Assess the situation?
What situation?!
The screen vanished and Desmond's heart hammered against his chest as he fully sat up, tense, and waiting for the unexpected.
Long seconds passed and nothing happened. Then those seconds stretched into unbearable minutes that did nothing to get rid of the unease he felt.
Breathing heavily, he glanced down at himself for the first time, staring at hands that were not his hands. His fingers were longer than he had seen on anyone, and his skin was more tanned than the usual blotchy paleness he had.
He pulled at the nightgown draped all over his body, and the material felt like it cost more than he had ever made in a year from fighting.
Oh shit…
"You have died and been transferred to a new vessel."
The system's texts echoed in his mind with a numbing sensation.
His mind started to reel and he looked around once more. It was dark, why could he see clearly in the dark?
This was insane, but this new body was real. The voices he had heard were real. This elegant room around him was real.
And somewhere in this building, people who thought he was dead were celebrating.
Desmond looked up, thinking of how he could make the screen appear again.
"How do I—"
Footsteps creaked just outside the door and Desmond's eyes snapped toward the sound, his body quickly tensing.
Before he could further react, the doors swung open and soft footsteps entered, accompanied by the faint sloshing of water. He caught a glimpse of movement in the darkness, and just as his eyes were focusing on the figure, lights from the ceiling flooded the room.
A very tall woman stood near the wall, hugging a basin to her chest while her other hand held on to the rope hanging from the ceiling. A flowy red fabric was hanging off her body, and there was something unusual about how the woman looked.
She was exceedingly tall.
Her eyes met his, and for a single, frozen moment, neither of them moved.
Then her face went absolutely white.
The wide bowl slipped from her hands and it hit the floor with a loud crash, spilling what looked like water as the object shattered into pieces.
The woman's mouth opened wordlessly, and then she screamed.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Desmond flinched as the sound pierced through the room, rising in pitch until it became almost inhuman.
She stumbled backward, her hands flying to her face, still screaming. Her foot slipped on the wet floor and she went down hard on her backside, but that didn't stop the noise. If anything, her screams got louder.
"What the fuck?! Shut—" Desmond tried to speak, but his new voice came out as a hoarse croak.
The maid scrambled backward on her hands and knees, eyes bulging with terror. "NO! NO! He's—He is—My Lady—"
Desmond frowned, preparing to yell at the woman, but she was already fleeing toward the door, still screaming.
Heavy footsteps thundered down the floors outside. It sounded like multiple pairs of feet were all running toward the room.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Desmond tried to stand, but his legs were weak and uncooperative. He managed to swing them over the side of the bed just as more voices erupted from outside.
"What is the meaning of this racket?!" A woman's sharp voice cut through the chaos.
Desmond's blood ran cold. That voice. He recognized that voice. It was the same one he had heard in the void.
She had killed the original owner of this body.
And she was coming.
"My Lady! My Lady!" The screaming woman's hysterical voice grew closer. "He's—he's—"
"My husband?! He's dead?!"
The voice that rang out was dripping with such exaggerated anguish that each word was more dramatic than the last.
"No! No, this cannot be! How could this happen?!"
Desmond's brows shot up as he sat still. You've got to be kidding me.
The performance continued in the hallway, complete with what sounded like actual wailing. Demond was dumbfounded.
"This is such a tragedy, and early in the morning for that—"
"My Lady, please, you must—" the other one was trying to speak, but her words tumbled over each other incoherently like that of a bumbling idiot. "He's not—you don't understand—"
"Do not try to soften the blow! I must see him!"
"But My Lady, he's—"
"Move aside!"
The other double door burst open with enough force to slam against the wall and when the owner of the annoying voice walked in, his breath caught.
Now he realised why the woman who had first entered looked strange.
This was an elf.
There was no other word for it. Her ears swept up into elegant points, visible through the perfectly arranged silver hair that was held up by jewelled clasps. Her features were sharp and aristocratic, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips pressed into a thin line.
She wore what looked like a combination of a robe and a dress from the Victorian era. Even more jewels adorned her dress and fingers while a delicate golden circlet rested in her hair.
She was, objectively speaking, breathtakingly beautiful.
She was also, very clearly, the person who had murdered him.
The noble elf woman stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth slowly dropping as the fake show of grief she had been wearing drained from her face like water through a sieve.
She looked shocked while Desmond stared back at her, not amused.
Really?You couldn't even wait for the body to get cold before clearly pretending?
Behind her, three more elves plainly dressed in that red robe crowded into the doorway, their eyes wide as they stared at him. The elf woman who had screamed at Desmond joined them, trembling and pointing at Desmond like he had grown a second head.
The expensively dressed elf woman continued to stare. Her violet coloured eyes stood out more sharply against her pale face. One of her hands slowly lowered from her chest, and those same fingers curled into a fist.
"How..." The word came out barely above a whisper.