I was stunned.
Completely suddenly, some stranger appeared in this tiny, wretched room and started yelling at me as if he had every right to do so.
Honestly, he looked no better than the girl I had just seen in the mirror.
The man, who looked to be around fifty, gave an openly pitiful impression.
Stocky, short, and broad-shouldered, with a short neck, he resembled some oversized monkey—especially because of the heavy brow ridges and his displeased, almost animalistic expression.
His balding head gleamed in the dim light, and the sparse strands of hair at the sides looked dirty and unkempt.
His clothes hung on him like a sack—worn, greasy, and torn in places. In another situation, I would have assumed I was looking at a homeless man who had wandered into the room by accident.
And at that moment, I inadvertently glanced at myself.
Honestly… the dress I was wearing was also simply terrible.
The coarse fabric scratched unpleasantly against my skin, the sleeves were worn, the hem was frayed in places and had lost its shape. It hung crookedly, as if it had been worn for years without washing or repair. It looked more like an old floor rag than actual clothing.
In short, everything happening around me was simply terrible.
The surroundings. The smell. My reflection. This house. This clothing.
But most of all, undoubtedly, it was this terrifying man—who had appeared out of nowhere and started yelling at me—that scared me the most…
"You little brat!" he spat, literally frothing with rage. "Answer me when I'm talking to you!"
I was stunned.
His words sounded so sharp and aggressive that for a moment all my thoughts simply shut down.
Honestly, in the past, I was not someone who could be easily hurt or humiliated.
Throughout my life, I had learned to defend myself from bullies and threats—that's exactly what my parents taught me. Not in the sense of getting into fights at every corner, of course, but in the ability to hold boundaries, not let others push me around, not tolerate outright rudeness.
Mom always said that in this world, only I could truly stand up for myself.
And Dad added that if someone didn't understand normal words, sometimes it was entirely acceptable to explain your position with a fist to the nose—once, but clearly.
That's the kind of person I had once been.
A person you definitely couldn't wipe your feet on like a floor rag.
A person who, in such a situation, would have already coolly put the other in their place. Or at the very least, snapped back sharply.
But now…
Honestly, I was completely lost.
This fear was too sudden, too foreign, too physical. It clenched my chest, took my breath away, and made my fingers grow cold.
I was genuinely frightened by what was happening.
And genuinely confused.
So much so that I didn't immediately realize: the trembling in my hands wasn't just my emotion.
It was this body's reaction.
For some reason, I couldn't muster a confident rebuttal against this man, even though I didn't know him and was absolutely sure: he had no right to yell at me under any circumstances.
That was the strangest part.
My head understood perfectly—I was facing a stranger. His aggression was completely unjustified. I wasn't obligated to tolerate such a tone.
But my body…
My body reacted differently.
For some reason, my entire inner being was shrouded in fear toward this man. Not rational, not logical—but some primal, animalistic kind of fear.
As if this person had yelled at me countless times before.
And I couldn't resist it.
The words stuck in my throat, my shoulders tensed on their own, and my gaze dropped. The reaction happened before I had time to think.
So in the end, the only thing I could manage to say was…
"P-pardon me…"
The word slipped from my lips on its own.
As if memorized.
As if this body had said it hundreds of times before.
The man scowled irritably.
"What the hell are you making a racket so early? Morphine is still asleep!" he barked.
Morphine?
The name sounded strange, but I didn't have a second to process it.
"I… I'm sorry… I accidentally broke the mirror…"
"You clumsy fool! Are your hands even attached correctly?!"
I just swallowed.
My throat went dry, my tongue felt like lead, and my chest tightened unpleasantly.
I was still in deep confusion.
And fear.
"Just… gave yourself a daughter to worry about. Nothing but trouble from you, you useless nothing!"
The words fell on me like stones.
Harsh. Heavy. Familiar—and therefore even more terrifying.
This wild and strange man continued to scold me until, apparently, he simply ran out of steam. His anger was not a flash—it was a state. Something constant, ingrained in him like dirt under fingernails.
Finally, contorting an extremely displeased grimace, he threw out:
"Clean up here. And make breakfast. Now!"
An order.
Not a request.
After that, the man turned and finally left the room, walking heavily across the creaking floor. A door slammed somewhere, and silence fell again.
I was left alone.
And only then did I realize I had barely been breathing the whole time.
From shock and astonishment, I slowly sank to the floor. My knees bent, my palms pressed against the cold boards, and a ringing filled my head.
God… what's happening?
What kind of hell had I actually ended up in?!
I kept trying until the very end to convince myself that what was happening to me was only a nightmare. A hallucination. The ramblings of a dying brain. Anything—but not reality.
Several times I sharply slapped my own cheeks.
Once.
Again.
And again.
But all I felt in response was pain.
Real.
Burning.
And the tears that came to my eyes by themselves—not so much from the slaps, but from all the horror that was happening to me right now.
Because this disgusting world around me…
Wasn't disappearing.
It seemed that the only reasonable explanation left was only one.
Most likely, after death I had indeed been reincarnated somewhere. In other words—I had taken over someone else's body in another world.
The most standard situation, usually described in books or fantasies. Rebirth, a new start, a chance for adventure, fantastic powers, or at least the opportunity to start over from scratch.
But apparently, something had gone seriously wrong.
Instead of waking up in a shining palace or on soft grass in a magical forest, I ended up… in this crap. In this abandoned, damp, terrifying place, full of old dust, cracked walls, and a disgusting musty smell.
Instead of heroic trials and epic adventures—there was a dirty room, some wild man yelling at me, and a mirror reflecting the tormented face that now belonged to me.
And what the hell kind of place is this anyway?!
My brain simply refused to accept what was happening as normal.
And the only emotion I felt right then… was sheer fear.