Darkness. Cold. Silence. And then—pain.
I woke up weightless. Then the pain came. Icy water clung to my skin like claws, sharp and cold. I gasped, but my mouth filled with water. Panic surged.
I coughed, swallowed more water. The current dragged me down. First came the dull ache—then a tingling fire beneath frozen skin. My body jerked instinctively.
My legs—
I could feel them.
I could move them.
No pain.
A surge of hope, of confusion.
But I couldn't swim. I never learned how.
My arms flailed—useless, chaotic. Water filled my ears and mouth, muffling my screams into gurgled bubbles. My heart thudded like war drums in my chest.
Terror clutched me. I clawed at the water, legs kicking furiously. My lungs screamed. My thoughts blurred.
I was going to die again.
Not from a drunk, horny man's attack.
From drowning.
Then—
hands.
Warm. Strong. Pulling me out of the water, up into the air.
My lungs heaved. I coughed, spat, gasped for air. A coat draped over my shoulders. I looked up, blinking through tears. My savior blurred. I wiped my eyes—he was gone.
Or maybe… he was never there.
The world around me had changed. No more cold city streets. Now a snow-covered forest, melting into early spring. People gathered around me, dressed oddly—in old-world garments that didn't belong in this century.
I sat up, shivering. My legs trembled beneath me…
And held.
No pain.
I could kneel.
I could stand.
No cane. No crutch.
"Where… am I?" I whispered, backing away from the crowd.
A themed party?
An elaborate prank?
Then I saw it—my reflection in a silver trophy on a stone pedestal. Long, wet black hair. Amber eyes. A face unfamiliar. Hardened by pain I didn't remember.
That wasn't me.
My hands were smooth, younger. The spider lilies tattoo—gone.
"My lady! I found her!" a girl's voice called.
She threw her arms around me, hugging me tight. She smelled like roses and tobacco.
"What happened to you?" she said, inspecting me. "Stop gaping and explain why you're soaking wet!"
Before I could respond, she dragged me to a waiting carriage. Shoving me in and getting in after me.
"To the estate," she ordered.
She looked me over again, frowning. "Have you gone mute now?" Her patience was growing thin. Her eyebrows raised before she huffed.
"Who… are you?" I asked.
SLAP.
My cheek burned. I stared at her in shock. Her face crumpled with guilt.
"I—I'm sorry. I was so worried when you vanished with that man," she whispered, kneeling. She reached for me. I pushed her away.
"It's me. Your mother," she said, her voice cracking. "Please, Ena. Say something."
Mother?
Why had I let her drag me here? Stranger danger screamed in my head. Women like her trafficked girls like me.
"Stop the carriage. Let me out," I said.
She touched my forehead. "You're burning up." She wrapped a shawl around me, barking to the driver, "Get us home—quickly."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I snapped, coughing. My body was giving up.
"Did you hit your head? I'm your mother—Iris!" she cried, holding my face.
"Iris?" I echoed. "You're delusional. I know human traffickers when I see them. Let me out or I'll call the police." My phone- where was it when I needed it?
The carriage stopped.
I bolted out the door—then froze.
Where was I?
People passed, calling out for someone. "Iris!"
Who was Iris?
The world tilted. My knees gave out. I fell to the snow. The flailing had worn me out and a headache was brewing.
In front of me stood a stone fountain—two figures: a merman holding a shell, a mermaid with scales.
Familiar. Too familiar.
It couldn't be.
This fountain only existed in my book.
But the plaque read:
"Fidus amor."
A tall man approached. Graying hair, crisp voice.
"My lady Iris, are you alright?"
I blinked. "Charles Quartmire," I croaked.
"Yes, my lady," he answered, eyes full of concern.
And then—
darkness again.