Pain greets me the moment I gain consciousness. My head pounds, my throat burns, and every muscle feels stiff and sore. The smell of dust is overwhelming and a scratching sound in the corner is far too loud. Either I have had far too much wine again or have fallen ill. 

I force my eyes open. Through the haze, I focus on an unlit chandelier above me, its clear crystals speckled with cobwebs.

The room is dark except for a slice of daylight cutting through black velvet drapes to my right. Judging by the brightness, it's daytime, but the room swallows the light whole. The wide walls are covered in black and silver damask wallpaper, their ornate patterns lending the space an air of shadowy opulence. The polished silver on the vanity gleams faintly, and the carved wooden bedposts feel almost regal. Wherever I am, it's undeniably luxurious

I search my memory for any hint of how I ended up in this stranger's room, but my thoughts are blank. 

Must have been too much wine then.

I lift my pale hand, wiggling long fingers that feel foreign as if they don't belong to me. Something pulls at me as I stare at my bare hands, expecting to see jewelry glinting back - but there's nothing. I can't remember what's missing. 

Pushing myself upright, I catch my reflection in the vanity mirror across the room. A stranger stares back. I tilt my head, watching the reflection mimic me, searching its features for any flicker of recognition, but none comes. My eyes dart around the room, hoping for something familiar, but silence and confusion greet me.

Slipping free of the covers, I glide to the large oval mirror, drawn to the face staring back. Long blonde hair, so pale it looks silver, falls to my waist. One eye is a deep green, the other tinged with blue. My lips, though colorless, are full against skin so pale it could be porcelain. I lean closer, my fingers brushing against my cold cheek, tracing the smooth curve beneath my eye. The face in the mirror feels like a mask - beautiful, perfect, and entirely unfamiliar.

Still nothing. No spark of memory, no clue as to who I am or why I'm here. I recognize the objects in the room. The gleaming vanity, the polished wood furniture, and the familiar scents of wood polish and laundered clothes, but none of it offers a single hint about who I am.

I run my hands over the plain linen of my nightgown, wondering if it belongs to me. Or if I belong here at all. 

Does this space belong to me? Is someone here waiting for me to rise?

Turning away from the mirror, I cross the room, my bare feet silent against the floor. My fingers brush the cool crystal knob of the single black door. Slowly, I crack it open, just enough for my green eye to peek through. 

Sounds filter in—rustling, hurried footsteps below, the slam of a distant door. Laughter rings out briefly, only to be replaced by hushed voices. The house is alive with people, but I have no idea who they are or how to announce myself.

I pull the door open another inch and freeze. A woman carrying a stack of clothing in a wicker basket appears in the hall. Her eyes widen as they meet mine, and she halts mid-step, the basket wobbling slightly in her hands.

"Oh my, you weren't due for another two days," she exclaims, wide-eyed before spinning on her heel and dashing back down the hallway. Her mane of red hair whips behind her as she disappears, the large basket in her arms vanishing behind a door.

Someone knows who I am, but it seems I've arrived ahead of schedule. I glance down at my thin nightgown and wonder whether it's appropriate to wander these halls dressed like this. My eyes drift to the massive armoire dominating the longest wall, its ornate wood gleaming in the dim light. 

Pulling the doors open, I'm greeted by a collection of dresses in deep, rich hues of black, maroon, and violet. Lace details cascade over the shoulders and down the bodices, the wide, flowing skirts spilling over their hangers like waterfalls of silk. I run my fingers over the smooth fabric, wondering if these are mine. The thought feels foreign, like trying on a memory that doesn't quite fit.

Before I can pull one from the hanger, the door bursts open behind me. The redhead reappears, now flanked by an older brunette woman. Their hurried entrance fills the room with an air of controlled chaos, their eyes fixed on me.

"Ah, I knew she'd be stunning," the brunette says, her lilting accent unfamiliar. Despite the light spilling in from the hallway, the room remains dim, making her confident assessment all the more surprising.

Both women are dressed in elaborate black corseted gowns, their ruffled details catching what little light filters in. The redhead's dress seems barely capable of containing her as her chest practically spills out of her neckline. 

"Yes, it's hardly a surprise," the redhead says with a sigh. 

I stare at them, my confusion mounting with every second of silence. They seem to notice, exchanging a glance before the brunette speaks again.

"No idea who you are or where you've found yourself, do you?" she asks, her tone a mix of curiosity and faint amusement as if she's been expecting this moment.

"It happens to all of us," the redhead says casually, stepping closer. Her sharp blue eyes sweep over me, and the clack of her boots on the wooden floor feels jarringly loud. "Don't worry, we're here for you."

She begins to circle me slowly, her gaze methodical, as if taking inventory of every detail. I fold my arms across my chest, suddenly hyper-aware of myself, and wonder if my voice even works.

"What happened to me?" I manage to croak, the words scraping against the fire in my throat.

"All in good time, love," the brunette says with a dip of her head. "I'm Lottie. I help run the house."

"Serena," the redhead offers with a slight tilt of her chin. "I am-"

"Mostly worthless," Lottie cuts in with a smirk. "She's just here to drink all the good liquor."

Serena glares at her but says nothing, while Lottie turns her attention to me, her dark eyes narrowing. "Let me guess," she says, ticking off on her fingers. "Everything's too loud, smells are overwhelming, light's unbearable, and..." she gestures to my throat with a knowing look, "you could use a pitcher of water?"

I eye her suspiciously before nodding.

"We were wondering if there'd be...differences," Serena says quietly, her tone laden with something I can't place. I don't miss the sharp glance Lottie shoots her way, nor the way Serena quickly averts her gaze, her eyes flitting to the floor.

"There are plenty of people eager to meet you," Lottie adds, her voice softer now, "but we don't want to overwhelm you."

"Are you going to tell me who I am or where I am?" I snap, the edge in my voice sharper than I intended. I'm tired of being an object of fascination, tired of their cryptic words and half-answers. And the shadowy room only adds to the suffocating sense of being kept in the dark.

Lottie and Serena exchange another look, one heavy with unspoken meaning. Finally, Lottie answers. "Serena will draw you a bath while I fetch Kalma. She'll explain everything." Her tone is clipped and decisive, leaving no room for argument.

Serena springs into action, crossing the room with a quickness that startles me. She yanks open a door hidden in the shadows, one I hadn't noticed until now.

"This way," she says, gesturing for me to follow.

I glance back at Lottie, but she's already slipping out the main door. With a sigh of resignation, I shuffle toward the door Serena holds open, stepping into yet another unknown. My questions burn at the back of my throat, but I bite them back for now. Serena seems stifled and I get the sense Kalma holds the answers I need.

But my patience is wearing thin. It won't last forever.