"Lady Analïse," said a gentle voice. I groaned and rolled over in bed, taking the covers with me.
For some reason, my body felt heavy today, and the room was colder than it should be. Did my idiot brother crank up the AC again? I told him not to, that stupid boy. He knows how cold I could get.
"Lady Analïse," said the voice again.
That's odd. My brother, who is also my roommate, isn't the type to watch period dramas. Maybe it's a game...
"Lady Analïse, you're going to be late for your Presentation," said the voice, a little more urgently now. Oddly enough, the voice sounded very close to me, and I distinctly recall telling my brother that nothing, not himself or any of his possessions, was to cross over from his "zone" into mine.
"Aya," I scolded groggily, "Your period drama is too loud. Tone it down."
Silence.
Good, at least that idiot brother of mine can still follow instructions.
But then, "Lady Analïse?" Questioned the voice.
What is this drama my idiot brother is watching? It keeps repeating itself over and over again like a broken record. I open my eyes to glance over at him, but instead experience the world's biggest whammy. The sense of wrongness was so disorienting, I nearly gagged.
What. The. Fuck.
This is not my pillow. The soft, satin sheet covering it is the first clue. The second is the fact that it's made of goose feathers.
I fling my blanket away from me—which, upon closer inspection, was not actually a blanket at all, but a thick, fluffy, comforter—and gasp.
That is not my ceiling.
This is not my bed.
This is not my room.
"Lady Analïse?" Asked the period drama I thought my brother was watching. The maid standing next to my bed was looking at me with worry.
And that is not my maid. I don't have one, for fuck's sake!!!
I scramble out of bed and trip, not used to my body, for some reason. I glance at the hands that are supporting me spread out against the floor and gasp.
They were pale, smooth and slender, without mar or callous. My nails were delicately manicured in a soft, nude color, and were slightly pointed at the tip. My knuckles were elegant, my fingers straight.
These were not my hands.
Desperate, I look around the grand room and see a mirror a little further away.
Ignoring the cries of the maid, calling for a "Lady Analïse," I shakily make my way over to the mirror and look at myself.
That was not my face. That was definitely not my face.
The face I was used to was plain, pretty, if you stretch it.
This face was not plain, and pretty was too light a word to use for it.
"What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck~" I say, marveling at the gorgeous face in the mirror.
She had the clearest blue eyes I have ever seen, with high, delicate cheekbones, a slim nose that pointed upwards lightly at the tip, and eyebrows that framed her face perfectly. Her hair was a deep burgundy red that I had never seen naturally on anyone.
To top it off, she had the most delicate smattering of freckles across her cheeks.
"What the fuck." I whispered again to myself.
What the fuck is right. What the fuck happened? This is impossible. This shouldn't be happening.
Is this a dream? Is that it? Am I asleep right now and dreaming?
"Lady Analïse?" asked the voice behind me, "Are you all right?"
Right. I had an audience.
Honesty. Honesty was the best course of action here, "No. I am not all right." I said, louder so that she could hear.
And what the fuck?! Even this person's voice was beautiful!
I turn back at the maid to see her looking distressed. "But Lady Analïse," she said, "Today is your Presentation."
Presentation? Crap! I don't know what's happening!
I need to tell someone I'm not this "Lady Analïse" person, but would anybody believe me? What the fuck is happening! I don't know what's going on!
I need to make a decision, now.
A knock sounded heavily on the door. Once, twice, thrice.
"Analïse! Are you up?" asked a deep, male voice from the other side.
Without answering him, he opened the door. The face that greeted me on the other side was no doubt a handsome one. The young man was tall, with an elegant bearing, and the same burgundy hair as the person in the mirror. He was wearing what seemed to be an intricate military ceremonial uniform.
His brown eyes swiveled to the maid and regarded her in displeasure. "Is she still not ready?"
"She just woke up, Heir Valen," said the maid in distress, obviously shaken by this guy's displeasure, "She seems confused."
"Confused?" asked Heir Valen, turning to me. "What's wrong now, Analïse?"
What's wrong is that I don't know you, I'm not in my own body, and I think I'm not even in my own world.
As these revelations crash into me, I must have looked off to both persons in my room because both of them adopt some sort of panicked expression.
"Lady Analïse?"
"Analïse?" they ask simultaneously.
Unable to hold it in anymore, I blurt out, "I'm not Analïse, I'm not her. Please don't think I'm crazy, but I'm not Analïse."
There's a long moment of tense silence before Heir Valen breaks it, "What trickery are you up to again, Ana? Cease, now! Your Presentation is in but a few hours!"
"I'm not playing tricks on you! I swear! I'm not Analïse!" I said, starting to honestly panic! Maybe I should have just kept my mouth fucking shut! Maybe I shouldn't have told them anything! Who would believe the words coming out of my mouth? They would think I'm—
"Mad! You've gone mad! And to choose today of all days!" A fiercely dark expression takes over Heir Valen's face. He starts yelling, and I flinch. "Pull yourself together, Analïse! And do not, I repeat, do not, dishonor our family again in front of the ton today!"
With a glare towards me, and a menacing look at the maid, he left, parting with harsh instructions for the maid to follow, "Get her ready before her Presentation, and snap some sense back into her!"
The door closed with a bang.
I was left with silence and a trembling maid. When I looked at her, she flinched.
I don't know what to do. I desperately need time to recoup and think, but apparently I don't have time for that. Analïse's "presentation" was in a few hours, that Heir Valen said, whoever he is. And whatever that "presentation" is, it seems important.
One step at a time, I reassured myself. This, too, shall pass.
I turned to the maid and asked her, "So what's your name?"
"Lady Analïse?" she asked, unsure.
"Sure," I said easily, "Let's go with that for now. Tell me, what is your name?"
"It's Carol, My Lady," she said.
"Well, Carol," I said with a reassuring smile, "Won't you tell me about myself?"