Awakening
I was driving. My last memories are of my sister talking about some online novel for the third time that day. I was doing my best to tune her out. At the same time I could not help but think that the events in this piece of “literature” were a bit ridiculous. When I couldn’t take the chatter anymore, I took my eyes off the road to tell her to shut up and in that second everything stopped, there was only me and an endless ocean of black.
At first, I tried to swim around but I either had no limbs or I could not feel them. This brought several minutes of panic but I may not have had any limbs to begin with, yeah that sounds right. I gave up on swimming. The darkness was heavy and staring at me somehow. No, that can’t be right. Maybe it was leading me somewhere? I stared into it and there was definitely a vague shape there but I could not distinguish any features. Maybe it didn’t have any? That odd thought brought me back to the surface. I opened my eyes.
I was looking up at a ceiling I did not recognize. The color was wrong, a sickly shade of pink no sane person over the age of five would pick. There was a chandelier-looking thing in the shape of a sphere that was a light shade of pink.
This was not my room. I took a few moments to entertain the thought that I might be in a hotel. After I crashed the car that seemed almost reasonable or maybe a hospital would be more likely. I sat up and vaguely realized that I did have limbs after all. Looking around, I was not sure I could afford a hotel this comfortable. The bed was twice the size of my bed at home and much, much more comfortable. The covers were soft, thick, and the same stupid shade of pink as the ceiling and walls, apparently.
Maybe this is hell, I thought wryly. Next to the bed was a chair and on it was a woman I had never seen before but I chose to ignore that. The woman was not moving so I half convinced myself she would be the weird shadow thing from the darkness.
On the far right was a window taller than me and at least eight feet long decorated with curtains, the ugliest shade of pink I had ever seen. It occurred to me that the window might be a door to a patio or balcony. I could picture myself chilling on a balcony overlooking the ocean. I could sit on a fancy chair with a drink in my hand and watch the waves all day, but could I? I didn’t even know who the room belonged to.
Opposite from the window-door-thing, I could see a tall wooden two door dresser with a mirror on one of the doors and little intricate carvings on the side I could see. Not that I could see what the carvings were of, it just looked like scribbles from where I was sitting. A small table and a chair were close to the corner with the window. Maybe it was the angle but they almost seemed child sized which was ridiculous. Something else that struck me about all these things was how new and how sturdy they seemed. The wooden objects like the table and dresses looked heavy, the wood in the legs was thick. They were also all in different shades of pink but that was hardly surprising. There was a sofa near the dresser, a large and heavy looking rug in the center of the room, a big dollhouse-looking thing, is this the bedroom of a child?
Why is everything pink?
I raise a hand to rub my eyes, half expecting the room to disappear when something else catches my attention.
Those are not my hands.
The skin color is about the same but the hands…
They are the hands of a child.
I absentmindedly reach for my hair and can’t find it. My hair is shorter than it should be. It barely reaches my shoulders when I know for a fact my hair almost reaches my knees. The few strands I push forward are the wrong color too, they are red. As much as I like red hair, my hair color is more of a dark brown, maybe even black. Casting an uncertain look at the motionless human on the chair next to me, I slowly crawl over to the edge of the bed taking note of how long it took me to get there. I was smaller than I should be. I climbed down, either the bed was really tall or I was short. Walking over to the mirror on the dresser, I take an anxious peek.
That was not me.
The face looking at me was that of a child. Her hair was a bright, unrealistic red, it was short and tied in a ponytail. Her skin color was a shade of brown similar to mine but slightly darker. The most unsettling thing about her, even stranger than the red hair, were her impossibly pale blue eyes. At first sight I had assumed her eyes were white until I noticed the blue.
I also realized I knew this kid.
It was the cover image for that online novel that Nadia was always going on about but she was older in the cover. Of course, after hearing about it for so long I must have had a dream about being in the novel but why did I have to become the villain of the novel? Anastasia Salvestro, the typical engaged to the crown prince, noble lady that is mad at the protagonist because the prince likes her. She is some kind of noble in a semi but not quite modern setting, so there’s electricity and I think dragons. Maybe there’s magic too? Why couldn’t I dream about a story I actually liked?
It was a miracle I remembered anything about the story at all!
Whatever, it didn’t change the fact that I was not supposed to be her.
‘Damn is this dream realistic,’ I thought to myself after I pinched myself and was surprised it hurt.
‘Maybe if I go back to sleep I will wake up in my own body and things will make sense again?’
With that thought, I turned and started to head back to the bed when I realized that the person from the chair was watching me.
I didn’t know her but she vaguely looked like the protagonist of the novel. I thought back to my spotty knowledge of the story, the main character and villain are the same age. The lady in front of me was dressed in, of all things, a maid outfit and she seemed to be at least 25. Therefore not the main character, and not the person who is going to get me executed. Wait, does Anasatasia die at the end of the story? And I’m not Anastasia! I can’t be.
“Gabriela,” I half surprised myself by saying.
