"Uhh! Where am I?"
I found myself suspended in what I could only describe as nothingness. A vast, empty void that stretched infinitely in all directions. The sensation was disorienting, like floating in dark water without any sense of up or down. It seemed I was back in my original consciousness, my true self, stripped of the physical constraints that had been torturing me. The realization hit me like a cold wave: all of this had been a dream. Some elaborate, twisted joke my mind had played on itself as a coping mechanism.
But that couldn't be right. The pain I had felt was too real, too visceral to be mere imagination. Every cut, every burning sensation, every moment of suffocating agony it had all been genuine. I wondered how someone could survive living in such constant torment. How did people endure when their own bodies became prisons of endless suffering?
"Is this a joke to you?" I screamed into the void, my voice echoing strangely in the emptiness.
"Do you enjoy playing with my mind? Am I just entertainment to you? Whoever sent me here, answer me!"
The words poured out of me like a dam bursting, all the frustration and confusion I had been bottling up spilling forth in a torrent of desperate questions. I knew I was either growing desperate or losing my mind probably both. The irony wasn't lost on me. First, I had lived a miserable life, dying far too young, and when I had begged for more time, for another chance, this was what I got: a body so fragile that it couldn't perform the simplest tasks without putting me in an agonizing state.
"I really wish I had died," I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.
I couldn't believe what I had just said, but it was true. I hadn't even spent a full day in this new body, but it was unbearable. Compared to this existence, my old life seemed like a piece of cake. At least then, my suffering had been emotional and circumstantial. This was something else entirely.
How could someone live like this? How did the original owner of this body manage to exist day after day, knowing that every movement could bring excruciating pain? The questions swirled in my mind like leaves in a hurricane, each one bringing more confusion than clarity.
In my confusion, I kept hearing loud noises breaking through the void, voices calling out, footsteps rushing, the sound of doors opening and closing. The sounds grew louder, more insistent, until they seemed to pull me back from whatever liminal space I had been floating in.
"Hey, are you alright?"
I opened my eyes slowly, my vision blurry and unfocused. As my sight cleared, I realized I was being held by a man who I first met here. This had to be my father.
"She opened her eyes! Bring some water, fast!" he called out, his voice carrying both relief and urgency.
"Yes, dad!" My brother's voice responded immediately, and I could hear him running, his footsteps echoing through the hallway.
My father was accompanied by Maria, who looked oddly concerned a stark contrast to the cold contempt she had shown me earlier. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying, and her hands trembled slightly as she hovered nearby.
"Dad, will she be okay? Is this all my fault?" she asked, her voice breaking as she began to tremble on the verge of a complete breakdown.
"No, it isn't," he replied firmly, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to making difficult decisions.
"She must have moved in her sleep and been surprised by the pain when she woke up. It wouldn't be the first time this has happened."
I didn't understand why they were so concerned now when they had openly shown disinterest toward me before. Perhaps seeing me collapse had reminded them that, despite whatever complicated feelings they harbored, I was still family. Or maybe the guilt of their earlier behavior was finally catching up with them.
"You did nothing wrong," I said softly, trying to calm the tense atmosphere that had settled over the room like a heavy blanket.
When I looked toward them, they all appeared surprised, as if I had said something completely unexpected. Since I had arrived in this world, they had been acting as though I was behaving completely differently from what they were used to. It was becoming increasingly clear that the original owner of this body had been quite different from the person I was now.
"Here's the water," my brother announced as he returned, slightly out of breath from his urgency.
"Thanks, Evan. Now Maria, help me clean this up," my father instructed, his switch in attitude surprising me. So did Maria, as she hurriedly began taking care of me with a gentleness that seemed at odds with her earlier behavior.
The transformation was remarkable. Where before there had been resentment and coldness, now there was genuine concern and care. They cleaned the blood from my throat and face with practiced efficiency, suggesting this wasn't the first time they had dealt with such an episode. Their movements were coordinated, almost choreographed, speaking to years of experience managing my condition.
After they had finished taking care of me, my father made a decision that would change the course of my day. He told Evan to take me to the priestess urgently, his concern about my condition evident in every word.
"It might really be getting worse," he said, speaking to Evan in a low voice that he probably thought I couldn't hear.
"She didn't tell us her memory and attitude would be changing like this."
That was actually good news for me. If they expected me to act differently, I wouldn't have to pretend to be someone I wasn't. I could be myself without worrying about maintaining the facade of being the original owner of this body.
