looked barely more than a child. I studied the reflection with growing confusion. I didn't know what to make of it she appeared to be in her late teens, maybe eighteen at most, but there was something undeniably youthful about her features. If this was truly the body I now inhabited, I imagined that in better health, I would have had admirers lining up at the door.
Maria reached into the drawer and withdrew a comb, her movements deliberate and practiced. She began working it through my hair with gentle strokes that should have been comforting but somehow felt heavy with unspoken tension.
"Why are you so silent now?" I asked, trying to break through the oppressive quiet.
"Cut it off," she replied curtly.
Her response was so different from the careful, almost tender way she had bathed me earlier. The contrast was jarring, and I found myself struggling to understand this sudden shift in her demeanor. I should stop overthinking this, I told myself. My imagination was already running wild with images I had no business entertaining.
"What are you talking about, Maria? I'm confused," I said, hoping to coax some explanation from her.
Suddenly, in the mirror's reflection, I watched her expression transform. What I saw there made my blood run cold it was pure, undiluted fear.
"After all this time, I thought you finally understood," she said, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion.
"I was puzzled when you asked who I was to you earlier. For a moment, I thought you were trying to empathize with everything I've had to sacrifice for your sake. But no you're just playing games with me, aren't you?"
As she spoke, her grip on my hair tightened progressively, each word accompanied by a sharp tug that sent jolts of pain through my scalp. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the realization of what I saw in her eyes complete and utter contempt. She despised me, and that hatred ran deeper than anything I could have imagined.
My eye began to water, tears flowing as if this was a familiar response, as if my body had learned through repetition to react this way to pain and emotional distress. Was this muscle memory? Had this fragile form endured so much suffering that crying had become an automatic response?
"Please, let me go. It hurts," I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper.
Desperation drove me to try to pull away from her grip, but in my panic, I accidentally pushed her with more force than I intended. Maria stumbled backward and fell to the floor with a soft thud. The sudden exertion sent a wave of agony through my arms, and I looked down to see fresh blood seeping through the bandages. The sharp, overwhelming pain began to drag me toward unconsciousness, and the last thing I heard was Maria's voice, suddenly concerned, asking if I was alright.
When I came to my senses, I found myself in bed, wrapped in freshly applied bandages. The room was dimmer now, with only the moon providing illumination through the still-open windows.
"What was that just now?" I muttered to myself, trying to make sense of whatever condition plagued this body. What kind of illness or injury could cause such violent reactions to the slightest physical stress?
"You're awake, huh?"
A voice from beside the bed startled me, and I turned to see a young man sitting in a chair I hadn't noticed before. His silver hair caught the moonlight, creating an almost unreal glow around his head. He was well dressed in what looked like countryside attire the kind you might see in period movies. His eyes were the same striking green as mine, and something about his presence felt familiar in a way that went beyond mere recognition. Could this be my brother? He looked nothing like Maria, but there was an undeniable sense of kinship between us.
"You know, Maria doesn't really hate you," he said, his voice carrying a weight of understanding.
"It's just that she's given up so much, as you well know. That's why I'm curious why did you ask that question earlier?"
He turned his head toward me, and I felt a sudden chill of fear wash over me. I didn't know what expression my face was showing, but whatever he saw there made him burst into laughter.
"Don't worry, I know you meant no harm," he said, his laughter subsiding into something more like genuine concern.
"So how are you feeling now?"
"Excuse me, but can you tell me what's happening with my body?" I asked, hoping he might provide some answers to the questions that had been plaguing me.
His face changed instantly, as if I had said something I shouldn't have. The warmth in his expression disappeared, replaced by something that looked almost like alarm.
"It seems your condition has worsened," he said, standing up abruptly.
"I'll ask dad if I can take you to the priestess tomorrow."
He moved toward the door quickly with decisive steps, pausing only to look back at me one final time.
"Sleep well," he said before closing the door behind him.
This had to be my strangest encounter yet. The way he spoke, the familiarity in his manner he was definitely my brother. But seriously, who was I in this world? What kind of condition did I have that caused such dramatic physical reactions to the smallest exertions?
I tried to sit up, hoping that thinking through my situation might help me understand what was happening. Even that basic movement sent waves of suffocating pain throughout my entire body. The sensation was overwhelming, like every nerve ending was on fire. I could feel consciousness slipping away from me again, and as I collapsed back onto the bed, I tried to call for help.
Blood began to stream from my throat, the metallic taste filling my mouth as I struggled to breathe. My vision blurred, and darkness began to creep in from the edges of my sight. The last thing I was aware of was the warm wetness spreading across the pillow beneath my head before my eyes closed and everything went black.
Whatever was wrong with this body, it was far more serious than I had initially thought. As consciousness faded completely, I couldn't help but wonder if I would wake up at all this time, or if this mysterious condition would finally claim the life I had somehow inherited from my prayer.