Something was wrong. My hands felt hefty, frigid, and alien, as if they were not my own. I flexed my fingers curiously, examining the weight, the balance, the way the joints opposed my will. My toes followed closely, curling against the sheets of the bed I awoke in, stretching muscles that didn't feel like mine. Every movement was rough and rigid, as if the body itself was protesting against me. I inhaled slowly and deliberately, noting the rhythm of my chest rising and falling—it was not a rhythm I recognized, but something slower, stronger, different.
The bed I awoke in was soft, too warm, yet somehow foreign beneath me. Sunlight slanted across the blankets in thin lines, and the shadows it cast didn't belong in my memory. A faint creak came from the floorboards somewhere beyond the edge of the bed; it was subtle, but enough to make my heart drop. I didn't know if it was the room shifting, the house settling, or if someone—or something—was moving just outside my awareness.
I stayed still, trying to remember how I got here, but the memory slipped through my mind like vapor, leaving only a hollow speck of confusion. The last thing I remembered… was slipping away before I could even hold onto it. Had I been asleep? Dead? Or something else entirely? Every thought circled back to my hands, to the weight of my arms, to the strange coordination of muscles that were not my own.
A faint pressure built behind my eyes, not quite pain, but close enough to make me wince. It felt like something was locked away, just out of reach, and every attempt to grasp it only made the fog thicker.
A subtle movement beside me made my attention snap sideways. There was someone in the bed. A woman, asleep or just turning, but she was there. I didn't recognize her, nor did I care to. I observed. The rational part of me cataloged the details in silence: her breathing, the subtle movement of her shoulder, the random spasms of a sleeping body. It didn't matter, except that her presence solidified that this body was not unused—it had history, a life before I ended up in it.
The fog that enveloped my psyche thickened, and I found myself staring at the woman blankly. I was curious—I wanted to ask questions—but it was as if my throat had been clogged. Not yet. Observe. Move carefully. Learn the body. Examine the room. A deep feeling in my gut warned me not to act; curiosity killed the cat, after all. It was a strange sensation, as if something deep inside my mind was guiding me, stopping me from making reckless choices.
A sharp pain pierced my temple as I tried to reason through it, before being interrupted by a quiet, almost hesitant voice.
"Good morning, William."
I froze. My head snapped toward her. She was awake now—or in a state close to it. The name she mentioned—was she addressing me? Or rather, the body I was in? The word vibrated through my skull. I had no memory of it. No ownership. I didn't have a memory of any name. My mind went blank.
The woman didn't stay long after waking, mentioning somewhere she had to be or something she needed to do. My mind blocked out the background noise—I didn't hear the details before she quickly left the room. I stared blankly as she left, noting the way she walked, how long it took her to get dressed. The logical part of my brain filed everything. With her existence irrelevant beyond that single word, the room now belonged to me, alone.
I exhaled slowly, allowing the tension in my shoulders to diminish slightly—though not entirely. The room was still, but every shadow, every ray of sunlight through the windows left something behind… a warning. A warning that I wasn't alone here, not truly. Even though she left, something was waiting beyond these walls. Something unknown.
My heartbeat sounded louder in the quiet, each thump echoing in my ears like a countdown to something I couldn't yet see.
The room itself offered clues, subtle and simple. The furniture was polished, the sheets seemed expensive, and the air carried a sweet, unrecognizable scent. Sunlight hit the wooden floor at a sharp angle, illuminating dust particles drifting lazily in the morning heat. Every detail reminded me I was in an unfamiliar place… in an unfamiliar body. I wasn't in control—yet.
I tested the bed again, moving carefully to sit at its edge. The mattress protested slightly, whining under the weight of this body. My feet met the floor with a dull thud; the floorboards beneath felt warm, almost heated. I flexed my toes and adjusted my posture. Everything depended on understanding this body, this place, and the reason I awoke in this state.
I stood slowly, careful to keep my movements minimal. The room, now fully visible, felt both familiar and strange. My eyes drifted along the walls, lingering on details I hadn't noticed from the bed—the faint cracks in the plaster, the carved edges of the furniture, the heavy curtains that blocked most of the light. Nothing stood out as wrong, yet nothing felt right. It was like stepping into a memory I couldn't recall, one I could observe but not understand.
I took a cautious step forward, testing my balance. The body responded—not in the way I expected. Although this body was foreign to me, it moved naturally, as if it had memorized the room. A sharp realization struck me: this wasn't the first time this body had been here. Whoever owned it before me—this place had been theirs.
As I continued scanning the room, my reflection caught my eye in a polished surface embedded in the wall. The face staring back at me wasn't even close to the one I remembered. The features were sharper, the gaze heavier—older, in a way I couldn't explain. I lifted a hand, watching the reflection mimic me, and the disconnect only deepened.
I needed information. And this didn't feel accidental.
Whose body is this… and why was I brought here?