I jolted awake, my hand clutching my chest. The scream tore out of my throat before I could stop it. Loud and guttural, it scratched my throat raw, and I didn''t stop until my voice broke.


    A loud banging sounded before the door burst open and a plump woman stood there, holding a rolling pin. "Wha''s happening? Is i'' those buggers again? They ain'' go'' no sense. Tha''s wha''. Nothing wrong with you other than a li''l scaring." She charged to the window and threw it open. There was screaming and snickering. The loud voices of children as they jeered and ran away. "Gone with the lo'' of you, nothing to do, disturbing good law-abiding folk."


    I huddled on the bed, my mind muddled. I flinched in pain. I didn''t know her, and I didn''t know where I was. My skin felt wrong, too tight, and tugged when I moved. My body hurt in a way I wasn''t used to.


    "There, all gone. They ain'' gonna trouble you no more. Sleep. Sleep." She walked over to me, not seeming to mind that I feared her. The woman started rummaging through a medicine box while talking to me. "Your life ain'' gonna be easy, bu'' ain'' nothing you can do bu'' live." She handed me a blue vial I''d recognize anywhere.


    I took it, gulping it down, but the pain didn''t stop. It just eased.


    "Shame. Keep hoping i''ill work." She said, looking at me with pity. "Sleep."


    She left the room as quickly as she came, but I had no answers.


    I was terrified.


    Something was very wrong here.


    My body protested the smallest movements—lifting my arms to pull off the sheet felt like dragging my body through wet sand.


    I need to get to the window.


    I don''t know why I fixated on the window, but I had a burning desire to see outside—to confirm something improbable, but possible, considering what I''d already experienced.


    I stood, and pain lanced up my legs, sharp and unforgiving. I''d never felt pain like this, and I knew pain, or I thought I did. My knees trembled, threatening to buckle, and I slumped back to the bed, my breath hitching.


    I waited—for a second—praying the pain would pass, but it lingered, pulsing through my body like the dull, relentless beat of war drums. I reached for the vial, forcing my finger inside the bottle and licking it clean. The pain ebbed, but it didn''t disappear.


    That was a healing potion, one of the best I''d seen, but it did nothing to curb the ache.


    My chest tightened, each breath shallow and strained. It was like trying to breathe through wet, thick, heavy fabric—I remembered it raining and walking with the caravan, then I could pull down the shawl, but now--


    I pressed my hand against my ribs, willing the pressure to ease, but it didn''t. Staying upright was taking everything I had.


    I tried standing and my lungs burned almost as bad as my back. It''s not worth it. I wanted to stop—to lie down, but I knew if I did, I wouldn''t get back up. It wasn''t even about the window. If I lay in that bed, that was it. Wherever I was, whatever was happening to me, I''d never be able to get up and face it. I forced myself forward and regretted it, but I didn''t stop.


    The chair—that was my goal. It was a few steps away, then I could rest against it to look outside.


    Every move was slow and careful—this I was familiar with—but then, after the beatings, the pain felt deep and to my bones, but now I knew that wasn''t true. After that—it radiated out from deep within me, but a potion always worked, vanishing everything like it never happened.


    My fingers grasped the back of the chair, protesting the movement as they screamed from being forced to bend.


    I eased my grip, lowering myself onto the seat, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps.


    I''ve never been so grateful to be off my feet. The pain didn''t stop, but—it''s not better, but it was—I just closed my eyes, trying to stay still.


    "Milly," came a voice from the window, followed by a soft knock.


    "Push. It''s open." The window opened to reveal a girl with red hair and a bosom that led the rest of her into a room.


    "Ah," she gasped. Her hand rose, covering her mouth. Tears came to her eyes, and she broke down apologizing.


    I looked past her. I couldn''t see much. The house opposite me was dark, with only a flicker of light in the topmost window, but what little I could see told me I wasn''t in the duchy or on Ierra. It wasn''t the building, or the people, or the unfamiliar language that I didn''t know, but could understand. It was the moon. Bright, purple, and big, so big I could see little holes on it, and if I was told you could fly up and touch it, I''d believe.


