The Reminiscence of a Psychopath

My eyes clicked open, meeting with a few seconds of terrible darkness. Then, through a big, sturdy window, I saw beautiful stars dancing in the night. I took a breath; it was glorious, and the air that rushed into my perfectly healthy lungs was sweet.

No pain, no warm taste of blood, no aching from hunger, no heart beating out of my bony chest. Best of all, peace settled around me; silence drenched my soul, seeping into the cracks of my numbed brain.

"Am I on the moon?" I wondered aloud. To my surprise, my voice did not stutter but remained steady and strong. I could never talk like this in reality; it was only in my head that my words came out unjumbled and precise. For quite a while, I lay in the soft, silky sheets and just breathed from a body that did not ache with every breath.

Then, sitting up, I rolled my shoulders, swung around my arms, and looked at my stomach. There really was no pain, only a small scar with scratch marks that marred my pale skin.

Languidly, I slid down from the bed and captured the twinkling stars in my palms. "Wow, so this is what paradise is like," I said, eyes sparkling. In my prereferral vision, the corners of my eyes caught a reflection in the giant window panes of my new abode.

"Hmmm, I murmured satisfactorily; I even look like the moon now." My stringy raven locks were replaced with waist-length, long, gleaming white hair. It shined in the moonlight, illuminating jeweled red eyes. They were big but fit my face, with no sharp angles or bones that stuck out harshly, making the round head on my shoulders look healthy and whole.

Aren't I just lovely when I don't look like me, I thought, twirling in the mirror and making my white night shift spin softly.

Then, a door opened, and a woman wearing a black dress and apron ascended into my domain. "It looks like you are awake, my lady." She said, locking eyes with me. She glanced in disdain at my face, "I will call the doctor," she whispered before rushing out of the room and into the dark corridor. I guess there are doctors on the moon; will there be mothers and fathers, too?

As I pondered these questions, a man in his mid-forties entered the room in a white coat and worried eyes. He checked my tongue, wrist, and heartbeat but announced no irregularities. "Where am I?" The doctor and maid exchanged a glance and said, "My lady, you need more rest; I am sure you will remember everything with time." Why do they automatically think I am wonky in the head?? I demanded answers until the woman, exasperated, told me to follow her.

She opened the big wooden door, struggling a bit with the loose handle, and beckoned me into the darkness. I followed her into the corridor a bit apprehensively. The walls were high and colored a deep navy blue, and gold pictures were hung on each side of the corridor. Victorian-style furniture was carved quite exquisitely. The more we walked and the higher we went, the less grand things began to become.

Finally, at the end of a purple hallway, the lady in front of me knocked twice and, without waiting for a reply, swung open the door on rusty hinges. There stood a four-poster large mahogany bed. The smell of illness lay pungent in the stale air. This was a wonder, for I thought that sickness didn't exist in heaven.

A woman appearing to be in her thirties sat in bed staring with unseeing eyes out the light-filled window. Where I was similar to the moon, she seemed like the very embodiment of its graceful glow. Her hair, trailing down her back, looks like glistening tendrils of silver.

But what caught my attention was her eyes; it looked like both kindness and sorrow were swirling in the light pools of her irises. She looked as pale as the moon herself, with frail white hands that contrasted with the green-blue of her veins sat folded in her lap.

Startling me out of my gawking was the voice of the lady herself, gentle but a bit strained. "Darling, how was your sleep?" "It was wonderful, Ms. But may I ask where I am?" I answered in awe that this ethereal angel draped in moonbeams was not a statue but a living being. She frowned slightly, bringing her pale lips to a quiver. "You don't remember anything?" The doctor who had followed us broke in. "She will in due time, mistress. She is just in need of rest." The moon lady tilted her head and beckoned the doctor closer.

After a flurry of hushed words that darted like sparrows through the solitude, they finally addressed me. Do you remember anything about the names May? Sylvester? Or Edward? Slowly shaking my head, everyone in the room seemed to brighten, although it might have been my imagination. To put things simply, dear, err-- I am your mother, and you are my family.

Eh? This wasn't heaven?? Confusion must have splashed onto my face because she started to bumble on about how the magic in my body was not stable. I had too much power, and my young organs couldn't contain it, so I needed to release pressure by extracting blood. That's why I had forgotten everything because of the complexity that swirled inside me. Dizzy with all the new information and trying to wrap my head around the weird phrases, I stood for a few minutes before gathering a reply that consisted mostly of all sorts of questions.

"How much blood do I need to release to take off the pressure on my brain? Will I die? My questions were answered one by one: "No, you just need to release blood for around three years until you become healthy enough for your magic to circulate! You will not die, but you need to drain your blood every day so you won't explode." All this was said with a small smile with a hint of sympathy or. . . guilt?

What kind of odd disease was this? Were these people in their right minds? What magic? What pressure on the brain?

I flinched as the woman behind me, who I discovered to be a maid, snapped, "Are you quite done with your questions? We need to take your blood now." Mrs. Moon glanced at the maid sternly and told me to come to her if I had any questions or concerns, but for now, I needed rest.

I was brought back to the room I first woke up in. Then, I had an epiphany. May, Sylvester, and Edward, these names had been rolling around in my head like a bowling ball. But then I hit a strike, and I realized I was in the novel that I had read in my library.

