People usually close their eyes for one of two reasons: either they want to savor reality, or they want to escape it.

On that fateful night that overhauled my life, I closed my eyes – and kept them tightly shut – because the scene before me was too horrifying to contemplate. Spots of flames danced around an otherwise dark field, partially illuminating corpses stacked on top of each other. Even without decent light, I could decipher that they died violently – stabbed with a sword, shot by a spear, pierced with arrows. The smell of metal and blood permeated the air so heavily that it made me sick, and from the distance I could distinctly hear the shouts of men and sound of horses' hooves.

War. It seemed I was caught in the tail end of a war, and by the looks of it, I had the sinking feeling that I was on the losing side. But how on earth could I be in a war? I merely opened the door to the office pantry. I was upset and I needed a few moments to myself. If I had known that the mundane act would land me in a predicament straight out of a fantasy novel, I never would have even ventured anywhere near the damn door. After all, what was a lousy evening compared to a war scene? They're so mind bogglingly different that there shouldn't be any comparison in the first place – they don't even belong in the same sentence.

I realized I had no more time to further assess the situation I was in when I heard voices of men gradually drawing near. I finally forced my eyes open to see four men approaching me. They were wearing soldier uniforms that were worn out, tattered, and blood stained in varying degrees. I immediately noticed three things in rapid succession. First, although they were speaking in a foreign language I had never heard before, I could understand them just fine. Second, they were looking down at me with leery, hostile eyes. And third, to my horror, when I opened my mouth to say something, no sound came out.

"She can't even talk? This is interesting," one of them jeered. The others laughed heartily.

Despite the heat coming from the flames scattered about, I felt my blood run cold. I was literally alone in a strange land, a woman surrounded by corpses in a battlefield, and I didn't even have my voice to shout for help. Of course, I wasn't sure if being able to speak will actually do me any good. But at least it won't leave me as defenseless and terrified as I was then.

"What's the commotion?" someone else asked.

The voice was deep and commanding, and from the way the soldiers straightened out and filed themselves in a line, I could easily tell this was someone of authority.

"General!" the soldiers saluted.

The man stepped closer and I was able to take a better look at him. He was also in a uniform considerably streaked with blood, but he carried himself well. He looked at me briefly, his eyes impartial but holding no malice. I subconsciously let out a small sigh of relief. At least I wouldn't die by his hands tonight.

He turned back to the soldiers. "I asked a question."

"We, uh, were going around the enemy camp and, uh, found her here," one of them fiddled with his answer.

"Take her to my horse. I'm bringing her to the palace."

"But General," another soldier timidly piped up. "Shouldn't we take her to the town magistrate? Commoners from defeated kingdoms usually become our slaves."

"Don't make me repeat myself," the general's reply was thinly veiled with irritation. The change in his voice was subtle, but the soldiers must have easily picked out on it, just as I did.

"Yes, sir!" They saluted again.

The general carefully hauled me on my feet and spoke to me directly for the first time. "Here, it will help keep you warm," he said, taking off his jacket and draping it over me. Only then did I notice that I was trembling so much that it was visible. But whether it was from the evening chill as he supposed, or from my fear at being thrust in such an unfamiliar circumstance, I didn't know.

He turned again to the soldiers before getting ready to leave. "Anyone who touches her untowardly will have his fingers cut off."

After that, everything else that happened was a blur. The soldiers dutifully escorted me to the general's horse, keeping a respectful distance all the while, and then left me there. I plopped myself on the ground and waited. I was too exhausted to remain standing, but I was too anxious to lie down and get some rest. I had no idea how many hours passed, but the general finally returned. He lifted me to his horse in one swift motion and got on behind me, and we rode.

Aside from a touristy horseback riding tour in Jeju Island that I got coerced into joining during a company field trip, I had never rode a horse before in my life. I wasn't particularly sporty, and I was more than happy to watch people riding horses on screen, in my favorite period dramas. They made it look so easy. 'Liars,' I mentally berated. I felt stiff and uncomfortable, and soon my muscles began to hurt in places I didn't know they could ache.

