It wasn’t until the precise moment that Saya decided to twirl in front of the mirror, turning on her axis like a second-hand ballerina in a thrift shop snow globe, that the full scope of her sartorial disaster became painfully apparent. With a sensation akin to stepping onto a trapdoor, she saw what Sage had seen. And what she saw made her wish she could spontaneously combust into a cloud of mortified ashes.

The back of her dress—or what passed for a dress—was a veritable abomination of fabric design. It was split into two fluttering pieces, starting at the bottom hem around her knees and snaking upward to some hidden terminus beneath her oversized hoodie. The result was a dramatic parting of the fabric that exposed far more than any decent person—never mind a teenage girl with any shred of self-respect—would ever want to expose. 

And there, nestled amidst the gaping folds of her so-called "dress," was the pièce de résistance: a pair of pink panties emblazoned with a sickeningly cute bunny. It was the sort of bunny that graced the lunchboxes of seven-year-olds and adorned the stationery of the terminally twee. It had absolutely no business being displayed on her posterior.

Saya’s first instinct was a primal one. It was the same instinct that causes small woodland creatures to bury themselves under leaves when a predator approaches. She clamped her hands over the offending area, trying to squeeze the parted fabric back together as if sheer willpower could sew it up. Her face was a fierce cocktail of colors, starting at red and quickly escalating to a shade that could only be described as 'lava lamp in meltdown.'

Please… just let me die… 

The words looped in her mind like a bad sitcom theme tune, only this one had been composed by the gods of humiliation. The very thought of Sage’s eyes, wide and horrified, witnessing the grand reveal of her bunny-clad derrière made her skin prickle with embarrassment.

She tore her gaze away from the mirror, desperate to erase the image from her memory, but her eyes caught on the dress—or was it a dress? Her hands moved almost on their own, smoothing over the fabric, feeling the texture as if it might hold the answers to the universe’s cruel joke.

This feels… familiar.

It was a strange thought. The dress, or whatever it was, didn’t just feel wrong because of the glaring fashion faux pas. It felt wrong because it triggered something deep in her memory, like the tickling sensation you get when you’re trying to recall a word that’s right on the tip of your tongue.

Where have I seen this before?

Her fingers traced the fabric, and a distant part of her mind began to stitch together fragments of a half-forgotten past. The pattern of the dress—or rather, the gown—was something she knew. It was as if her memory had been hiding in the shadows, and now, like a reluctant actor finally stepping onto the stage, it began to take shape.

A patient gown.

The realization hit her like a tidal wave, washing over her and pulling her under. In an instant, the cozy cushion-filled room, the dim violet light, the magical mirror—all of it—began to melt away, dissolving into a memory. She could see it clearly now: a hospital room, sterile and suffocating, with the sharp scent of disinfectant and the low hum of medical equipment. She was lying in a bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the scratchy fabric of the patient gown against her skin.

Panic surged through her, clawing at her chest. Her vision blurred, and the room around her began to spin. She was aware of Sage, his voice growing distant and distorted as he called out to her, his face a blur of concern. But she couldn’t respond. The sensation of the gown, the memory of that hospital room, overwhelmed her, pulling her under like quicksand.

She collapsed to her knees, the strength draining from her limbs. The last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her was Sage’s face, a look of pure panic flashing across his features as he sprinted towards her.

Then everything went black.

***

The first thing that assaulted her senses when she regained consciousness was the smell. It was the unmistakable, chemical stench of clinical supplies—a smell so sterile and sharp that it could cut through even the thickest fog of disorientation. Saya’s head throbbed as she tried to piece together where she was. The distant beeping of a heart monitor provided a rhythmic counterpoint to the garbled voices arguing nearby.

She tried to open her eyes, but they felt impossibly heavy, as if someone had glued them shut. The sensation of the soft cushiony room was gone, replaced by the hard, uncomfortable surface of a hospital bed. The faint sounds of footsteps and the clattering of metal instruments confirmed what her nose already knew.

She was in a hospital. 

But why? How? Her mind scrambled for answers, reaching for any thread of logic in the tangled mess of her thoughts. Where was Sage? Had she collapsed and been brought here? But that didn't make sense. He’d said he didn’t know a way out of that magical world, hadn’t he? Unless… unless he’d lied.

Her heart raced at the thought. What if Sage had known how to leave all along? What if everything he’d told her had been some kind of elaborate trick? But why? Why would he do that?

None of it made sense. The weird, surreal series of events that had led her to this moment felt like the plot of a bad dream—a dream she desperately wanted to wake up from.

And then there was the question she was almost too afraid to ask: What had happened to her in the first place? Why had she been in the hospital? 

The more she thought about it, the more she could feel the panic rising again, threatening to drag her back down into the darkness. She fought against it, forcing herself to focus on the sounds around her—the distant beeping, the muffled voices, the rustling of papers. Anything to keep herself anchored in the present, to keep from slipping back into the murky depths of her mind.

With a monumental effort, she managed to crack her eyes open just a sliver. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead made her wince, but she blinked against the glare, willing herself to stay conscious.

The room around her was as clinical as they come—white walls, a single bed, the kind of bland, impersonal decor that made hospitals feel like they existed in a parallel universe, detached from the rest of the world. To her left, a curtain was drawn around another bed, though she could see the shadowy outline of someone moving behind it.

Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was Sage. Maybe he was here, waiting for her to wake up, ready to explain everything. She tried to call out, but her voice came out as little more than a croak.

"Hey…" she managed to rasp, her throat dry and scratchy.

There was no response, just the continued sound of movement from behind the curtain. Saya struggled to sit up, her muscles weak and trembling from disuse. She managed to prop herself up on one elbow, just enough to get a better look around the room.

And then she saw it—a glimpse of something pink peeking out from the edge of her hospital gown. Her heart sank as she realized what it was: the bunny panties. They were still there, a mocking reminder of her earlier humiliation.

She closed her eyes, trying to push the image out of her mind. But it was no use. The embarrassment, the confusion, the fear—they all came rushing back, overwhelming her senses until it was all she could do to keep from screaming.

And then, just as suddenly, the panic began to subside, replaced by a cold, hard determination. Saya knew she needed answers. She couldn’t just lie there, helpless and confused, waiting for someone else to explain things to her.

Just when she decided to sit up she heard distant noises.