Gabriela Landgeage, what is wrong with the person who created names like those! The mother of the main character and the same name as my stepmother. That’s right, Nadia mentioned it… repeatedly. The Landgeage family was once a noble house that fell from grace when the grandfather of the protagonist blinked the wrong way in front of the king or some equally petty thing. The family lost their fortune and were reduced to finding menial labor… like a maid.
“Good morning Lady Anastasia,” the lady on the chair said at last.
It speaks!
The former lady is tall or maybe child-me is just short. Her skin is pale and sparsely freckled. Her hair is an unrealistic shade of orange that I am almost positive the protagonist shares. Her maid dress is long and just looks like a simple black dress with a white apron. Her eyes are a weird shade of purple or maybe pink that the protagonist also shares. Of course, the ridiculous colors of the main character stand out.
I wondered whether or not to answer when the fake novel person decided to speak again.
I stopped listening almost as soon as she started speaking.
The eldest daughter of the Salvestro family needs to be educated, and she should be getting ready for the tutor to come over. He can’t be kept waiting! I assume his head will explode if proper protocol is not followed to the f***ing letter but I don’t say that out loud.
My father has asked me to have lunch with him, as well as something about having to visit my mother before her time comes. Okay, sick mother and a father who, err, exists? The way the maid had said what my father had asked had made it seem like more of an order than a request. I stare blankly around until something else catches my eye, my sleeping gown is also pink Lovely…
“Where is your daughter?” I asked. I decided that I wanted to see the main character before I woke up, because this was all some dream, right?
That shut her up.
I could not tell whether she was offended or not but the silence before she started talking again was quite awkward.
“I know you used to sneak her into the room when the tutor came over but she will get into significant trouble if she does it again as will I.” Gabriela says slowly.
I got the feeling this is not the first time she has had to say that. That line sounded rehearsed
“Education is important,” I say but with no conviction.
In my head, I counted down the seconds until I woke up from what had to be a dream brought about by crashing a car into a tree.
It was either that or the afterlife was more annoying than I realized.
“She is being trained to be a maid. She does not need it.” Once again, Gabriela was speaking slowly, rehashing an old argument maybe. I bet it pained her to have to say that. I wondered how thorough her education was.
“Don’t you want her to-” She cut me off.
“What I want is for you to get ready. The tutor has been standing in the study for at least 5 minutes. It will not do for you to be late, again.”
She rushed over to the dresser and my protest that I could dress myself died when she picked up a pink dress. As she fumbled to get it on me, I knew I would not be able to figure that cloth mess on my own. Maybe the setting is not as modern as I thought.
The tutor was some guy in his mid twenties, tan complexion and long black hair tied back in a low ponytail. He made the absurd choice of wearing robes as if he were some stupid wizard. Maybe there is magic in this world after all? If Nadia mentioned him in her incessant rambles about the novel, he must not have made much of an impression.
“What’s your name?”
I wondered how many lessons they could have had so far. How odd it must be for him to even be asked that question.
“Allen Cortez, your father hired me to teach you magic,” he replied.
I detected a touch of amusement in his voice. He was either being helpful or making fun of me.
“Have you finally decided to talk to me,” he added in a mock serious tone. “It will make the lessons easier.”
I guess Anastasia had decided to ignore her teacher. I could sort of understand why.
As far as the lesson was concerned, I had fully intended to ignore him but when he started talking about rituals I found myself at least half listening. It takes a special kind of person to learn magic and preliminary tests had shown that at the very least Anastasia could have the aptitude for it. I began to take a mental note of it but I figured nothing I heard would matter once I woke up, which was definitely going to happen soon.
The lesson continued. Apparently, simple spells don’t have a set incantation, or specific word in order to cast the spell. His example was a simple light spell, it was supposed to create a small ball of light that a person can hold in their hand. Most people say light or sight to cast the spell. What matters in those kinds of spells is the intent and the power behind the caster.
I chuckled to myself thinking the word “blinding” over and over. I did not expect anything to happen but as he was talking, I began to see something bright out of the corner of my eye. The guy seemed taken aback.
My hand was glowing.
Not knowing how to make my hand stop glowing, I may have panicked a bit and maybe fallen off my chair. There may even have been screaming involved. However, I handled the shock with as much grace as I could given that my hand was glowing!
I felt the Allen guy grab my hand for a second. When he pulled away, my hand had stopped glowing.
“That is the most progress you have ever made,” he commented mildly.
What an assh***.
I don’t even know how magic works and I bet that the author doesn’t know either.
I took some time to calm down.
The rest of the lesson went more smoothly. The guy warned against using magic carelessly, reminding what had happened to my hair with that fire spell.
Anastasia set her own hair on fire. I almost wish that the novel had followed her instead of the orange-hair main character.
After the class, I was led into a dining room twice the size of my apartment. I barely even glanced at the paintings and the overly large table as I sat down. At this point the opulence is besides the point. I guess there are some perks to dreaming… but is this really a dream? Something was starting to feel wrong, wouldn’t any normal dream be over by now?
