As Cassandra took in the bewildering sights of the modern world, her thoughts were abruptly disrupted by the animated chatter of a group of friends passing by. Among them, a young woman with blonde hair and a stylish ensemble halted in her tracks, locking eyes with Cassandra.
"Miss Blake? That is you?" the girl exclaimed, waving off her friends with a promise to reconvene later. Cassandra regarded her, observing the petite figure adorned in a fashion she had never encountered before .
A petite young woman with golden shoulder-length hair that framed her face. Despite her short stature, she possessed a sturdy and athletic physique that reflected her tomboyish nature —paired with a black oversized turtleneck fleece, leggings that fit perfectly to her form, and sneakers completing the ensemble.
Cassandra's mystified expression did not go unnoticed, prompting the girl to wave her hand in front of Cassandra's face. "Miss B? You okay? You seem kinda out of it, and what're you doing standing outside your apartment barefoot?"
Cassandra, momentarily lost in her own thoughts, was taken aback by the girl's familiarity and casual address. "Who is this tiny human addressing me so informally? Does she not know whom she stands in the presence of? Not even a courtesy... And who is this 'Miss B' she speaks of?"
"Why don't we go inside? The sun is starting to set, and it'll get cold soon," the girl suggested, taking Cassandra's hand with an unexpected familiarity and leading her into the lobby of the apartment building.
Once inside, the girl expressed her concern, "You sure you're okay Miss B? I could stay for a while if you want; I'm not really doing much else today."
Cassandra, maintaining her regal demeanor, responded curtly, "No, that's perfectly fine. You've assisted me plenty. You may leave."
The girl's confusion was palpable, her gaze reflecting the bewilderment of someone confronted by a complete stranger. "Um, yeah okay? Guess I'll see you in class tomorrow then?" she said as she turned to leave.
Cassandra, forcing a smile that betrayed her own perplexity, watched as the girl departed.
"What in Gregophor's beard is going on? Someone I've never once laid eyes on addressing me like a mere commoner. This strange land I now find myself a part of, and now these shabby living quarters. I must get down to the bottom of this," Cassandra's inner monologue echoed.
In an attempt to find answers, she called out, "Maxim!" but there was no response. Panic began to set in, prompting her to try again, "Maxim!" Still, there was nothing. Cassandra's growing unease heightened.
"Something is seriously wrong here. My connection to Maxim has been cut off, and for some reason, the magic in this land is weak, very weak. I feel my connection to the arcane dwindling by the second. I need to move fast," she thought.
Surveying the lobby, Cassandra noticed an array of doors to her left and right, with stairs in the middle leading upward. Puzzled, she pondered, "Why does a single room need so many doors?"
Determined to uncover the mysteries that surrounded her, she walked toward the first door on her right.
Opening the door, Cassandra was met with a surprising sight—a middle-aged man with a beer in hand, engrossed in television. Startled, the man turned toward her, demanding, "Hey! Who the fuck are you? You just go around walking into people's places?"
Undeterred by the man's hostility, Cassandra gracefully waved her hand through the air. In an instant, the man stopped dead in his tracks, frozen like a paused image.
Closing the door behind her, Cassandra surveyed the lobby once more, her eyes drawn to the numbered doors. The one she had just entered bore the label '102' Retrieving a key from her pocket with a tag that read '306' she deduced with swift intellect that this key belonged to her room on the third floor, the sixth door down.
Moments later, she arrived at room 306. Hesitating briefly, she cautiously opened the door, relieved to find no stranger inside. The room, meticulously clean and devoid of personal touches, seemed more like an abandoned space than a current residence. A single sofa and a small coffee table occupied the center, and the only adornment was a framed picture of a rose on the wall.
Cassandra explored further, eventually locating the bathroom. Displeased, she muttered to herself, "This is the washroom? By the Gods, it's hideous." Making her way to the mirror, she intended to gather her bearings, but the reflection that stared back at her completely took her aback.
The face before her bore striking if not identical similarities, but it wasn't hers. To the untrained eye, the differences might be negligible, but for a sorceress well-versed in the intricacies of magic, the discrepancy was unmistakable.
Running her hands across her lips and through her hair, she pondered, "Whose face is this? Whose body is this? Whose life is this?" As the weight of her predicament sank in, she recalled the events preceding her arrival.
"Of course! The spell. Was I sabotaged? No, my subordinates are loyal to a fault; they would never," she thought while grappling with the unsettling truth that she found herself in a foreign body.
Struggling with the disconcerting reality of her altered existence, she exited the bathroom, seeking some semblance of understanding. Her gaze fell upon a piece of paper on the table. She picked it up, unfolding the note that lay before her.
The words on the note unveiled a poignant and somber message:
"To whom this may concern,
I have decided to end my life. After Mom passed last year, my reason for living went with her. I'm not mentally unstable, neither am I being forced to write this against my will. I just feel as though my time here is up. Getting out of bed every day and putting on a fake smile for the world just got harder and harder. Guess I just hit my breaking point. Sorry in advance for the mess.
Jennifer Blake."
Cassandra's eyes lingered on the note, absorbing the weight of Jennifer's final words.
A shiver of realization coursed through her as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The free fall, the abrupt transmigration—it all became clear. The woman whose life she now inhabited, Jennifer Blake, was in the harrowing throes of taking her own life.
The ethereal threads of magic that bound their fates had intertwined at a critical moment.
* * *
As Maeve lingered outside the apartment building, a cascade of thoughts swirled in her mind. Leaning against the wall, she couldn't shake the awkward encounter with Miss Blake.
"I mean, I'm not stalking her, we just ran into each other. Was I too forward when I grabbed her hand? Is that why she told me to leave?" The uncertainty gnawed at Maeve, and embarrassment crept up, coloring her cheeks.
Crouching down with her head between her legs, Maeve attempted to hide her flushed face, replaying the encounter in her mind.
"I can't believe I almost asked my teacher out," she thought, the weight of her long-standing crush now surfacing.
Thoughts raced as she considered the changes in Miss Blake's demeanour.
"Something's different about her today. Did something happen? Oh no, is she dating someone already?" Maeve's mind whirred with possibilities.
Reflecting on her admiration for Jennifer, Maeve mused, "I've spent the last 6 years crushing on Miss Blake. You'd think she'd take notice by now."
Contemplating the idea of taking a bold step, she pondered, "Maybe I should try harder? Maybe I should just ask her out straight up, but if she rejects me, that'll be the end of normalcy as I know it. I could never show my face in class again."
Frustration bubbled within Maeve, finding its release in a loud grunt as she got up and patted herself down. "I'll see her tomorrow. I don't want her thinking I'm a weirdo student who's stalking her," she resolved.
Turning to glance at the apartment building, Maeve murmured, "Good night, beautiful," and with determination in her step, she walked down the road, gradually disappearing into the horizon.