A gentle hand on her shoulder pulled Nyelle from troubled sleep. She blinked awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling beams, before reality crashed back—still trapped in this child's body, still lost in this medieval world.
"Sun's been up for hours," Elina said, her voice tinged with the particular concern. "Think you can manage some breakfast today?"
Nyelle nodded, pushing herself upright. After three days of consciousness in this new reality, she'd begun mentally using the name they called her. Compartmentalization—a skill that had served Nirei well during complex cons now helped partition this inexplicable new existence.
"I'm feeling stronger," she said, testing her voice. The high-pitched sound still startled her, but she was learning to modulate it.
"Good." Elina set a pile of clean clothes at the foot of the bed. "Your father's waited long enough for his bed back. He's worn himself stiff sleeping in the living room."
Guilt flickered through Nyelle. These people had given up their only bed for a sick child they loved—a child who wasn't really there anymore.
The small home had only two rooms—the main living area with cooking hearth and table, and this single bedroom she'd learned belonged to Torvald and Elina. Aerik slept on a pallet in the main room, while Nyelle's usual place was a small straw mattress near the hearth. The modest accommodations were a universe away from Nirei's luxury condominium with its panoramic city views and imported marble countertops.
"I can get dressed myself," Nyelle insisted when Elina moved to help.
"There's my independent girl." Elina smiled, the expression warming her tired face. "Your porridge is waiting when you're ready."
Alone, Nyelle struggled with the unfamiliar clothing—simple linen undergarments, woolen stockings, and a homespun dress with tiny florals stitched around the collar. The stitches were precise and lovingly placed—Elina's work, she assumed. Her fingers, accustomed to Windsor knots and French cuffs, fumbled with the simple dress lacings.
Crossing to a small washbasin, she splashed tepid water on her face, staring at her reflection in the polished metal hanging above. The girl looking back appeared around nine or ten years old, with sharp cheekbones and wary eyes that seemed too knowing for her age.
*This is who I am now.*
She straightened her shoulders and pushed through the rough wooden door into the main room.
The family's living area was small but meticulously organized. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling beams, filling the air with a pleasant, earthy aroma. A hearth dominated one wall, currently home to a small cooking fire and bubbling pot. The furnishings were simple—a hand-hewn table with four mismatched chairs, a storage chest, and two stools near the fire.
Torvald sat at the table, his massive frame making the sturdy chair seem delicate beneath him. His hair was pulled back with a leather cord, revealing a faded scar along his jawline. He carved something from a piece of wood, his movements precise despite his broad hands.
"There she is." He set down his knife, smiling at Nyelle. "Returning to the land of the living at last."
"Leave her be," Elina chided, placing a steaming bowl before a chair. "She needs food before your teasing."
Nyelle approached cautiously, sliding into the offered seat. The porridge was plain—grains cooked with water and a sprinkle of something resembling cinnamon. Nothing like the protein-rich, perfectly crafted breakfasts Nirei had delivered each morning by a meal service.
"Thank you," she said, taking a small bite. The texture was gluey but the warmth felt good against her still-recovering body.
"Aerik brought those apples you like," Torvald said, nodding toward a small bowl containing three apples, their skin a mottled green-yellow. "Saved his market errand money to buy them special when you fell ill."
Something uncomfortable tightened in Nyelle's chest. A brother she didn't know had spent his earnings on fruit for a sister who no longer existed. The simple kindness felt sharper than any luxury Nirei had ever purchased.
"Where is Aerik?" she asked.
"Helping at the tannery." Torvald resumed his carving. "Extra coin is welcome with the herbalist's bill to pay."
Elina's hand brushed Nyelle's forehead. "Worth every copper to see you well again."
The casual affection startled her. In Nirei's world, human contact was transactional—handshakes to seal deals, calculated touches to manipulate marks, occasional lovers who never stayed until morning. This undemanding warmth was alien.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble," Nyelle murmured.
Torvald's laugh rumbled deep in his chest. "Trouble has been your companion since you learned to walk. Remember when she climbed the baker's roof to rescue that kitten, Elina?"
"Nearly stopped my heart," Elina said, but her smile was fond. "Always braver than sensible, this one."
They shared anecdotes about a child Nyelle had never been—tales of mischief and stubbornness, moments of unexpected kindness and fierce loyalty. Each story built a picture of the real Nyelle, the one who belonged in this body before Nirei somehow took her place.
While they talked, Nyelle studied them. Torvald's easy strength concealed a gentleness evident in how carefully he handled his carving tools, how softly he looked at Elina when she wasn't watching. Elina's efficiency disguised bone-deep exhaustion, visible in the shadows under her eyes and the slight tremor in her hands as she worked.
These were good people living hard lives.
The door swung open, bringing a gust of cool air and Aerik's lanky frame. His clothes carried the unmistakable odor of the tannery—a potent mixture of animal hides, urine, and chemicals.
"You're up!" His face brightened when he spotted Nyelle at the table. He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to her. "Caught this thinking of you."