The book had no title, but the characters stood out life-like in my mind's eye. It was about a heroine who, as the princess of a kingdom, wanted the crown. But the king, deeming women of a lesser nature, forbid it. In her search for anything that would help her, the princess uncovered the evil nature of her father. She then worked to overthrow the king with the neighboring nation's charming crown prince. I remember how enamored I was with the strength and self-possession that the heroine held. She was so unlike me in every way, in other words. I was a huge fan.

Now that I think back, the maid and the doctor were whispering about a marquis and the young master. I was not sure that I was in a novel until I had pressed my ears to my door and heard passing voices gossiping about the academy the princess had gone to, the same one I knew from my book. The servants whispered about how, when the oldest young master was well enough, he would attend and become the head of the family. Lately, his face was much healthier, and the color of his cheeks a crimson hue.

My head was floundering like a fish on land with this weird idea or weird reality that I had just tumbled upon. But one thought struck out among the throng.

I never, ever, had to go back to THOSE PEOPLE; I must have died or something like that. I had escaped, and unless something magical happened again, I wouldn't have to go back! Should I feel happiness? What am I feeling? Yet, what did it matter? I won't dwell on feelings; I am free!

Now, I need to figure out which character in the book I was.

For the next couple of days, I became even healthier than I ever was in my seventeen years of living. It was hard for me to start sleeping on a bed. I would always find myself on the floor in a corner, draped in curtains and bedsheets. My dreams of food turned into that bloody scene I endured just before I was rescued.

Those two people would always be hovering over me, rusty metal gun in hand, creepy mocking smiles in the other. I would wake in a sweat and fear ingrained in my bones. However, my time locked in a room was actually not terrible; I no longer lived in fear and trembled whenever I heard an irritated word.

To add to this wonderful place, the food was amazing! The greens were fresh and crunchy, and the fish was not slathered in red ketchuppy sauce. I ate the fish bones the first time I was given a meal, and I had a feeling the doctor was quite disgusted. When I was deemed healthy enough, a doctor came in and jammed a needle in my arm, sucking away my blood and filling two bags. During the few days that passed, I began to work out what this place was. Mrs. May must be rich and powerful, and she is probably the duchess in my book. I had yet to meet the marquis and confirm my suspicions about who I was and where I was.

I relished the times I was alone, with no beating, no scavenging for food, no endless chores, or mind games. The day after my blood was taken, I was escorted to the room of Mrs. May. She sat where she always did, looking out the window. Turning her head towards me, she said in an apologetic tone, "My husband and son wish to see you."

I answered with a demure nod. She beckoned me closer and gently placed her frail hands on my shoulders, "They are a little intimidating and not at all like me, but you mustn't be scared but do as they say."

I could not obey what Mrs. May said, for a while later when I was ushered into a grand room filled with tapestries and cold-looking expensive stones, I saw her husband standing tall and dark with a glinting sly smile on his face; it was impossible for my knees not to knock in fear. He had yellow eyes like a cat's, but they were filled with malice; I could tell that emotion quite well after living with it for so long.

He stood taller than my father and was much bigger width-wise and height-wise. Black hair and a strong jaw made him look authoritative, and the big arms that pressed against his side looked very muscular. He could probably throw me farther than the man at home ever could, I thought, looking up at his face. It had been two days since I talked to Mrs. May, and I stood alone face to face with her husband, with a smaller copy of him tugging at his shirt.

"Why is she not kneeling?" A nasally voice loudly cut through the stifling air. I looked at the carbon copy of Mrs. May's husband, and although he was a cute little boy, his actions were not at all in tune with his looks. My heart beat with a steady rhythm as I looked at the stern face of the father and the leering face of the son. I realized that people with those eyes and that expression wanted fear; they demanded it.

Quickly, I threw myself down on my hands and knees. "I am so sorry; please forgive me," I cried, giving my voice a slight quiver. I felt a shoe nudge me, and a deep, rumbling voice said, "Child, there is no need to shiver; your body must be healthy and clean, so get up off the dirty ground."

I sprang up and kept my head low this time; gawking at them would only make them angrier. The son stared at me like a newly slaughtered pig with interest and disdain. "Alright, now, Edward," said the father, you have a class to attend. If you fraternize with her too much, you might lose the manners your teacher helped you to attain.

"Get the girl out" were the last words the husband said to me. It seemed he wanted to see his.. daughter..? I am not sure what I was to him, but with the way he acted, it seemed I was just a cow to be used and slaughtered after its usefulness dissipated. After staring into my soul for a few more moments, he turned sharply and dragged his son along with him.

I was rushed back to my room; at least this house didn't seem to be one of physical abuse; maybe this world has nobles who find it beneath them to even touch someone of a lower status! That thought brightened my mind, and there wouldn't be any violence or fear in my next waking hour.

I cursed myself for all the shivering and shaking that would come over me when someone raised their hand or voice. It still confuses me how I was on the brink of death and was suddenly whisked away to this magical land. I figured from the strange interaction I had with the marquis and his son that I was a person in the novel who never even had a name.

In the novel, the Marquis is the left-hand man of the evil king. He and his wife had two sickly sons, and shortly before the duchess died, she wanted to do many good deeds, hoping to make the world welcome her kindly. Was I an actual member of the family? What was I?

However, all I had was questions. The answers were blowing in the wind.