Darkness enveloped her senses like a shroud, a cocoon of comforting numbness that shielded her from the pain. But as consciousness flickered back to life, Lyra jolted awake, gasping for breath.
'Death'. The thought slammed into her like a bullet. She remembered the searing agony of the gunshot, the icy sting of rain soaking through her clothes as she lay on the cold, back alley streets. Her hands flew to her chest, expecting to feel warm blood and the sharp sting of a wound.
Yet, as her hands touched her body, she only found smooth, unbroken skin. No wounds, no blood staining her clothes.
'What is this?' She thought, her mind swirling with confusion and disbelief. 'Am I in the after life?'
Her surroundings came into focus slowly. The heavy scent of damp earth and decay assaulting her senses, a stark contrast to the sterile chill of a city night. She lay on a hard, stone floor, its rough surface pressing into her back.
'Ugh... Where am I?'
A groan escaped her lips as she struggled to push herself upright, the sensation of weakness and helplessness unfamiliar to her.
Blinking against the dim light, Lyra surveyed her surroundings—a cramped cell with weathered stone walls and rusted iron bars at one end, illuminated by the faint flicker of a solitary torch. Shadows danced along the edges, whispering secrets of confinement and despair.
Her fingers brushed against coarse fabric—tattered and worn, clinging to her skin. She felt dirt beneath her nails, evidence of days—or perhaps weeks—of neglect.
Wondered, Lyra's gaze drifted to her hands. But, what caught her attention first was small, delicate, not the hands she was accustomed to. She stared at them, turning them over in the faint light. They were not the calloused, strong hands of a seasoned fighter but those of a young girl, slender and almost frail.
'This isn't right'. She brought one hand to her face, feeling the unfamiliar contours of softer, rounder cheeks. Her heart raced as she struggled to make sense of it all.
Lyra's eyes widened, questions flowing in her head. "How?"
There, the sound of her own voice that had gasped for breath was higher, softer—almost childlike. She swallowed hard, feeling the lump in her throat.
"What... What is this?" she muttered.
Her mind raced, piecing together the evidence with calm precision despite the panic threatening to overtake her. She looked down at her body, now that of a young girl, perhaps no older than sixteen. The realization hit her like a wave—this wasn't her body.
'Huh? I'm pretty sure I was dead, and now why is my body changing?'
'Is this what the others called deathbed visions?'
'But shouldn't this give me a sense of comfort and peace as a dying person?'
'Oh, damn... Is it because I have committed many sins?? But I often donate my money to charity, right?'
'And I also often feed stray dogs and cats! I'm a good person!!'
'I deserve better... I suppose?'
She pinched her cheeks hard, 'It feels too real. I don't think this is a hallucination.'
'And this place... Ugh, the smell. I can't take it anymore.'
Her thoughts once again swirled into chaos, yet she compelled herself to remain composed.
"Think, Lyra. This isn't the time to panic," she mumbled to herself.
Despite the weakness weighing down her limbs, she forced herself to sit up straighter. Her eyes scanned that place once more, meticulously taking in and studying every detail of her surroundings.
Across from her cell, gaunt figures huddled in the dim light, their hollow eyes reflecting the same despair she felt, some even more wretched than herself.
One man lay curled on the cold stone floor, his ribs stark against his thin skin, while another woman rocked back and forth, muttering softly to herself, her hands clutching a tattered piece of cloth as if it were a lifeline.
"…Underground prison?" she chuckled, came to conclusion.
Though her body might be that of a young girl, her mind was still hers. As she clenched her small fists, a spark feeling of her usual resolve ignite within her.
"Okay. First, I need to find a way out of here," she declared softly.
* * *
Minutes dragged by with no sign of escape. She had exhausted every ounce of strength in futile attempts to pry open the cell door, leaving her hands raw and trembling. Her once-strong limbs now weakened, her body struggled with even the simplest tasks, leaving her gasping for breath after mere moments of exertion.
'This is really strange. Ugh... I miss my muscles.' She thought, sinking to the floor.
*Growl* Her stomach let out a low rumble, audible even in the quiet cell. 'Oh, now I'm so hungry, I can't think. When was the last time this body ate?'
Suddenly, a voice echoed through the corridor outside—a harsh command followed by the clang of metal. Lyra quickly moved closer to the cell bars, straining to decipher the unfamiliar language that filled the air.
'This is a foreign language? It's the first time I've heard- ...Huh? I can actually comprehend it.'
"Time to eat," sneered a skinny man, shoving a piece of bread and a glass of water towards her. "Or are you planning another hunger strike, Your Highness?"
"Your Highness?"
"What? Ignoring your title now that your kingdom is doomed, Princess? Poor thing."
'So, the owner of this body is a princess. A fallen princess at that. Oh shit.'
"Hey, stop teasing her," another thug said, giving the skinny man a shove. "If you don't want the food, I'll take it."
Lyra quickly responded, "I'll eat." She grabbed the glass and the bread, which was as hard as stone, watching the two thugs walk away while still hearing their conversation.
"Ugh, you're ruining my fun," the skinny man muttered. "You should've seen her face when she watched the soldier guarding her escape get killed. Truly priceless. Maybe I can make her show that expression again—it kind of turns me on."
"Her price will drop if you do that."
"Oh, come on. Just let me have a little fun before we sell her. After all, she's just a slave now."
"Yeah, yeah, you talk too much. The boss is calling."
Their voices faded down the corridor, leaving Lyra to process the new information and her meager meal.
* * *
Lyra had lost track of how many days she had spent in that prison, but it was enough to understand her situation. She had entered the body named Aylira, a princess from a fallen kingdom. When her home was under attack, she tried to escape, but a group of thugs caught her. They planned to sell her as a slave, marking the start of her grim new life.
The sound of the door creaking open snapped her from her thoughts. "Hey, wake up. We need to move," a rough voice shouted. Lyra opened her eyes to see one of the thugs standing over her.
She had memorized their faces and personalities by now. The skinny one was a pervert who always leered at her with a twisted grin. The bulky one, all muscle and no brains, did most of the heavy lifting. The one they called boss, gruff but cautious. And finally, the reckless one who had woken her up, always making mistakes and acting without thinking.
The reckless thug dragged her out of the cell. "Stay still," he ordered, rummaging through his things. "Forgot to get the rope~" He hummed a tune, oddly cheerful.
'In a good mood, huh?'
Lyra's eyes darted around, spotting sharp metal pieces under a table behind him. 'Hmm... Probably tools for torture. Don't mind if I borrow this, right?' she thought.
Swiftly and silently, she snatched a small but long piece of metal, slicing her clothes slightly to secure it to her thigh. She stood up straight just as the thug turned back around.
"This will do, " he said, finding the rope and binding her hands. "Alright, let's move," he instructed, leading her out of the cell and through the dimly lit tunnels. They emerged into the cool night air, revealing they were in the heart of a dense forest. A wooden carriage waited nearby, with the other two thugs standing by.
"Get in," the bulky thug ordered, shoving her towards the carriage. She stumbled but caught herself, climbing inside before the door slammed shut.
The thugs exchanged words as they prepared to leave. "We're taking her to the black market. She's high value," one of them said, ensuring everything was secure.
"I'll stay and guard the prison. You two get her to the boss. And try not to mess up!"
"Just worry about your own job."
"Yeah, yeah, let's just get this over with."
"We'll have some beer after this. Haha..."
The carriage started moving, its wheels creaking on the rough path. Lyra took a deep breath; she could hear her thumping heart and feel the sharp metal against her thigh. "Alright, let's give it a few minutes. Hope my new body can manage it," she whispered to herself.