Nyelle caught the object reflexively—a small wooden top, its sides painted with fading blue stripes.
"Your favorite," Aerik said, washing his hands in a basin by the door. "Found it in a scrap pile at Master Fenwick's. The man throws away better toys than most can afford to buy."
The simple gift rendered her momentarily speechless. Nirei had owned watches worth more than this family might earn in years, yet this reclaimed toy represented something his wealth had never purchased—genuine caring without expectation of return.
"Thank you," she managed finally, turning the top between her fingers.
Aerik ruffled her hair as he passed. "Just don't lose this one down a sewer grate like the last."
"Wash properly before you sit," Elina instructed, wrinkling her nose at his tannery smell. "And those clothes go straight to the washing tub."
"Yes, mother." Aerik's exaggerated sigh couldn't hide his smile.
Nyelle watched their interactions, cataloguing the easy rhythms of family life. In his previous existence, Nirei had viewed relationships as tools—means to ends, stepping stones to wealth. He'd discarded people once their usefulness ended, maintaining no connections deeper than what served his schemes.
These people were different. Their bonds weren't transactional but essential—they sustained each other through difficulties Nirei would have considered beneath him.
After breakfast, when Elina insisted she rest by the fire, Nyelle observed Torvald preparing to leave for his laborer's job at the docks. Despite obvious fatigue from sleeping upright for days, he moved with purpose, checking his tools before stowing them in a worn leather satchel.
"Will you be back for dinner?" Elina asked, pressing a small cloth-wrapped package into his hands—lunch, Nyelle guessed.
"If the shipment's small." He tucked the package into his satchel. "Don't wait if I'm late."
Their goodbye was brief—a quick kiss, a gentle touch to her cheek—but conveyed more genuine affection than any expensive champagne-fueled liaison in Nirei's memory.
When Torvald left, Elina settled at the table with a basket of mending, her fingers moving steadily through the familiar work. Nyelle noticed the fine stitches, the careful patching of garments already patched before.
"Do you sew for others too?" she asked, recalling Torvald's mention of Elina being a seamstress.
Elina looked up, surprise crossing her face. "You know I do. Three days of fever hasn't taken that memory, has it?"
Nyelle backpedaled quickly. "I meant... are you working on someone else's clothes now?"
"Ah." Elina held up a child's shirt. "Lady Meredith's son. She pays well for fine work." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You're speaking differently, Nyelle. More... formal-like."
A tactical error. Nyelle forced a small laugh. "The fever left my head fuzzy."
Elina's skepticism faded, replaced by maternal concern. "It'll pass. You just need time."
The afternoon stretched quietly. Aerik returned from the tannery, his apprentice duties finished for the day. He sprawled near Nyelle by the fire, whittling a small piece of wood while describing his day—the difficult master, the competing apprentices, his determination to earn a full craftsman's position someday.
"Then we'll have our own place in the better part of town," he said, eyes bright with ambition. "Maybe even a second floor, with windows facing the river."
The modest dream struck Nyelle as both touching and tragic. Nirei had considered a river view the bare minimum acceptable in his real estate holdings.
When Torvald returned that evening, the family gathered around their small table for a simple dinner—bean stew with a precious small loaf of dark bread. Aerik enthusiastically recounted a disagreement between their tannery master and a difficult customer, his impression of the merchant's pompous speech making even Elina laugh.
Nyelle remained mostly quiet, absorbing this unfamiliar dynamic. In Nirei's world, dinner had been eaten alone or as performance—expensive restaurants chosen to impress investors, intimate settings calculated to manipulate potential partners. Never this uncomplicated sharing of food and conversation without agenda.
After dinner, Torvald produced a small carved animal from his pocket—a bear, its details simple but recognizable. "Made this today during the midday break," he said, offering it to Nyelle. "Thought it might keep you company while you finish getting well."
The unexpected gift tightened her throat. "It's perfect," she whispered, running a finger over the smooth wooden curves.
Watching their faces in the firelight, Nyelle felt a disorienting sense of loss—not for the luxury she no longer possessed, but for the lifetime of genuine connection she'd never valued until seeing it here. Nirei had accumulated wealth, property, possessions—but nothing like the rich poverty of this family.
That night, lying on her straw mattress near the dying embers, listening to Aerik's soft breathing from his pallet across the room, Nyelle clutched the wooden bear against her chest. The cognitive dissonance was overwhelming—memory of penthouses and private clubs colliding with the reality of this tiny home and its hard-working inhabitants.
Nirei had owned everything and valued nothing. These people owned almost nothing but valued everything.
She closed her eyes, the wooden bear smooth against her palm. Whatever strange fate had brought her here, whatever cosmic mistake or punishment this represented, one thing was becoming disturbingly clear: the family surrounding her with genuine love deserved better than to have a con artist wearing their daughter's skin.
For the first time in either existence, she felt the unfamiliar weight of guilt for a con she hadn't chosen to run.