Liam woke up face-down in the dirt, his mouth full of dust. He coughed, rolling onto his back, and found himself staring at a blue sky with thin clouds.
"What the hell...?"
The moment he sat up, his head spun. Around him, a village buzzed with activity - women carrying baskets of laundry, men leading oxen carts, children chasing chickens between wooden houses. The air smelled like baking bread and animal dung, so strong it made his nose wrinkle.
A shadow fell across him. "Liam! There you are!"
He looked up to see a girl about his age, maybe eighteen, with sunburned cheeks and straw-colored hair escaping from her braid. She wore a faded green dress stained at the hem, and her boots were caked with mud.
His mouth moved before his brain could catch up. "Mira."
The name tasted familiar on his tongue, like he'd said it a thousand times before. And then -
Pain.
Memories that weren't his exploded behind his eyes
Splashing through the creek with Mira when they were kids. Her scolding him for tracking mud into her cottage. The way her nose scrunched when she laughed.
Liam clutched his head, breathing hard. These weren't his memories. He'd grown up in an orphanage in the city, not some backwater village.
"Are you okay?" Mira crouched beside him, her calloused hand warm on his arm. "You look like you've seen Old Man Harker's ghost."
"I'm..." Liam's voice caught in his throat. He wanted to scream that none of this was real, that he didn't belong here. But his mouth betrayed him. "Just tired."
Mira helped him up, her grip surprisingly strong. As they walked down the village's main path, people kept calling out to him:
"Liam! Those fence posts won't mend themselves!"
"Don't forget you promised to help with the shearing!"
"Your tab at the tavern's getting long, boy!"
Each time, Liam's body responded automatically, with the right words, the right tone. It made his skin crawl, like he was a puppet on invisible strings.
Then he saw it.
Behind Mira, near the blacksmith's shop, a man stood perfectly still. His clothes were the same rough as everyone else's, but his face... His eyes were too wide, unblinking. His lips stretched in a smile that showed too many yellowed teeth.
Liam turned his gaze away - and froze.
On the hill overlooking the village stood a crumbling stone castle. Its broken towers stabbed at the sky . Liam was damn sure that castle hadn't been there five minutes ago.
"Mi-" he started to ask, but his throat closed up. The words stuck like dry bread.
As the sun dipped low, painting everything in orange light, Mira walked him home. Their cottages sat at the village's edge, separated by a low stone wall. Hers had wildflowers growing by the door. His had a broken shutter that banged in the wind.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Mira asked, her fingers lingering on his arm. "You've been acting strange all day."
Liam wanted to tell her. God, he wanted to tell someone. But his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. "I Just need some sleep," he muttered.
Inside, the cottage smelled like woodsmoke and old sweat. The table bore deep knife marks, like someone had taken their anger out on it. The bed looked slept in, the blankets rumpled. Every detail screamed that someone lived here - someone who wasn't him.
A knock made him jump.
Mira stood there holding a wooden bowl covered with cloth. "Figured you'd forget to eat again." She pushed the bowl into his hands - warm stew with chunks of meat and turnips.
For a second, Liam just stared at her. This girl, with her sun-freckles and chapped lips, looked at him with such open concern it made his chest ache. Whoever she thought he was, she clearly cared about him.
"Thanks," he responded.
Mira smiled, but her eyes stayed worried. "Get some rest, okay?"
When the door closed behind her, Liam sank onto the stool by the fire. He forced down a few bites of stew, though it tasted like ash in his mouth.
As the Night fell quickly. Liam blew out the candle and laid in the dark, listening to the wind rattle the broken shutter. Just as his eyes started to close...
Singing.
A girl's voice, sweet and high, drifted through the cracks in the door:
"Where have you gone, my dear one...?"
Liam's breath was disrupted. The voice sounded close. Too close.
Then came the scratching.
Long nails dragging across the door's rough wood.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
And then - the worst part. The voice changed. Now it sounded exactly like Mira's.
"Liam... let me in... it's cold out here..."
His blood turned to ice. Because Mira would never be out this late.
Would she?