I scrubbed my hands under the cold stream of water, my fingers trembling as I worked to remove the dried blood that clung to my skin. No matter how much I washed, it felt like some of it would never leave. The red stains were haunting, and the memories of what had just transpired lingered in my mind.
That girl... I couldn't get her out of my head. Thankfully, the scar on her thigh wasn't as bad as I had feared. Despite its size and severity, I managed to stabilize her. I found it incredible—surprising, even—that I was able to help her at all. Who could have done something so cruel to a young girl? A fifteen- or sixteen-year-old child?
Could it have been a theft? Perhaps the attacker had some cruel motive. But the question gnawed at me. I hadn't planned on intervening. I hadn't wanted to make this my problem. But now, as I thought about it, the girl's suffering had become inextricably tied to me. What choice did I have now?
The old woman. She lingered in my mind again. She was suspicious, enigmatic, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there was far more to her than met the eye. Could I trust her? Could I rely on her if things got worse? And where did she disappear to every time I lost sight of her?
I closed the water and took a deep breath, shaking my head as though to push those thoughts away. The immediate problem was far more pressing, I needed to check on the girl's condition. I couldn't allow myself to be distracted any longer.
I glanced at my soaked hands and the blood-stained dress that clung to me. The dress was ripped, its fabric soaked with crimson. I looked at it, uneasy. If anyone looked at me now, I would appear like a murderer—far from a savior. How could I return a dress stained like this without drawing suspicion? Perhaps I could find a way to repair it, or find a new one. But that was a problem for later. For now, I had a life to save.
I stepped out of the small, dimly lit room and made my way down the hallway toward the girl's resting place. I knocked hesitantly before stepping inside. The room was quiet, dim, and calm. The girl lay on the bed, her face pale and fragile as she slept. Only a maid was present, quietly tidying up the small space.
I considered approaching the maid to ask some questions, but the memory of her likely not understanding my strange, foreign accent held me back. How could I communicate my thoughts in a time and place with such language barriers? My accent was out of place here, and I struggled to connect with the people around me.
I looked at the girl once more. Her breathing was steady despite everything. The room itself was filled with an uneasy stillness. I began to wonder, Where were her parents? Surely, if she had been injured like this, someone should have informed them by now. How could they remain absent while their daughter suffered like this?
The thought struck me as odd, but it wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Different cultures had different ways of handling tragedy and suffering. Perhaps in this time period, it wasn't customary for parents to rush to their child's side immediately, especially if they lived far or had their own obligations. Even so, I couldn't deny that it left me uneasy.
I glanced at the cloth tied around her right thigh, the makeshift bandage that had stopped the bleeding. No fresh blood had seeped through. That was good. At least for now, she appeared stable. I sighed in relief.
"Poor girl," I murmured under my breath.
I turned back toward the hallway. Should I return to my room? No—there was something else I needed to investigate. I stepped out of the building and made my way toward the site where the girl had fallen—where the scar had come from. The road. My heart was heavy as I thought about the dry traces of her blood left on the cobblestones.
As I stood there, I could see that the sight horrified the locals passing by. They avoided stepping on the stains, their faces etched with discomfort and fear. How could they simply leave it there? It would undoubtedly become the source of rumors. Stories would spread quickly. I couldn't let this linger.
Suddenly, two older figures came toward me—an elderly couple, their faces lined with worry and urgency. Their appearance looked very familiar, and it only took a moment for me to realize that they could only be the girl's parents. I tensed as they came closer, recognizing their body language. They spoke with a foreign cadence—a particular accent I couldn't decipher. Their words, though quick and frantic, were clear enough to interpret, they were searching for their daughter.
Before I could react, I gestured toward the inn. Without waiting for an answer, I led them toward the building where the girl had been taken. They looked at me, unsure, but followed me anyway. I knocked gently before stepping into the room.