    I couldn''t look away, my mind organizing what the girl said.


    The busty redhead''s name was Finna. She had a cousin called Bronn who she wanted to match-make with her best friend, Milly—the girl whose skin I now wore. The problems started because Bronn was kind. He was kind to Milly, but he was kind to other girls as well. Another girl, Ally, thought Bronn liked her, but couldn''t say anything because of Finna. In a fit of jealousy, Ally locked Milly in a barn. No one knew how the barn caught fire, but Milly, who was trapped inside, was badly burned and almost died.


    It was a simple yet complex story.


    It was crazy, unlikely, and weird. It was as implausible as being reborn, but here I was, my skin scarred and pulled tight, pain echoing through my body like the steady march of an army.


    Milly had become a recluse, not leaving her house in the past six months. During that time, Ally married into another village and Bronn married another girl and was expecting a child.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Milly—Milly died, and I''d taken over. Was I also a necromancer, like that withered old hag from the slums?


    "Gideon," I called. There was no answer, and I felt the silence settle into me, grave and dull. I sat there, listening to Finna apologize, trying to process the letdown. I''d hoped—really hoped, prayed even, but now that felt silly—like I should have known better. A lump rose in my throat, but I swallowed it, forcing my face into a natural expression.


    "Why did you do it?" I asked, my voice hoarse. The question wasn''t mine. It resided in the flesh in the bones and marrow of this girl. Her need for an answer was so burning it lingered after she was gone.


    Finna stopped, her eyes wide as she looked at me. "What?" she asked. Fear spread across her cheeks, down her neck, and through her body, staining everything a sickly hue--a red-tinged with shame, regret, and the barest hint of pride.


    I wasn''t fourteen, or whatever age Milly was—I might not be skilled in the duchess and her ilk''s subterfuge, but I was old and skilled enough to see through this girl and the guilt that ate at Finna.


    "Why did you do it?" I asked, wishing with every word that I didn''t speak. It didn''t matter if she answered; I wasn''t the person Finna attacked, and her answer wouldn''t change anything. Yet, I needed to know. I stared at her, waiting for an answer.


    "I didn''t mean to. I just--" She wrung her hands, her eyes darting from side to side. "I--" she turned and ran, disappearing into the night.


    I stared at the moon, wondering what to do now.


    ***


    Life went on around me and I didn''t have time to think. If I didn''t contribute, I couldn''t eat. Like a dog trained at the end of a lash, as a reward, if I did every task assigned to me for the day, I''d get a healing potion with dinner.


    I spent my few moments of clarity thinking about what happened, how to escape, or how to change my situation, but I had even fewer options than when they locked me in my tower.


    Magic was more common here, widespread, but also more inaccessible. Potions were cheap, and easily exchanged at the apothecary for a bottle of milk or a few seeds, but the people born with magic were few.


    I sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling the familiar ache settle. It was always worse at night—when the distractions disappeared, and all I was left with was the relentless throb that curled its way through my muscles and twisted around my joints like a snake ever ready to strike.


    I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temples and rubbing, trying to ease the headache that clung to me all day. It wasn''t usually like that. My mind was surprisingly clear, a contrast to my body.


    My back was tight, and my skin was sore to the touch, burning with that awful mix of numbness and sharp twinges. I gritted my teeth and breathed through it, pretending it didn''t hurt as much as it did.


    Brushing my teeth was another battle. Every step to the sink sent pain shooting up my spine. Gripping the toothbrush made my fingers cramp and shaking out my hands only gave temporary relief. By the time I walked back to the bed, every part of me felt wrung out, exhausted in a way that sleep never fixed.


    I inched under the cover, tolerating the heaviness of being buried under wet sand, shifting until I found the least painful position. It was one of those nights—in the month I''d been here, I''d gotten used to those nights where I tossed and turned the mattress feeling too firm one minute and too soft the next.


