It felt unusually quiet that day, too quiet for my liking. Walking down the street, it was as if the world had forgotten to breathe. The air felt heavy, and the streets were crowded as always. My backpack weighed more than usual, though not because of books. It was the weight inside me—the weight of all those voices, cycling through my head like a broken record. Their taunts. Their cruel words. Their eyes, looking at me as if I were nothing but a burden.
The sad thing was, I was used to it. That didn't make it any less painful.
The familiar chime of a bell echoed as I exited the hardware store. My grip on the bag tightened, but no matter how hard I tried to focus on the ordinary—the scent of rain, the warmth of the sun, the chatter of people—it didn't help. My thoughts were elsewhere.
Would they even care if I was gone? I wondered. They'd probably be relieved. Happy to save a few headaches… maybe even money. I doubt they'd notice at all.
A car horn blared sharply. My body froze. Faces blurred around me, unfamiliar, rushing, calling out.
"Stay with us! You're going to be okay!"
"Don't move, sweetie! Help is on the way!"
I wanted to tell them it didn't matter, that nothing mattered. But the words caught in my throat. Darkness closed in, and then a warmth wrapped around me, pulling me into it. I felt as if I were slipping through cracks I hadn't even known existed.
Somewhere between the emptiness and the warmth, I felt it—a presence unlike anything I had ever known. Overwhelming. Powerful. Beautiful. When it collided with me, it felt like drowning while carrying a weight I wasn't meant to bear. It whispered to me—not in words, but in something ancient, poetic, and deep. Before I could respond, everything went black.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in a hospital bed. I was lying on silk sheets, sunlight spilling through tall, embroidered curtains patterned with a golden emblem I didn't recognize. My head throbbed painfully, and my limbs felt weak, like I'd been drained of every ounce of strength. Every sound that escaped my mouth felt foreign, unfamiliar.
"…My lady?"
I turned to see a maid staring at me with shock, tears welling in her eyes. My heart skipped a beat. My lady?
I looked down at my hands—delicate, thin, trembling. Not mine. Then my gaze fell on the mirror. The reflection staring back wasn't me at all. A girl with pale, fragile skin and long silver hair, hollow cheeks, delicate but beautiful.
I swallowed, my throat dry. "…The universe couldn't just let me die, huh?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
The maid gasped, stepping closer. "My lady! You're awake! We… we thought—"
Before she could finish, she turned to rush off, muttering something about informing the Duke and Duchess. I stayed frozen, staring at the mirror. This couldn't be real. Could it? I touched my face. The hair slipping through my fingers felt soft, silky, almost unreal. These hands… too thin, as if they'd never carried a bag of books or even held a cup of water.
I tried to sit up, and the world swayed. My arms shook, my legs buckled slightly beneath me. Okay, don't panic. It's fine. Just… breathe. But my breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts. Even the simple act of lifting my head was exhausting.
Footsteps approached—boots against the polished wooden floor. A man entered, carrying a doctor's bag, followed by two others. One was a woman, her eyes full of concern as she held my hand.
"Good afternoon, my lady. How are you feeling?" the doctor asked, setting his bag down.
"…I'm… fine. Weak, but fine," I replied quietly, unsure what I should say.
The woman holding my hand squeezed it, her grip warm and careful. "Good. I'll perform some standard tests to ensure you're in proper health."
As the doctor worked, pulling out various tools, asking questions, and taking notes, I grew more uncomfortable. I wasn't used to this much attention. It felt suffocating, yet oddly… caring.
I noticed the faint scent of polished wood and herbs in the room, the delicate embroidery of the curtains shimmering in the sunlight. Everything screamed wealth and care, yet it felt alien, like a scene from a storybook I'd once read. This isn't real. This can't be real.
After an hour, the doctor left, but the two remained. They asked if I was hungry, if I wanted more pillows, if I was certain I felt well enough. I was hungry, yes, but I didn't know what they might put in the food. I couldn't risk it.
"Are you sure you're not hungry?" the woman asked gently. "The doctor said no solid food for now, but I can have the cooks prepare some soup." She adjusted my pillow, frowning slightly but kindly.
"…No, I'm okay. Thank you," I muttered, keeping my gaze on the bedspread. I couldn't meet her eyes yet.
She let out a tired sigh—not disappointed, just… tired of worrying—and kissed my forehead before smiling. "Call us if you need anything." The man nodded similarly, leaving after telling me it was good to have me back.
I stayed lying there on a bed that wasn't mine, receiving care I hadn't earned, love I didn't feel I deserved. I traced the embroidery of the silk sheets with my fingertips, my mind racing, trying to make sense of everything. This body… these people… this life… I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere.
A strange warmth pulsed faintly in my chest. It wasn't my heartbeat. It wasn't human—or at least, not entirely. I felt it settle there, a quiet reminder that something had changed, something impossible.
What is happening to me? I thought, my mind spinning. Is this a dream? Or… is this real?
And all I could do was scream inside my mind:
"WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!"