"Please be careful on your way!"
A receptionist standing behind the counter offered a warm smile as she spoke those sweet words to a little girl stood there, dressed in a coarse, pale grey cotton smock, a simple garment provided by the clinic that looked almost white, though its fabric was worn thin and felt rough against her skin.
"Haha, thank you for the care," the girl replied just as warmly.
The girl, Thalia, finally turned her body while still giving a small wave to the charming receptionist, then walked toward the entrance of the clinic facility that had taken fairly good care of her.
After at least a week, she had finally been allowed to check out. Fortunately for Thalia, she did not have to pay a single coin in medical fees. Earlier that week, a local figure had made a substantial donation intended to cover patients' medical expenses for the next two weeks. Thalia was grateful that she was still within that period.
During that one week, Lucas, or rather, the one now inside Thalia's body, had tried to process what had truly happened. Since she could not leave the facility, she attempted to draw conclusions from whatever she could find inside the clinic, such as the books available in the small library within the premises.
She had also borrowed a newspaper from her roommate, who looked visibly confused when Thalia asked to borrow the paper he had been holding.
Based on those sources, Thalia remained utterly bewildered. Many of the countries mentioned bore names completely unfamiliar to her previous life. She was not only facing a change in her body, but in her world as well.
There was no television, no telephone, and worst of all, no espresso machine to be found, which she considered something utterly disgraceful.
When she asked one of the nurses about such things, the nurse merely gave her a puzzled look and placed a hand on her forehead, as if checking whether something was wrong with her head.
Even the clothes worn by the people around her seemed out of place compared to the era of her former life. Yet she realized that their fashion was identical to what actors wore in television dramas set during the Victorian Era.
Bottom line, none of it truly mattered anymore. If all of this had been given to her for a reason, whether as redemption or a second chance, then she would live this new life. She believed everything carried its own meaning, and if that meaning had not yet revealed itself, then it was up to us of all to seek it out.
Still, why in some random girl? the new Thalia wondered. That was the one part she still struggled to accept.
"Thalia!"
A voice called out from behind her just as she was only a few steps away from leaving the clinic grounds. Feeling that she was being addressed, Thalia immediately turned her head toward the source of the voice.
When she looked back, she saw a woman in her early twenties wearing a nurse's uniform with a black base, paired with a white apron and a long flared skirt covering her lower half. A small white cap rested neatly atop her black hair. The woman appeared to be lightly jogging toward where Thalia stood.
The woman was known as Doria. Thalia had come to know her well, of course, because Doria had helped her greatly throughout the full week of her treatment.
"Good thing you haven't left yet," Doria said with a relieved breath, placing a hand over her chest.
"Uh, nurse? Did I forget somethin' or what?" Thalia asked, slipping into the speaking style from her previous life that still clung to her.
Nurse Doria shook her head at the question. "Good heavens, that is scarcely a ladylike manner of speech for a young lady as lovely as yourself. Have we not spoken of this before?"
"Eh… it's just my style. What can I tell ya?"
Though Doria still wore a faint look of disappointment after hearing that, she seemed to decide she had no time to press the matter further and let the complaint slide.
Choosing to get straight to the point, Doria slipped her right hand into the pocket of her apron. For a brief moment she fumbled for something inside, until at last she withdrew her hand holding an item.
"Please wear this when you go out," Doria said earnestly, extending it toward Thalia.
"A cap?" Thalia asked, eyeing what was being offered.
It was a brown flat cap, with patches of fabric worn thin in several places, though overall it was still perfectly serviceable.
"Yes… for certain reasons, I would prefer that you wear it. Ah—well, it is to keep the dust from settling in your hair," Doria attempted to explain, though her reasoning sounded somewhat vague.
"Hmm, all right then. Put it on my head," Thalia replied without much hesitation, readily accepting the offer.
She suspected it had everything to do with her rather unusual hair color. The first time she had seen her reflection in a mirror, she had been utterly stunned by the sight of silver-white hair, as though it had been painted by a master artist.
In her previous world, she had never once seen hair like that with her own eyes. Judging from the glances she received while walking about the clinic, she concluded that such a sight was just as rare in this world.
That suspicion was confirmed when, as she tried to put the cap on herself, Doria instructed her to turn around and face away.
At first, Thalia felt gentle fingers combing through her hair from behind, the motion soft and, truthfully, quite soothing. Then came the sensation of her hair being gathered together, until it became clear that Doria was tying it into a ponytail.
Her hair only reached her shoulders, not particularly long, which made the ponytail rather short. Yet that proved to be convenience, as it made it easier to tuck and conceal beneath the cap.
"So, how do I look?" Thalia asked, adjusting the cap to sit more properly on her head.
"My dear, you would look lovely in anything," Doria replied warmly as she straightened herself. "Please, do give my regards to your aunt."
"I will."
It was a lie. Thalia had no relatives at all, but she did not wish to reveal that truth and cause Doria any further worry.
She had already been informed that the city almshouse was no longer accepting new residents, as it had reached full capacity due to the epidemic several years prior. With nowhere else to go, Thalia planned to return to the house she had lived in before. She had no other destination in mind.
The police who had previously come to handle the case involving her had made it quite clear that they had no intention of prioritizing the matter.
Doria herself had once said she would adopt Thalia if she could, yet she feared her husband would never agree. In order to ease Doria's guilt, Thalia had eventually lied, claiming that she remembered having an aunt living in the southern district of the city, in Bellmare Borough.
Feeling that her business was settled, Doria resolved to take her leave of Thalia once more. Given her profession, it was only natural that her schedule was most demanding.
As for Thalia, once she was certain that Doria's figure had vanished from her sight, she resumed her course toward the exit of the clinic.
Amidst the steady flow of visitors coming and going, Thalia adjusted her pace carefully, mindful not to collide with those far taller than herself. In short, she was still striving to accustom herself to the perspective of a shorter frame.
After passing through the clinic gates, her eyes were immediately struck by the sunlight as it met her vision, forcing her to raise a hand to shield herself from the glare.
She blinked several times, adjusting to the natural brightness. Lowering her hand and widening her view, she was met with something she never would have expected to witness in her life.
Before her stood no neat pavements or orderly rows of glass buildings faintly remembered from another time. Instead, there was a cobbled road riddled with gaps filled by shallow pools of water. Horse-drawn carriages, a sight long absent from her previous life, rolled along the street, their wooden wheels carving tracks into the damp earth as they creaked with every turn.
The sounds of activity filled her small ears. The sharpest among them were the voices of coachmen steering their horses and the cries of newspaper boys calling out to passing pedestrians.
Even the air felt unfamiliar. Not because of its temperature, but because of its scent. Coal smoke, sweat from every walk of life, damp cloth, and something she could not quite identify blended together into a single heavy presence.
Captivated by it all, Thalia began to walk without realizing it, turning her head to follow whatever caught her curiosity.
The buildings lining the street stirred remnants of an old city that lingered in her fading memories. She studied a shop sign across the way. The letters were hand-painted, slightly crooked and imperfect. No electric lamps hung above it.
She nearly lost her focus when a man carrying a sack, likely filled with grain, brushed past her from behind. Thalia instinctively stepped aside.
As if time had leapt forward, she realized she had wandered some distance from the clinic without direction, too absorbed in the sights around her. Now she stood at a crowded intersection.
Deciding she had seen enough, Thalia resolved to return home so she could figure out what to do next.
It was then that a crucial thought struck her.
"How the hell do I get home from here?"
Only in that moment did she realize she was truly like a lost child in a city that felt impossibly vast.