    Maybe tomorrow would be better.


    Maybe.


    But for now, I endured.


    I didn''t know how long I''d lay there, trapped in that hazy place between sleep and wake when I heard the knock on the window. "Go away," I said, knowing who it was. Finna, too, became a part of my new routine in this world. She didn''t come every night but was here often enough that Nina, the woman taking care of me, complained about it.


    Finna always apologized for other''s actions, and gave excuses, over and over again—as if wanting forgiveness, but she never confessed. It was never her fault.


    "Please," she whispered, her voice sounding different.


    Most nights, I stayed in bed, ignoring her. But sleep wouldn''t come tonight and I needed something to distract me—to keep my mind from pondering my situation. I could accept being another person, but I didn''t want to be her—Milly—this frail, scarred, scared, broken thing that was more dead than alive.


    I hobbled to the window, flinging it open. "Make it quick."


    "Please."


    I watched her, caught somewhere between disbelief and anticipation. I don''t know what had changed, why tonight of all nights she confessed, but a part of me was waiting for it—an anticipation in me that never felt like mine.


    Her hands trembled, fingers twisting together like she was trying to hold herself together. Her voice was quiet, a whisper on the wind, but the words cut through the air like a blade. "I did it. I set the fire."


    The room felt colder, and the shadows seemed to lengthen.


    We weren''t alone.


    I''d experienced this before. A chill on my neck, a weight on my back, and the feeling of something incomprehensibly great.


    My stomach tightened. I should have said something, but I couldn''t. I stared at Finna, willing her to realize something was wrong, but the words gushed out of her in an unstoppable torrent, consuming her.


    I helplessly stared at her shoulder curled, bent inward from the weight of her sins. Her eyes darted about like she couldn''t stand to see her creation... her mistake. I heard the strain in her voice, and the weight of guilt pressing down on every syllable.


    I swallowed, my throat dry. The truth was always hanging between us, and now that it was out, I didn''t know what to do with it--to make it worse, someone else was listening.


    "I didn''t mean to. Please forgive me. I really didn''t mean to. I saw Ally lock you in, and I went to let you out, but you called out to Troy and I don''t know what came over me. The lamp was there, and I tossed it. I--" Her nails dug into the window ledge, and her gaze was distant. "The screams—every time I close my eyes." She cracked, crumpling to the ground. "Please forgive me."


    A knot inside me loosened, but filling the space it left was a rage so unimaginable I knew it wasn''t from me. She was still there, Milly, inside of me, waiting for this moment to learn why her friend betrayed her.


    Oveta. The God Lankas had whispered that name to me and now it echoed in my mind along with the most beautiful laugh filled with pure, child-like glee. I knew then, with a surety, I''d never had about anything whose temple I''d stumbled upon.


    Revenge.


    My hands reached out, curling around Finna''s throat. The pain was gone, vanished as if it never was; replacing it was an inhuman strength that had me lifting her off the ground and pulling her through the window. Finna''s feet kicked, and she scratched at my hands and face. It wasn''t me, not really. I, an unwilling observer to the act—aware, and complicit, but not willing.


    Milly. She was there. Her tears streamed down my eyes, and her voice asked why, but she faded—chains unraveling and loosening. It left me with my hands around the throat of an eighteen-year-old girl. The second my grip slipped, Finna spun, grabbed the chamber pot, and slammed it against my head.


    I dropped to the floor, and Milly was back. "You burned me. Why? Why? You burned me. You killed me, and I''ll never forgive you."


    As I faded, I heard the door open and Finna constantly apologizing.


    Promised to Avea, born of Junniper, and belonging to me. I have seen you, Jal, but I can no longer hold you.


    A fate, both better and worse, with a thousand beginnings and endings.


    For years, I walked with you more amused than caring, but as a gift from the son that wasn''t meant to be, be wary of my first child, who was promised to me and, by nature, a part of me.


    Beware for I am but one.