"AHHHHHHHH!" A young man shot up with a start, screaming at the top of his voice, both hands tightly pressed against his ears. The screaming continued for quite a while, but with time he realized something...
He was no longer in pain, so...
"Why am I screaming?" he muttered to himself, and slowly the panic he felt began to fade, giving way to clarity of his situation. "Ugh," he groaned, feeling a bone-deep pain coming from his legs. He then pressed a hand against his forehead and clenched his teeth for a while before the pain faded, after which he opened his eyes once more.
"Where the hell am I?" he asked in confusion as full clarity kicked in and he realized he was now in a rather elegant room, which was unnecessarily extravagant as well. Not only that, he was currently seated on a massive bed—a bed which could contain five more people and still have space to roll around. The bed was the centerpiece of the room, taking up considerable space, about twenty percent of the room's entire area. The ceiling was quite tall... No, it was very, VERY tall—so tall he would need to be able to fly to touch it. So yeah, he wasn't touching it anytime soon.
There were two huge floor-to-ceiling windows on the right side of the room, which had curtains on them. There was a huge chandelier at the center of the ceiling which cast a dazzling white brilliance throughout the room itself. Right across from the bed were two doors: the one on the right looked like the exit given its design compared to the other. It was made of fine wood, composed of two huge doors which could either be pushed or pulled given the handles on them—it was a double door, painted white and smoothed to perfection, with golden details. To the left of it, far to the left, was another door which was transparent... Well, not completely transparent, more like translucent given that all he could see were color smudges from where he sat. It was probably the entrance to the bathroom.
To the left of the bed was a huge wardrobe. It was white in color, smooth, with golden frames and details like the handles. Adjacent to that was a large box—it was dark green in color with leaf pattern designs on it. It also had hints of gold, but those were minor and just around the frames and certain areas. Adjacent to that as well was a white table, and just like the wardrobe, it had hints of gold. There was also a chair there with the same design. On the table was a stack of books, and just beside them was a lamp.
"This room... Why does it—" he was about to say when he caught sight of something just before the wardrobe. A huge poster he shouldn't have missed in the first place. The poster wasn't the problem—it was the person on it.
Someone he could never forget even if he lived a thousand years. "Amelia," he muttered in disbelief. The girl in the poster appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen. She had a dark green shirt on; the image was zoomed in, so that was all he could make out of her dress. She had deep golden hair about neck-length and blue eyes as well—a very light shade of blue. From the angle at which the picture was taken, she seemed to be in a library considering the backdrop which showed bookshelves. From her posture, she was seemingly engrossed in a book and completely unaware of the image being taken.
"If that picture is here, then... That only means—"
*BAM*
The door flew open and in came a young girl with pure white hair and peach eyes. She had a light fabric white blouse on, short-sleeved, which stopped just after her shoulder joint, giving a clear view of her flawless, slender arms. At the midsection of the blouse was a lace-up belt that led down to an ankle-length skirt—a black skirt that was made of light fabric as well. Her white hair was styled to the side of her face, with a front braid leading back. She also had a certain peach-petaled hairpin he remembered clearly, one she never took off even once since he'd known her.
"Veronica?"
"Were you expecting anyone else?" she asked, to which he gave no response.
He couldn't be seeing things. This was definitely the Veronica he remembered—his extremely rude and unorthodox maid who sometimes seemed like the master in their relationship. She was disturbingly assertive, far more than what a maid should be, and flouted his commands so much he sometimes forgot she was supposed to be his servant. Her boldness grew even more after he was exiled into this pocket dimension with just her, coupled with the fact that he was...
*Crippled,* he thought, gazing at his unresponsive legs which were still under the blanket. *I'm back to being crippled again,* he realized and frowned deeply.
There was no denying it anymore. He had somehow gone back to the very start.
*Sigh.*
She exhaled and closed the door behind her before turning to face him once more.
"You just don't listen, do you, Art? How many times have I warned you not to try moving on your own?" she asked, her voice stern and a cold glare fixed on him, her hands folded across her rather generous bosom.
He remained quiet, just staring at her as he let the severity of the situation sink in.
*Did this happen because I died...? No, that can't be. Those voices I heard—they might have something to do with this—*
His train of thought was interrupted as he realized Veronica had just leaned forward at the side of the bed, staring right at him, her long white hair draping over her shoulder. "Look, Art, I get it. You're frustrated about not being able to work—I get that—but you have to understand that there aren't any shortcuts for your recovery. You will walk again; you just need time to heal. So just be patient. Forcing yourself is only doing more harm than good," she said, and he stared at her.
In the past, Veronica was his most trusted person. As much as she annoyed him with her intrusive behavior and odd overprotectiveness at times, he never hated her. She stuck with him longer than anyone else. However, the time he needed her most, in his greatest moment of desperation... she was nowhere to be found. She had abandoned him just like everyone else.
"You're oddly quiet today," she said with a tilt of her head, to which he gave no response, just staring blankly at her.
*Sigh.*
She sighed again. "Fine, don't talk to me. Let's just get you cleaned up," she said, to which he frowned.
"Get me my wheelchair," he simply said, to which she frowned as well.
"What?" she asked.
"Get me my wheelchair, Veronica. I will take care of my bath," he said, to which she stared at him for a while before replying, "No,"
"GET. ME. MY. WHEELCHAIR, VERONICA. I am not a vegetable—my arms work just fine," he spoke every word with gravitas.
"I can't do that, Master," her voice took on a professional edge. "For the duration during which you remain incapable of self-movement, I am inclined, as your personal and ONLY maid, to take care of all needs related to said bodily functions, and that includes your meals, movement, baths, and relief needs," she said.
"Don't treat me like an idiot, Veronica. There is no such rule," he responded.
"You wouldn't know that, Master."
"A master's will stands above every rule. A servant is to obey every word to the last. I am ordering you, Veronica, to get me my wheelchair and wait outside that door until I call for you," he ordered, to which she stared at him deeply. Minutes passed, and with time it became a sort of staring contest.
After a while, she moved.
She crawled onto the bed, then stopped before him, placing a hand under his knees and the other behind his back before lifting him up in a princess carry. "What are you doing?" he asked with a glare, to which she returned with a stern gaze.
"Master, you must be feeling unwell today - I'll simply pretend I didn't hear those words and focus on taking proper care of you instead." She said with a smile that was all levels of wrong.