Was it truly salvation they called it, or was Matthias’s prayer, like a noble priest’s final plea, answered by a benevolent God? Or perhaps, had that horrifying nightmare been a dream from the beginning?
Still, the memory felt too real. The memory of cold metal piercing her heart felt too real. The memory of the sharp, scorching heat radiating from her chest, as if engulfed in flames, was also unmistakable.
“Then… am I alive?”
The thought escaped casually, forming a voice that filled the silent space. Yet, something felt wrong. The unfamiliar voice, never heard before, induced such a sense of alienation that it was as though someone else had spoken instead of her.
The ceiling seemed on the verge of collapse. A cloying, fetid odor assaulted her nose, wrinkling it in disgust. The creaking of wood and periodic gusts of wind, tinged with the smell of decay, sent shivers down her spine.
Only after realizing she lay amidst a heap of refuse fit for livestock did she gather the strength to rise and survey her surroundings. The room was littered with bloodstains, dried excrement, and trash. Beneath her feet, rodents scurried about, while gnats and other insects crawled amidst the filth.
A stable? she thought. But even that felt like an overstatement. The cramped space couldn’t have housed even the smallest livestock, and the filth was enough to turn a goat’s stomach.
Amidst the haze of uncertainty, straddling the line between reality and the afterlife, a skeletal arm intruded upon her field of vision. With a disconcerting detachment from her own physicality, a succession of diminutive hands and tangled strands of white hair gradually encroached upon her view, cascading down to just below the chest.
In the midst of her mounting confusion, she thrashed in a panic, only to realize with a jolt that one of her legs lay numb and immobile. Slowly coming into focus were slender, asymmetrical limbs, their pallid hue unmistakable. The truth dawned upon her:
She wasn’t dead, and…
This isn’t my body.
***
This body’s mobility was severely hindered by the inability to use one of its legs, likely due to a congenital condition evident from the marked difference in growth between the two limbs. The setting, far from the expected comforts of a stable, was instead a warehouse. Regular meals delivered by maidservants punctuated the days, hinting at the occupant’s noble status, yet the inclusion of medicines alongside the food pointed to additional ailments. Despite this apparent care, the surroundings were deplorable, resembling a filthy room worse than a stable.
For three days, these observations formed a grim reality. The maidservants, true to their title, remained uncommunicative, merely delivering sustenance and ignoring any attempts at dialogue or basic hygiene. Locked within this squalid confinement, escape was an impossibility.
Neglect defined this existence. Despite evident ailments and discomfort, sustenance provided was barely adequate for survival. The body, emaciated and deprived, suffered further from meager rations of dry bread and watery soup, rendering even basic movement a challenge.
In short, it was a grim reality. With restricted mobility, indifferent attendants, and no avenue for escape, the situation appeared utterly devoid of any prospect for improvement.
After enduring days that seemed to stretch on like a cruel eternity, resigned to a life no better than a livestock, a glimmer of change finally pierced the monotony. Instead of the usual maidservant, a flurry of others burst into the room, their urgent demeanor signaling a departure from the routine.
With urgency etched on their faces, they whisked me away to the bathhouse, where they scrubbed her with such fervor it felt like a pitched battle. Emerging from the ordeal, I was clothed in garments that spoke of care and attention, adorned with fragrant oils and simple jewelry. As they led her back, it was not to the squalid stable-like chamber I had grown accustomed to, but to a pristine, spacious room.