And so here we were, with Evan pushing my wheelchair along a cobblestone path that wound through what could only be described as a picturesque village. Looking closer at him, I realized he was really young maybe around sixteen at most. His youthful features were set in an expression of determined concern, and he handled the wheelchair with the practiced ease of someone who had done this many times before.
But what was even more important than my brother's age was getting my first real look at this town. It was incredibly lively, with pastures stretching as far as the eye could see, dotted with wildflowers that swayed in the gentle breeze. The citizens we passed seemed welcoming, nodding respectfully as we went by, their faces showing genuine concern when they saw my condition.
What really confirmed that this wasn't my world were the animals. I saw creatures I had never encountered before a three headed dog that could only be a Cerberus, its multiple heads tracking our movement with intelligent eyes. There were also what appeared to be small dragons perched on rooftops, their scales glinting in the sunlight, and birds with feathers that seemed to shimmer with their own inner light.
The architecture was equally fascinating, with buildings that looked like they had been pulled from a medieval fantasy novel. Stone and timber constructions with intricate carvings, steep-pitched roofs, and windows that seemed to glow with warm, inviting light. Everything had an aged, timeless quality that spoke of centuries of history.
We eventually reached a well-settled place that looked like the house of someone living in considerable wealth. The building was larger than the others we had passed, with manicured gardens and ornate decorations that suggested its owner held a position of importance in the community. I couldn't help but wonder: did religious followers leech off people here too, or was this priestess genuinely providing a valuable service?
Evan knocked at the heavy wooden door, and after a moment, a woman in a maid's dress answered. She was middle-aged, with kind eyes and a professional demeanor that suggested she had been in service for many years. She let us in without hesitation, clearly recognizing us.
"Master is waiting for you in the dining room," she informed us, leading the way through a hallway decorated with tapestries and religious artwork.
And so I was pushed to the dining room, the wheels of my chair making soft sounds against the polished wooden floor. The room we entered was spacious and well-appointed, with a large table that could easily seat a dozen people and windows that let in streams of golden sunlight.
At the dining room table sat a woman in a nun's uniform, delicately sipping tea from a fine porcelain cup. She had to be the priestess. She was very elegant in her movements, each gesture precise and graceful, and despite her advanced age, she didn't look like she was anywhere near being placed in a grave. Her eyes were sharp and intelligent, and there was something about her presence that commanded respect.
"So what are we having here? Come on, sit," she said, welcoming us to take places at the table. Her voice was warm but carried an undertone of authority.
"Good morning, Ma'am," Evan said respectfully while positioning me to receive some tea, his deference evident in every word.
A maid came beside me to offer tea while Evan took his seat. The whole interaction seemed routine, as if this was a regular occurrence. It made me realize just how helpless I truly was in this condition. I couldn't even drink tea without assistance.
I understood something crucial in that moment: moving in any significant way would put me in a dangerous state. This body was so fragile that even the simplest actions carried risks I was only beginning to comprehend.
"So what is happening this time?" the old priestess asked, setting down her teacup with a gentle clink.
"Mrs. Vesta," Evan began, his voice carrying a weight of worry, "it turns out Candela's condition has worsened. She's started acting strangely, asking questions like she doesn't remember who she is anymore. It got me thinking could her illness be affecting her brain too?"
I was too focused on the tea being fed to me to fully process what they were discussing at first. The warm liquid was soothing, and I found myself grateful for even this small comfort. But as their conversation continued, I began to pay closer attention.
"It seems that your sister has created a defense mechanism to endure her condition," Mrs. Vesta replied thoughtfully.
"Perhaps forgetting is a form of salvation for her."
"Forgetting?" Evan asked, his voice rising slightly with concern.
"So she's the one causing this, not her situation?"
"So it seems. Let me have a talk with her," the priestess said, her tone becoming more professional.
Evan nodded, and he and the maid left the room, their footsteps fading as they moved to what I assumed was another part of the house. The door closed with a soft click, leaving me alone with this elderly woman whose presence seemed to fill the entire room.
Left alone with Mrs. Vesta, I wasn't sure what to do or say. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken questions and expectations.
"Be at your ease," she said, her gaze becoming more serious and penetrating.
"You can tell me everything."
I realized this might be my chance to profit from the situation and get more information about my condition. It is a good thing I was brought her.