The smell of roses filled the air, carried by a refreshing breeze through an open window, brushing through Aira’s hair like the gentle hand of a mother sweetly caressing her sleeping child. The cruel morning sun forced her eyes to open and she woke up confused as if from an eternal sleep.

“What is this? Is this a dream… or is it hell in disguise?” Aira wondered, exploring the strange room she found herself in with just her eyes. “When did my hair grow so much? Was I in a coma? … I … I thought I died.”

The small room gave off the smell of old, the floor covered in dust, while spiders roamed free, weaving their exquisite webs on the sturdy wooden beams holding the ceiling.

“An attic?” she mumbled.

The bed looked ancient, so worn that one would be afraid it would collapse only at the thought of sitting on it.

Aira examined the locks of her long, dark hair adorning her head while struggling to get up. “Ugh! When was the last time I washed? I stink,” she said, sniffing her clothes. “And what is this? A dress?” she wondered, as soon as she saw the white oversized gown covering her small, skinny body down to her ankles.

Her first attempt at walking failed. When she tried to drag herself out of bed, a sudden pain struck her legs like lightning, pulling her down to her knees against her will. Yet, as persistent as a tide, she pushed herself up, heading towards the window, although her body was shaking. With every step she took, she felt like hot nails punctured through the soles of her feet, taking her breath away.

She had to take a break after two or three steps. She sensed a wave of relief when she finally allowed her body to rest on the chair near the wall, under the window.

“What the…! What is this place?” she asked, pinching her cheeks, trying to confirm whether she was dreaming or not. She gasped at the unfamiliar scenery outside. She no longer saw the cold gray buildings of the city she used to live in. Instead, green pastures spread in the distance, then cut by a wide forest at the bottom of a tall mountain, its peak covered in a blanket of snow.

 She rushed to check the door. Well, it would be wrong to call it rushing. Her mind moved faster than her little feet.

When she finally reached it, she pulled the knob.

“It’s unlocked,” she said. “It doesn’t look like I was kidnapped.”

Not long after the door opened, her head bumped into something. Or was it someone?

She fell on her back and the one she bumped into almost did the same. Just, he managed to keep his balance due to his swiftness.

The tall, red-haired young man she saw clenched his teeth in extreme anger.

“Useless bitch! Are you crazy?” he yelled, delivering a slap across her porcelain-like face.

It landed on her cheek as hard and fast as a storm, leaving Aira no time to react.

Shocked, while still on the floor, holding one hand against her bruised cheek, she stared both at his face and at his strange outfit. They were not clothes modern people would willingly wear unless required by their profession or they were attending some sort of convention. But did she dwell on it? Not at all.

“You little piece of shit!” she yelled, with the rage of a bull, grabbing his hair, then proceeded to drag him erratically across the room, ignoring the pain running like a raging river through every part of her body.

“Let me go, dirty bitch!” he yelled back, struggling to escape her strong clutches.

Still blinded by anger, Aira did not say a word.

“Let… go!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you,” he threatened while struggling to keep his hair attached to his scalp.

“I dare you to try!” she replied.

The chaos continued until two people, another young man, and a woman, stopped in front of the door, dumbfounded by the scene.

“Aira! Let him go! Please!” the young man asked, trying to pull her away, so gently that one would think he did not try at all.

“You bitch! Let go of my son’s hair!” the woman yelled, joining the circus spectacle, although unable to remove the girl’s hands from her precious son’s fiery head.

Aira did not let go, of course. Why would she? Instead, she also grabbed the woman by her perfect coiffure, which started to resemble a bird nest a few moments later. The mother and son kept screaming, and Aira showed no intention of yielding.

She made it her new mission to leave at least one of them bald.

“Ah!” the woman cried in frustration. “Adriel, don’t just stand there. Take this thing off me and Noah!” she ordered, barely breathing, already showing signs of fatigue.

Strangely, Aira’s grip was so strong that even Adriel and his father, who sprung through the door minutes later, barely managed to disentangle her hands.

“Father, throw this crazy bitch in the basement and let her starve,” Noah fumed, arranging his clothes and what was left on his scalp.

The man, seeing the mess before him, vigorously slapped Aira’s face, sending her rolling across the floor.

“How dare you do this to your brother and mother after all we did for you? Is this how you repay us?”

Aira did not say a word. She only stood there, wearing a defiant look on her face. What was there to say? She was not yet aware of the situation. She only knew her heart brimmed with anger.

“She’s not well. The doctor said it might take weeks or months before she could regain her memories and be herself again. Please forgive her this one time,” Adriel begged his father.

“Nonsense! She’s pretending. Move!” the man yelled, then pushed him aside with a kick.

Aira was prepared to fight this time, unwilling to receive even one more slap as she stood again on her feet.

“Please let me talk to her first,” the young man begged again.

Aira was astonished. Why would that young man willingly beg on his knees for her?

“This must be a dream. A strangely painful one,” she thought, as she held her hand against her cheek.

“How dare you defend this ungrateful bitch?” the woman said, slapping Adriel while he was still down as if his father’s kick was not sufficient.

“How long are you going to take her side?” Noah asked. “For seventeen years our family raised her, and she is still ungrateful. She even dared to touch me. Look! How could a lady do this? She’s demented,” he pointed at his disheveled hair and clothes.

“Thank you for what, you little piece of crap?” Aira yelled in her head, then gasped as she noticed her image in the mirror on the wall as she turned her head.

“Who…?” She slowly approached it to check whether she was seeing an illusion. “This… this is… that little girl? Or me?” she asked confused, touching her face, then the mirror, waving her hands.

Her mind froze, thoughts no longer running through.

She looked like herself when she was around fifteen but also resembled the girl she saw while wandering into darkness after her death, with the same bruises now on her own body. Or was that even her body?

“Do you still insist on pretending you lost your memories?” the father asked, raising his hand in an attempt to hit her once more.

But it did not reach Aira because she was soon embraced by another woman, shielding her with her own frail body.

“No!” the woman cried, squeezing the girl in her arms, Aira’s head buried in her voluptuous chest, leaving her close to no space to breathe.

The man stopped, reluctant to touch her, his lips trembling with irritation.

“I will let this go now, but I will call a healer and then we will see whether she’s speaking the truth or not. Do not let her leave this room until I say otherwise! I will think about her punishment later,” he instructed.

The man took his wife and son out, leaving everyone else behind.

“A second chance?” Aira mumbled after pulling her face away from the suffocating pair of breasts. “What the hell is this? I asked for abundance in money, not abundance in abuse,” she screamed, still holding the locks of hair from her two targets between her fingers after realizing she might have crossed dimensions, reincarnated, or her soul was sent somewhere else.

Except, she was not very sure how, for what purpose, and where she had been sent.

Author notes:

QUIZ:

What would you do if you suddenly woke up in a different world?

A. Panic.

B. Pretend to be dead.

C. Show the people you meet with your dance moves.