Revolutionary Soul

Chapter 1

Late one night in a major city, an overworked and underpaid office worker decided to cross the street without waiting for the crossing signal. She was tired and a bit damp. Her last thoughts were about the cold streak of rainwater that had snaked its way past her shirt collar and down her back.

Before the woman could spare another sleepy grumble, the world went very bright and very dark at the same time.

Oh, how odd, she thought. She felt as if she was being squeezed down a long, narrow tube. The sensation of being turned inside out made her close her eyes against the wash of light and dark that played over her eyelids.

Her eyes fluttered open and she was greeted by an ornate ceiling directly above. Confusion clouded her mind as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. Everything felt foreign. The sound of the city street was gone, along with the feeling of dampness and the rushing wind. Pushing herself up from plush bedding, the woman's gaze fell upon the reflection in the grand mirror across the room. It was a stranger's face. She leapt from the bed and rushed to the mirror. Delicate, feminine features grew pale in the reflection as she searched the mirror for some small amount of familiarity.

Who am I? Her mind raced. Whose face is this?

Heart pounding, she searched her memories, trying to piece together the events leading up to that moment. But try as she might, her mind was shrouded in darkness, memories slipping through her fingers like sand. Slowly, she remembered the cold walk home from the office and the shifting lights that had enveloped her. In a nervous gesture, she ran her fingers through red-brown curls that shone healthily in the mirror. She could have sworn she had a short black bob, but the curls felt real, especially after a tug for good measure.

My name is Sara, she thought. I am twenty-eight years old. I still have all ten fingers and ten toes. The recitation of miscellaneous facts calmed her enough that she was able to step away from the reflection and face the rest of the room. Sara tentatively explored the opulent chambers, her bare feet padding quietly across thick carpeting. A white nightgown with a lacy finish swirled around her legs as if she was a ghost in a Victorian novel.

There was a large fireplace and several dim lamps that lit the room. Her phone was nowhere to be seen, which felt like a nonsense concern when compared to the stranger's face in the mirror; still, she couldn't stop herself from searching for it. There were no light switches for her to brighten the room, and soon she realized that there were no electrical outlets, either. A quick inspection showed that the lamps were lit with gas, something she'd never seen before in real life.

The search was frustrating and only added more questions. Sara could tell the room was styled in a historical aesthetic, but it gave her no clues to where she was. A large grandfather clock against the wall had the small hand on the six, but she couldn't tell if it was morning or evening from the dark sky outside the window. Had she been kidnapped while walking home from work that evening? Was she having a stroke?

As she fumbled around the unfamiliar space, she came upon a desk cluttered with papers, fountain pens, and charcoal pencils. Barely suppressing the panic that threatened to bubble over, she began to sift through the documents in the hopes that they might offer clues to her situation. When the papers revealed nonsense text in an alphabet she couldn't understand, the panic could no longer be suppressed. Sara strode back to the four poster bed and threw herself under the crisp linen sheets. She willed herself to sleep and convinced herself it was a very vivid dream.

Sleep came, and dreams certainly followed. She was floating, formless, unable to see her own hands or feet in the endless gloom. A dim mote of light floated gently to the center of Sara's awareness, and she touched it without hands. It was warm and comforting.