The maid had vanished by this point, and the girl's parents hurried into the space, their expressions a mix of relief and worry as they saw their daughter resting peacefully on the bed. Their voices were a rush of sound as they spoke to her, their accents unfamiliar but their intentions clear. I couldn't help but watch, a pang of emotion twisting in my chest. The love and care in their words were palpable.
But now wasn't the time to let myself feel emotional. I had another problem. I needed the old woman. Her presence was essential now, especially if the girl's parents had questions. I couldn't risk them cornering me with their confusion and fear, not when my ability to communicate was limited. I made my way out of the room and scanned the inn for the old woman.
I found her near the counter, her sharp gaze focused on a ledger she was scribbling in.
"Hey, uh… I need you to come with me. It won't take long," I said quietly, my voice firm but composed.
She didn't even look up. "I'm busy. Can't you see? This is an inn. I have to stay put here," she snapped without even sparing me a glance.
"It's for the girl," I pressed. "Her parents are here. I can't talk to them. They won't understand a single word I say."
The old woman hesitated at this, her brow furrowing. She glanced up at me, her piercing gaze locking onto mine for a moment before she stood and nodded. Without another word, she moved toward the room where the girl was resting.
I followed behind her, my heart pounding as we approached the door. She knocked lightly before stepping inside, her expression unreadable.
The girl's parents were still there, their voices a low murmur as they spoke to their daughter, who had woken up after I left the room.
The old woman greeted them in the same cryptic accent I couldn't make sense of. She seemed to answer their questions with a calm certainty, as though they trusted her completely—despite the unease coiling in my chest.
"Ophelia," the old woman called out, pulling my attention from my thoughts.
"What?" I asked.
"They asked, were you the one who helped the girl?" she said, glancing at me.
I froze, uncertain. Should I deny my involvement? I could maintain plausible deniability, slip away from this entirely. But then, an idea struck me. This was my opportunity. If the rumors spread that I had saved the girl without infection and with no medical resources, it would solidify my presence here. Perhaps I could even use this as leverage—build my way toward meeting the prince. A healer, a doctor, someone capable of saving lives without modern tools? It could be enough to set me apart.
I nodded sharply. "Yes. Tell them it was me."
The old woman looked at me skeptically but said nothing. I could feel the weight of her gaze as she prepared to relay my answer. The decision had been made. I would accept this responsibility, even if it came with its own risks. If I played my cards carefully, this could be the beginning of something much larger—something much more important.
The old woman hesitated, her sharp gaze drilling into me for a moment longer. There was a flicker of something in her expression—curiosity, perhaps, or caution—but she didn't press the matter further. She turned back to the girl's parents, who were still speaking in a hurried, desperate manner, their voices a constant stream of fear and relief.
I could feel their gaze on me as she began to explain my words to them. It was strange, hearing my name and actions translated in that foreign cadence, as though my voice had been stripped of its own weight and power. I could only hope that the old woman was being accurate, that they understood me and that they trusted her enough to not second-guess her words.
But my mind wasn't entirely on their reactions. I couldn't stop the unease that lingered at the edges of my thoughts. I had agreed to take credit for this without fully understanding the consequences. What if word spread about my involvement, about my abilities, my knowledge? What if my presence here became a problem? Every step I took in this unfamiliar world felt precariously balanced, and now I had tied myself to an unknown story with even greater stakes.
I forced myself to look calm, steady. I had to maintain the illusion that I knew what I was doing, that I belonged here, even if that wasn't true.
The old woman's voice broke through my thoughts again. "They are grateful, but they are wary. They will watch you closely now, Ophelia."
Her words carried a sharp edge, and I glanced at her again, startled. "Watch me closely?" I murmured, uncertain if I should be alarmed or reassured.
She looked at me with her piercing, unreadable gaze. "Trust is fragile. They will trust you because you've shown strength and courage, but they will expect you to prove yourself. Every action will be scrutinized."
I bit my lip, a wave of tension running through me. She was right. Trust could only last so long, especially when the people around me had every reason to be suspicious of a stranger. My decision to claim responsibility for saving the girl had been made without fully considering the complexities of this world—the language, the culture, the power dynamics. Now, I would have to find a way to balance this newfound trust while protecting myself from the inevitable consequences of discovery.
