𝒜 𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝐸𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉

8 - 𝒟𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝐼𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝑜𝑜𝒹𝓈

Stirring awake, she tries opening her eyes, finding that it's exceptionally difficult due to her increased drowsy state. She waits a moment, collecting her bearings and slowly coming to the realization that, instead of leaning against a wall as she remembers doing, she's lying on her back, on a seemingly cushioned surface. Like a bed. That's strange... Did she sleepwalk? Or get up and go back to bed at some point? But she doesn't recall such a thing. Maybe she was too tired to pay attention.

That dream though... This time, the dream was a bit...different than usual. There wasn't any static, there weren't any dead bodies, and she wasn't trapped inside an unquestionably foreign place. All she remembers is feeling a rush of adrenaline and a moment of panic before blackness swept her away. It's definitely odd, not that she's complaining. If she had dreams like that all the time instead of whatever she's been experiencing recently, she'd feel a lot more at ease. She can faintly remember seeing someone, or something, in front of her, trying to keep her quiet. It seemed a little familiar, but she can't piece together why.

This dream was a lot more up-close and personal. And it felt so real—realer than her others have been, which is pretty baffling. What did the figure look like? Mostly black, with traces of dark blue? The whole incident is blurry to her; she assumes it's because her mind had an inclination to unnerve her, as it has taken pride in doing so far too often as of late.

That voice, though. She knows she's heard that voice before. Where? That's a mystery, but maybe with some thought toward the matter, she'll reach a conclusion. Or maybe it's all in her head and she's never heard that voice in her life. She brings her hands up to rub her face, attempting to rid herself of her lethargy so she can open her eyes, and finally gathers the energy to sit up somewhat. As her vision adjusts to the moderate amount of sunlight spilling through the crack of the closed curtains to the right of the bed, the first thing she discovers is that the scenery is...well, unlike the bedroom she was in previously.

It's much smaller, being only big enough to fit an average-sized mahogany dresser, a bedside desk crafted of the same wood, and sitting atop that desk is a lamp with a candlestick shade, a glass of room temperature water, and an unopened pack of crackers; the kind one would receive from a restaurant. A window with simple brown and blue drapes sits directly beside the desk, and across from her, on the other side of the room, is a shut door. She's unsure if it leads outside or to a closet of some kind.

The wallpaper in the room is white with an inconsistent floral pattern, and the floor is made of hickory hardwood; part of it is covered by a thin, maroon rug of oval shape. The musty smell that the room itself excretes clues her into the fact that it's been vacant for a while, and the small cobweb dangling in the corner of the ceiling proves that theory.

Her heart skips a beat and she doesn't even make an attempt to slow her breathing. This isn't her bedroom, nor is it any other room in Nana's and Pops' house—not one that she can remember, at any rate. As far as she can tell, she's in a separate household entirely. But why? Who brought her here? Her gaze travels down to her body, almost instantly identifying the band-aid that's stuck to the crook of her elbow. What the heck...?

She peels it away in one swift motion, tossing it aside and not giving the brief discomfort it induces any thought; instead focusing solely on the inflamed pinprick still very present in her skin, rimmed with a nasty bruise. She knows what that is: a needle mark, which means someone injected her with an unknown solution. But who? And why?

This realization sends her mind into a frenzy as she fully comprehends the startling, inexplicable situation, and she throws the blanket that had been placed over her when she was unconscious off and jumps to her feet, immediately being swamped with a wave of dizziness. Shaking her head to rid herself of the disorienting feeling, she uses one hand to prop her body against the wall to ensure she doesn't collapse, and with the other, she wrenches back the drapes hung in front of the window, sticking her head through the widened crack and squinting her eyes at the minor change in illumination.