A Bond Woven by DNA

‘There are at least three possible explanations for how I ended up pregnant in an idyllic castle in medieval England.

1. I am dreaming.

2. My consciousness traveled through space and time into another woman's body.

3. I am her alter ego.’

Her

I lie in bed alone without a blanket. The heat wave is nearing its peak after two full weeks of sweat and sleepless nights.

Random conversations from throughout the day keep me awake yet again. The next day, I will be so exhausted that I will make more stupid mistakes — mistakes that will keep me awake again the following night. I’m stuck in an unbreakable loop of anxiety.

From the outside, I seem to have it all. I have a loving and successful boyfriend of five years, and I know I should be proud of him. But he’s on a business trip from Monday to Friday—every week. We barely text, and we don't call each other. He comes home on Friday night, and we spend the weekend together. I wonder if I would ever notice if he found someone else. After so many years, it's only natural to get incredibly lonely.

To keep my mind busy, I work as much as possible. When you do your PhD, you don't get much free time anyway. So that's perfect. I work until 9 or 10pm. The day is practically over in a heartbeat, and the weeks pass just as fast.

But what nobody knows is that I come from a really fucked-up family. I carry my mental scars and desperately hope nobody will ever find out about my background. Maybe that’s why I’ve always kept everyone at arm's length. It only fed the feeling that I don't belong anywhere. That I’m out of place no matter where I go.

I feel my throat tightening. A familiar sensation that is somehow reassuring. It’s like a drug I search for within my own mind, feeling relief when I manage to produce it once again.

Cortisol.

The answer to my sleepless nights is so simple.

(11ß)-11,17,21-trihydroxypregn-4-ene-3,20-dione.

There we have it. At least now it feels complex.

Self-inflicted high cortisol levels at night keep my pineal gland from producing melatonin. Usually, I scroll mindlessly through social media to prevent myself from thinking. Tonight, I decided to try falling asleep without my phone. Without my armor. Left alone with my thoughts.

As expected, the tight grip on my throat is relentless. It keeps tightening until I can no longer bear it.

Like so many times before, an immense weight settles over my body. It’s as though I’m wrapped in a blanket woven from my past mistakes, each one pulling me toward the earth’s core, their countless hands closing around me in a relentless grip.

I feel nauseous.

I try reaching for my phone, which I deliberately placed an arm’s length away in anticipation of my failure to produce melatonin.

That’s when I notice I cannot move my arm, even though I was able to move just moments ago. With rising horror, I try to get up and fail to move any part of my body. My throat tightens further, and I am unable to breathe. Tears well up in my eyes as panic overtakes me.

I dreadfully try to move and breathe with all my might, but nothing is happening.

I remain as silent as a corpse.

Suddenly, all my frantic efforts culminate in my whole body tensing and jerking upward from the bed. The pressure on my throat loosens slightly, and I manage to take a tiny breath after what feels like an eternity. Only then do I notice the weight on my throat.

An actual weight.

Instead of the familiar darkness of our bedroom, an orange glow surrounds me while a shadow looms in front of me.

Relief washes over me, immediately followed by horror.

Instinctively, I swing my arms toward the darkness and grab a cold, sweaty arm. Without thinking, I shove forward with all my might and manage to roll sideways onto my feet, while the grip on my throat vanishes completely.

A huge naked man is kneeling on the bed, still in the position of strangling someone - of strangling me. I stand one step away from him, frozen in shock. Breathing is unbearably painful. Time seems to have come to a halt. Judging from his size, I would have never been able to get free.

He must have let me go.

As he remains frozen, I study the surroundings. The amber light comes from a lamp with an open fire, illuminating the silhouettes of two naked women lying on the bed. They are not moving. Then the terrifying man rises and turns toward me.

‘You were dead!’

Somehow, I cannot fathom what he said just now, but he sounded desperate or maybe fearful.

Panic surges through me once more, enough to free me from my paralysis. I grab the lamp standing within arm's reach and throw it onto the bed. Oil spills over him, and the sheets immediately burst into flames.

He screams and lunges toward me. His sudden movement causes me to stumble backward, and I fall hard onto the floor. He frantically moves his arms, and his attack misses me completely. Instead, he stumbles over my body.

I cower on the ground as heat and weight crash against my back. Suddenly, he falls off me again, screaming in agony. I manage to crawl away from the burning bed.

Men storm into the room, shouting. I count three men tending to the burning giant, none of them paying attention to me. The flames and smoke spread throughout the room, carrying the unbearable stench of burning flesh.

I crawl toward the entrance that the men came through. One of them notices my movement, rises, and runs toward me. I force myself to my feet and sprint for the exit. I shove aside some heavy fabric and burst outside.

Freezing air slams into my face and lungs, making me stumble for a moment.

The man is still pursuing me, and I run as fast as I possibly can.

The area is poorly lit. All I can make out are shapes resembling tents, with nobody else in sight or earshot.

I run toward the darkness, away from the faint lights.

Eventually, the man seems to have stopped chasing me. At least I can no longer hear him behind me.

I keep running, but now my thoughts begin catching up with me.

Horrified, I realize I’m barefoot, running through a winter forest in some thin dress.

After what feels like an eternity, exhaustion forces me into a slow jog. My feet ache from the cold, and my lungs burn.

Then, just as I begin to believe I might somehow survive the cold long enough to find civilization or even a shed, it starts snowing.

Ironic that I yearned for the end of summer so desperately.

At first, only a few snowflakes drift down, melting against my burning skin. Then the snowfall thickens, soaking me in icy wetness until I can no longer run.

I walk.

And walk.

Force myself to take just one more step, to keep going no matter what.

Because resting would mean death.

Tears fall from my burning cheeks as I begin to realize that I might have escaped the giant, but there was no way I would survive this night.

Then I hear it.

The snort of a horse.

I freeze immediately, not daring to make a sound, scanning the darkness for movement.

There it is again.

A horse snorting — faint, but unmistakable.

A rush of adrenaline surges through me, sending tremors through my frozen body. Somehow, I manage to run again, fleeing in the opposite direction of where the sound came from.

Maybe thirty minutes later, my strength begins fading once again; nonetheless, I cling to the hope that I managed to escape.

The sunrise slowly announces itself, painting the horizon pink. I stumble toward the growing light, not seeing properly.

As the silhouettes of the trees sharpen into solid trunks, my body barely carries me anymore.

I trip over a root and crash face-first into the snow.

I cannot roll over.

I cannot move my body.

I cannot feel anything, except for my burning lungs aching for the next breath.

But this time, there is no shift in scenery.

No hell disguised as salvation.

And I drift away into nothingness.