I took a steadying breath and nodded. "Then I will do my best," I said quietly.
The old woman gave me a slight nod, but she didn't comment further. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before she turned back toward the girl's parents. The father had his hand on his daughter's small, pale face now, his brow furrowed, his body tense. I could see how much he was trying to process everything, how desperately he clung to hope that his daughter would recover without complications.
They were too vulnerable, and yet too hopeful. That fear lingered in their words and gestures. Their trust was a double-edged sword. If I failed them in any way, even unintentionally, I would lose everything.
I forced myself to step back from my thoughts, trying to stay composed. Now wasn't the time to doubt myself. I had put myself in this position, and now I needed to play the part carefully, to learn, to gather knowledge, to survive. Every word, every choice, every action would have to be deliberate. If I wanted to find a way through this world, if I wanted to find answers about how and why I had ended up here, then I had to remain strong.
I glanced at the old woman again as she spoke softly with the girl's parents, her voice steady and confident. She was good at this—at managing people, at earning trust through calm and certainty. I wondered how much of this was natural to her and how much of it was calculated manipulation. Either way, I knew that for now, I could use her as an ally. Perhaps even a mentor, though I had no idea how much she truly knew about this world, about me, or about the prince and his story.
I stayed by the door, my arms crossed tightly over my chest as the parents continued to speak. They seemed slightly calmer now, though the fear and suspicion were still there. I would have to earn their trust fully, not just through words but through actions. That would be the first step, I thought. Prove to them that I could be trusted, that my intentions were genuine.
I looked down at my hands again—the red stains still lingered, the evidence of my earlier encounter. I thought about how I had arrived here, how I had managed to save the girl with little more than sheer instinct and scraps of knowledge. I knew it wouldn't be enough to simply stabilize her and leave it at that. This was only the beginning of the past that I didn't yet fully understand.
But the pasts could shape the future.
"Ophelia," the old woman said again, pulling me from my thoughts. Her voice was low, calm, but sharp. "Stay careful now. This is only the first step. There will be more. They will expect you to prove your strength and your purpose."
I swallowed, trying to steady the wave of anxiety that threatened to overtake me. "I understand," I murmured. "I'll be careful."
The old woman seemed satisfied with my response. She gestured toward the hallway beyond the girl's resting place. "There's much to do. Let's not linger here."
I glanced at the girl one last time as she slept, her pale, fragile face calm. My resolve hardened. I would learn this world, prove myself, and navigate its intricacies with care. I had committed myself to this path now, and there was no turning back.
The old woman's voice lingered in my thoughts as we stepped out of the room and into the dim hallway. Trust would come with time, but only if I was strong, deliberate, and careful.
My heart steady but my thoughts restless. The air was cool, a faint draft running along the wooden floorboards as we moved toward the stairs. My mind swam with questions—about the girl, about her parents, about the old woman and her cryptic words.
I glanced back one last time toward the door of the girl's resting place, but before I could gather my thoughts, the old woman stopped. She turned toward me with her sharp, piercing gaze, her voice low but firm as she spoke.
"Ophelia," she said, her words cutting through the quiet air, "we need to talk. Privately. In your room."
I froze, my body tensing at the unexpected command. Her words carried a weight I couldn't ignore, and my gut twisted with a sudden, inexplicable unease. What did she mean by privately? What was so urgent that we couldn't discuss it here, in the open hallway?
I turned to her, trying to keep my voice steady. "Talk? About what?"
Her gaze stayed locked on me, unwavering. "Everything. There are things you need to know. And there are things I need to know from you."
Before I could voice another question, she turned on her heel and began walking toward the stairs. I hesitated for a moment, torn between suspicion and curiosity. My hands clenched at my side as I watched her retreating figure.
I wasn't ready for this, but there was no choice now.
Taking a deep breath, I followed her.