The man in front of me has dark blue hair because that’s a normal hair color. Anastasia did not look anything like her father. He was paler than her, his eyes were a dark blue, tall and honestly kind of intimidating. Does he not have a neutral face? He looked like he was glaring at the maid bringing his food. I bet that lady was glad to leave the room.
I half expected him to sit on the other end of the table so we could awkwardly stare each other down but he sat next to me. I noticed his black suit which I guess is the only thing fancy dudes are allowed to wear and a faint smell that reminded me of leather. Why is men’s fashion so boring?
I braced myself for him to start talking at me but he just sat down and began to eat. I couldn’t even look at the plate in front of me without feeling sick. Surely, he made sure to teach his daughter proper etiquette, none of which I would know. How could I act like his spawn if I knew next to nothing about her?
Did I have to talk?
Did he expect me to talk?
How did Anastasia get along with her parents anyways?
The minutes passed slowly and he continued to eat but I couldn’t even pick up the fork. Hell, why was there more than one fork? The room was massive but there was not enough room anymore as the man put down his fork and stared at me quizzically.
“You have not visited your mother once since she fell ill,” he said and I could not tell if it was an admonishment or if he was just making conversation.
“I have been avoiding it, seeing her ill would be too painful.” I forced out but honestly I had no idea why Anastasia didn’t want to see her mother.
His eyebrows rose. I guess that’s not what he expected me to say. He seemed to consider my words.
“That makes sense,” I heard him say under his breath.
Was he doubting my excuse?
How the f*** would I know why Anastasia did not want to see her mother? For all I knew, she could have been avoiding her because she thought germs were gross. What is wrong with the mother anyways?
In a normal tone he continued to talk, “She has been waiting for you to visit.”
As I was struggling to come up with a reply, he picked up a fork and handed it to me. At least now I know which fork to use.
“Sir Cortez tells me you have made progress in your magic class,” he said as if he knew it was time to change the subject.
“All I did was repeat some words,” I say.
“You must have done a lot more than that,” a touch of amusement entered his voice. “Magic is more than repeating words. It is intent and force of will. I believe you could be a great Sorceress if you took the time to practice. That will make you worthy of the crown prince, but I’m getting ahead of myself. What are you, eight?”
Ah yes, the crown prince. The guy who is destined to fall in love with some servant girl. Yeah, being worthy of that guy must be great.
The other thing that caught my attention was that he said Anastasia was eight. None of the plot relevant stuff happens until the age of 17 or 18, maybe. Hopefully enough time for me to wake up so I don’t have to take part in this story.
The rest of the lunch went well. He talked about his expectations for me and I listened. I hoped I would not be around to have to live up to those expectations. While a more competitive side of me was almost feeling inspired
If I could meet those goals and surpass them, could I become more than what Anastasia was in the novel?
What would I do if I had to play the villain?
How much freedom did I have in this world anyways?
After lunch, I had more lessons but with a different teacher. An older woman whose gray hair was in a tight bun. Strange how the most normal hair color so far was on an old woman, not that her hair could not have been purple a few years ago. I didn’t bother asking her name. She was there to teach me etiquette, something I assume Anastasia should have been learning for a while but my lack of aptitude did not seem to surprise this teacher.
Was Anastasia a really difficult person to teach? I guess she IS eight years old. The expectations on this child are ridiculous.
After that lesson, I decided to go see Anastasia’s mother. At least that is what my intention was but a solid hour of wandering made me realize that I underestimated the size of this family’s estate. The hallways were long and some were decorated with paintings of Anastasia’s father and an older red haired woman. They were sitting in chairs, on sofas, laying down on some flowers. There was a picture of the woman doing a handstand with so much detail on the way her long skirt and layers fell. I was beginning to wonder if there were any images of Anastasia herself when I found them. They ranged in age from baby, to toddler and child. Some were with her father, some her mother and some with both. There was a painting of the child with a butterfly on top of her head. What drew me to that painting was the background, the child was sitting on the railing of a balcony and in the distance I saw a round ferris wheel looking thing. The setting of the story continued to confuse me.
Between the paintings were pillar looking things with vases and potted plants along some corners. The nicer hallways had giant long rugs with little intricate patterns on them and some with flower patterns on them. The walls were tall and painted a deep red in color that honestly I found quite odd. It was probably the reason the hallways were so dark even while having a bunch of lightbulbs. I guess the world does have electricity after all.
Looking around more, I found dead ends with nice looking sofas and small tables.
I passed by windows, showing a distant city. The estate must have been on a mountain judging by how small the buildings looked. Another window showed me the round thing and it was definitely a ferris wheel. I had to force myself away from the window and I would have kept looking if it wasn’t for the maid tracking me down to inform me it was time to go to bed.
How had the day passed so quickly?
As I was struggling to get out of my dress with the help of the maid lady, I wondered how easy it would be to live Anastasia’s life.
I was already doing better than her and I barely did anything.
I could live out Anastasia’s life better than she ever could. My last thought as I fell asleep was that thinking like this would be really awkward if I woke up tomorrow as my real self.
