The Night Everything Changed

The chirping of birds was the first thing the girl heard when she awoke, which she thought was rather odd. Breathing in deeply, the girl's face held a moment of complete confusion before cracking her eyes and furrowing her brow. The girl was lying on a bed of leaves, a small hut made from sticks and foliage surrounded her. Instead of the leather jacket, combat boots, and jeans from the night before, she was now wrapped in what she could only presume was a Victorian style dress, complete with corset but minus the bustle. The gown was made, from what she gathered, very expensive cloth. Silk embroidered the top of the gown, accentuating her bust.

Although, she was flustered by seeing herself in a dress that she could never afford and would never wear, what flared her curiousness ever the more was seeing that the beautiful dress was so tattered. It was if she had been running through the forest in nothing but that dress and as an effect, had torn the dress at the bottom, and the stitching was coming up at the seams. She didn't smell, which meant that she had bathed, but how recently, she had no idea. Her hair was laid out all around her, much like the night before.

Sitting up and looking around, the girl spotted a sword just to the left of her. It was embedded under a pile of leaves, if you weren't looking for it, you would never see it. Standing up slowly, she grabbed the sword and weighed it in her hand for a moment. Holding it felt right, but why, for the life of her she couldn't answer. Breathing in a shallow pattern, the girl walked out of the small hut, alert more than she had ever been.

She knew she was in a forest, that much was evident by the trees, vines, and leaves that covered the ground. The sun broke through the canopy that was formed by the foliage of the trees up above, creating shadows out of the branches swaying in the gentle breeze. Her hair blew slightly about her. Casting her eyes around her, she slowly began walking forward. Birds called out all around her; swooping down from the treetops, landing on branches lower down, and flying off afterwards. She would have smiled at the sight, if it had been under different circumstances.

The sound of hooves beating a path into the ground could be heard a certain way off. Ducking into the cover of the bushes lying to the left of her, the girl watched as a man rode up on the horse, wearing what she assumed was the king's crest. Everything about this place just became even more confusing to the girl than ever.

Crouching in the bushes, the girl looked through the foliage to see this mysterious man. He bore the king's crest--a set of wings adorning a lion's back, a scroll clutched in it's paws--upon his tunic, which was silver in color. The man, presumably a member of the King's Guard, looked around the wood, his eyes the color of the night sky, cast around for anything suspicious. Seeing nothing but the brush of the foliage as a breeze swept through, the man kicked the horse to a slow canter.

Listening to the fading hoof beats, the girl cautiously stepped out of the bushes and followed the path the King's Guardsmen had left. The tattered ends of her dress brushed the ground, causing the leaves to rattle and slither about as if they were a woodland creature themselves. The sword hung by her side, her hand always on the hilt as she drew closer to a town or village. The trees thinned out and she was left to hide behind the random bushes that appeared in her way every now and then.
Music could be heard and a raucous thundering of voices. Sheathing her sword behind her back, the girl slowly approached the village, heading straight for the tavern. She could deal with drunks, so long as she wasn't noticed by anyone. Pulling her hair from her face, the girl walked confidently, making sure to hide her face so as not to attract unwarranted attention.

Stepping into the tavern, the girl was greeted with the smell of beer, whiskey, and had a musky undertone which made her crinkle her nose in mild disgust. She was used to it, but after smelling the fresh air for hours, it made going back to the smell almost unbearable.

Taking a seat at a nearby table, the girl examined her surroundings. Middle aged men who bore even more soiled and tattered clothing than her paraded around drunkenly, telling stories of woe and wonderment and pitching their tankards of ale around so much, that froth and foam overflowed the edges and slopped onto the pine straw covered floor. Tavern wenches, their cleavage spilling from their not-so-modest dresses, milled about. Some sitting in filthy men’s laps, others throwing glowering looks at the barman, who couldn’t be bothered with controlling the men so long as they paid their tabs.

A matronly woman came to the table that the girl was sitting at and smiled at the girl.

“Ilian Leventhorpe, where’ve ya been? I haven’t seen ya in a month. Wif your father, I ‘spect.” The matronly woman sat opposite the girl, now known as Ilian.

“I’m sorry, I can’t recall who you are.” Ilian responded. Her heart raced in her chest, this woman seemed familiar to her, her name on the tip of her tongue. But it was like some unseen force was keeping it from her. This world was messing with her senses. Causing her to become much slower in truly seeing people as she had before.

“Ya’re father’s doin’s,” The woman spoke with a hint of anger in her voice, spitting the word “father” out as if it were poisoned. “That good for nothin’ Lord. Always tryin’ ta get you ta see his ways. It’s any wonder ya come back here at all.”

The woman cradled her head in her hands, her eyes shooting to Ilian.

“Brytha, customer.” The barmen yelled out, his eyes fixated on the woman sitting in front of Ilian.
“I’ll be here later, love. Ya ever need to talk, ya come find me.” Brytha muttered, taking her hand and stroking Ilian’s cheek lightly.

Ilian nodded gently and stood up as Brytha headed to the front of the tavern. Looking around, Ilian noticed everyone, and yet no one seemed to notice or care about her. Good, she thought. More time to get acquainted with this life.

Making her way out the door, Ilian started ticking off the things that she knew about herself in this life, whatever that meant. Her name was Ilian Leventhorpe. Her father was a Lord of something. She wasn’t supposed to be around these parts, but she seemed to rebel and do it anyway. The King’s Guard were probably after her for this exact reason and she had no idea what they would do if they caught her.

Breathing in a deep breath, Ilian grabbed the end of her sword and with confidence, made her way out of the small village. She had no money on her to pay for a room for a night at the inn, so she would make her way back to that hut in the forest and stay there the night. In the morrow, she would figure out exactly what the hell was going on.