The light sound of rain was tapping on a window. My body no longer ached from the accident. It’s possible that I wasn’t dying that night or maybe I was just saved in time by a Scottish man passing by. Overall, it’s as if I never hit a tree that night. Instead, for some unknown reason, I feel out of place, like I don’t belong in this body. The feeling could be due to morphine I guess. I’ve never been a patient in a hospital setting so I don’t know. At this moment, I’m not happy or disappointed about being alive. I'm more focused on the comfort level of this bed. Hospital beds are surprisingly comfortable. It feels like I’m sleeping on marshmallows.

“My Lady?” A British woman came into the room. That’s an odd way to address someone. “My lady, wake up.” The British woman was now closer. I feel her presence behind me and could smell the concern coming off of her skin. Concern smells like vanilla body spray so she currently smells like a teenage girl who is always applying lip gloss every five minutes.

I ignore her at first because I assume that she’s not speaking to me. She could be speaking to the other patient in this room. I was almost certain until she gently shook my arm. I guess it’s medication time. There were also questions I needed to ask.

“Please wake up,” she said. The smell of vanilla started to smell more like pure extract. Fine, I’ll give in for the sake of making this smell disappear.

“Yes?” An unfamiliar voice escapes my lips. “What is it?” I say a few more words to confirm that it is my voice. So I might be dead, in a coma, or it could just be a dream. I’m not English so I can’t fathom why I now have an accent. I turned to her with a perplexed expression and to my surprise she was dressed in something not of this century. I’m either in a mental health facility or she’s escaped one. This British lady could also be into this sort of fashion. Could it be that I was dreaming all along and I was knocked on unconscious during one of those reenactment events? That seems impossible because I would never partake in something like that.

“Abigail?” I said her name as if I’ve known her all of my life. As soon as her name was said the vanilla smell no longer attacked my nostrils. The smell began to dissipate and was replaced by the smell of jasmine. Never would I mind the smell of jasmine.

“I must prepare you for the day,” she pulled off the blanket. As she stepped away I took in my surroundings.

“What the hell?” I don’t know what’s more annoying. The scent of vanilla or this baby blue victorian styled room? And this oversized white gown that was suffocating me, who wears this type of crap?

This room is filled with expensive antiques and has quite the seating area for just one person. Then there’s this canopy styled bed with creme drapes tied at the columns. Though the baby blue wallpaper made me nauseous, this bedroom has its own charm. A large area rug decorated with dark blue floral patterns and curtains that hung near the ceiling at attention but lazily dusted the floor. The pitcher that sat inside a large bowl. Thin lamps with beaded shades. Candlesticks that were spread throughout the room. A gold chandelier that dangled above. Walls lined with portraits of people I did not recognize except the one with bright blue eyes. That person looked like me.

“Duchess?” Abigail called out to me. Could I ask that munchkin to explain what is going on here?

Abigail appeared before me with a stepping stool. She unbuttoned my gown at the neck without making eye contact and pulled the dress off of me. I couldn’t help but notice how thin I became. However, I am most thrown off by the lack of curves. I am now an ironing board.

Two women came into the room to assist with dressing me. These two felt oddly familiar.

Afterwards, a prim and proper lady was ready to see how she looked. I walked over to the mirror and confirmed that parts of me are definitely longer now. This person I saw in the mirror is at least six feet tall and slender. Instead of black kinky hair I now have ringlets in an updo. As drastically as my body changed, my face remained the same. I’m still blessed with high cheekbones, an oval face, almond eyes, and thick lips. My face felt like mine but this body didn’t. And the blue eyes in the portrait of that stranger was not looking back at me.

“My full name is Abigail Vaughn,” she paused. “I am one of your personal maids.”

Abigail made eye contact with me. She avoided my gaze from the beginning but she searched my eyes this time. A glimmer of hope briefly showed upon her face. The smell of jasmine began to mix with vanilla.

“Come with me please,” she opened the door. “I know it will take time to adjust.”

“Am I dead?” I laughed but Abigail didn’t find my little joke to be funny.

“You are very much alive,” Abigail replied.

We walked amongst large paintings that lined the pale blue walls. Huge vases filled with sunflowers sat before every window. The statuesque maids who assisted me with getting dressed are Pearl and Cassandra. They insisted on telling me their names and smelled of jasmine. While Abigail wore an indifferent and sometimes sad expression, these women like to smile.

We entered the dining room but I was left alone to my own devices. The women excused themselves to attend to another task. I stood there until someone else arrived, a familiar face I think.

“Jeffery,” I say his name aloud.

“Good morning, Duchess,” he smiled.

Jeffrey appears to be in his early fifties with a white full head of hair. He’s surprisingly attractive, a sharp jawline and bright blue eyes. I always thought butlers would look elderly and on the edge of death but Jeffrey is quite the burly man. He pulled out my chair and I quickly sat with the anticipation of being well fed, my expectations were appropriately met.

“Your expressions show that you are pleased with your meal,” Jeffrey smiled.

“I am. Thank you for the hospitality,” I said.

“It is our duty to serve you.”

“Do I live by myself?”

“No my lady, you live with the master of this estate.” He didn’t seem to be surprised by my question.

“And who is that?”

“Duke, Elias Albert Grian. You both are married.”

“Okay.”

“ This is certainly a nice contrast,” Pearl walked in with a pitcher of water.

“What do you mean?” I asked as she filled my glass.

“You're just more you,” Pearl dashed off into another room.

We walked around the garden. The air was cool and the sun hidden away by the clouds. It may just rain at any moment. As Cassandra spoke, I remained silent. She explained that there are not many staff members assigned to the estate as magic is used to do just about everything. There would rarely ever be any knights on the grounds because my husband is really powerful. However, what came next stopped me from tuning in and out as she went on. Apparently, I was in a coma for sometime. Cassandra said the Duke could better explain things and so I’ll wait for this mysterious husband of mine. The more Cassandra spoke the more I realized that she may be a bit crazy.

“I waited for you for so long. I can’t wait to serve you again,” Cassandra smiles.

“I was in a coma for a month,” I said. Separation anxiety is strong with this one.

“You’ve been gone longer than a month, but you wouldn’t know that. It would be strange if you did.”

“ How long have I been gone?”

“Centuries. It took forever to find you. He was brilliant in hiding you in a realm without magic.”

“Right? I’d like to go back to my room.”

I could smell the disappointment off of Casandra, but I couldn’t listen to her go on and on. Maybe my life wasn’t real. It’s possible that the Birds didn’t exist or that I was never adopted. And maybe the people I met were never real. But this just doesn’t feel like my reality.

“My Divine. You will be whole again,” Casandra smiled. She then proceeded to hug me. I returned that hug.

I spent a majority of my day in the blue bedroom. For the first few hours I slept and when I awoke it was sunset. Though the sky looked odd as I hung my arms outside the window. The sky was a foggy orange hue. And as I looked out the window an extravagant carriage arrived. The staff rushed over to assist that person, a man dressed all in black emerged from the carriage. He took off his gloves, handed them to the butler, and walked off with an air of arrogance. This person seems to be familiar like all the rest. With certainty I knew this to be my husband. And as if I said that thought aloud or shouted through the window, he stopped in his tracks and slightly lifted his head. It’s as if he sensed my presence but didn’t want to bother looking in my direction. I wonder if we would be dining together?