"Relax," the general softly admonished in my ear. He had both his hands securely holding the reins, but his right hand let go and wrapped around my waist, gently pushing me backward. I leaned against him and felt that it was more comfortable that way. "That's better," he said. I did feel marginally better, enough to finally give in to my exhaustion and close my eyes again, contrary to my better judgment.

No strange incident followed shortly after that, at least nothing that was stranger than horseback riding at night, in the middle of nowhere, with a man I didn't know. I guessed I had reached my quota of strange occurrences for the time being.

The next thing I was aware of, the horse had teetered to a stop and the general got off. He held out his arms, caught me by the waist, and firmly set me on the ground.

"My lord, congratulations on winning the war." The voice came from a dignified looking old man with round spectacles. He bowed respectfully.

"How is His Majesty?" the general asked, ignoring the compliment.

"He is… He'll be all right," the old man answered, eyeing me cautiously.

Even with sleep clouding my vision, I could see he was hesitant to answer. Clearly he didn't want to divulge what seemed to be confidential information about His Majesty – whoever that was – in front of an outsider: me.

"But my lord," he continued, changing the subject. "What brings you to the palace at such an hour? Surely you would have preferred to head straight to your residence instead."

"I brought her to be the newest concubine for His Majesty," the general announced, ushering me forward. From a logical standpoint, I knew what concubine meant. Archaic as it may be, I knew the meaning of the word. What I failed to understand was the notion that I was being introduced as such.

"Pardon me, my lord, but do you mean to say her?" the old man looked at me, aghast. If the situation wasn't so dire, I would have laughed. It seemed I wasn't the only one who didn't see me as a concubine.

"Is there any other lady here now?" the general retorted, his voice dry with sarcasm.

"No, my lord. What I meant was – "

"I expect you to see to the matter promptly," the general said, cutting off further discussion.

"Yes, my lord." The old man bowed again.

The general looked at me, and almost as an afterthought, continued addressing the old man. "She doesn't speak, but I trust that it won't prevent her from being of service to His Majesty." At the mention of the word 'service' I felt faint and nauseous. Did he actually mean what I thought he meant?

"I understand, my lord."

By then I must have looked as wide eyed and disoriented as I felt, because the general turned his back to the old man and stepped close to me. "You'll be better off inside the palace than outside," he whispered, his words so soft that I barely caught them.

"I'll see you again soon." He nodded at me, got back on his horse, and rode off. I watched him gradually disappear into the darkness until I couldn't hear the sound of his horse galloping.

"How long must you stand there?" The old man looked at me with a resigned expression. "Follow me."

It was then that I realized we were in front of a sprawling lawn against the backdrop of an even more massive palace. The building was so huge I couldn't even see the end of it. The old man led me through a long maze of corridors and passageways, up and down flights of stairs, until he finally stopped at an imposing door. He opened it, walked in, and motioned me inside.

After my horrifying experience with a door earlier in the evening, the last thing I needed was to make things worse by repeating the same mistake. "We haven't got all night," the old man sighed when I refused to step in. He walked across the room and sat by the big desk at the far end of it.

"This is my office," he said. "Take a seat." He gestured to one of the chairs across from him and I tentatively took a step forward. When I saw that I wasn't inadvertently thrown into yet another strange world, I took another step, and then another, until I reached the chair he was motioning at.

"I'm Vincenzo Di Almarati, and I'm the chief steward of the palace." He put a sheet of paper in front of me, and gestured to the quill stand. A quill, for crying out loud! "What's your name?"

Na-ri. My name was Ha Na-ri. But I didn't know if that will mean anything here when I didn't even have the faintest clue where this place was, or when this place was, for that matter. I stared at the paper, keeping my head down, and Vincenzo – at least I could finally attach a name to his face – sighed again. "You don't have to worry. Your name won't matter here, anyway."

He pulled out a drawer and took something out of it. It was a wooden square block roughly the size of an ID card. It had a foreign marking on it but I could read what it indicated. 20, the marking read 20.

"From now on, you'll be known as Concubine Number 20."

I was wrong earlier. This was the strangest thing that happened to me that night, and it changed the trajectory of my life forever.