I felt an intense warmth.

And then a rapid, funneling wind.

After that, nothing.

Until finally, I felt myself being thrown out, making me hit dirt.

Or at least, I thought it was dirt. I wasn’t sure, my eyes were still closed.

Something about the air felt… “fresh”? Punctuated by the distant smell of something… smoky. Like something’s burning. I could also hear seagulls, but absolutely no traffic or honking.

Okay, wait, Bangalore’s air may sometimes smell like smoke, but it’s definitely not this fresh. It’s also nowhere near the sea, so there wouldn’t be seagulls. Where are the traffic sounds?

I tried to sit up, but found that my whole body was quite sore. Finally, I opened my eyes.

It looked about midday, and the sky was partly cloudy. I seemed to be on the side of a hill, overlooking what appeared to be a small, seaside town, with trails of smoke rising out from the rooftops. Across the sea I could just about make out the silhouette of some sort of… castle? I also noticed the hills around me were green: very, very green.

Yeah, something’s gone terribly wrong. This definitely isn’t Bangalore.

I tried to check the device to see what had happened, but unfortunately, it was now broken. And the screen was unresponsive. Either I didn’t build it properly, or it didn’t survive the journey. Or both. Which is perfect.

I slowly stood up. Where am I? When am I?

At this point I realized I was still wearing my handbag. I found myself chuckling, thankful that it wasn’t all bad. Among other things my phone was in there, along with an emergency stash of hormone pills.

I switched off my phone, stuffed the broken time device into the bag, and tried to think. My main priority now is to figure out where and when I ended up. I figured this nearby town might have some answers, so I started making my way downhill. Easier said than done, since I was in quite a lot of pain.

The smoke smell got stronger as I neared the town. I could now tell that whatever it was that was burning smelled woody... and kinda “mossy”, if that makes sense.

I made it to the town about 15 minutes later, but it was getting harder to stay upright and walk. At least now I could see some people walking around. They looked pale white, but a bit sunburned and covered in dirt. Their hair was stiff and matted, but different people had different colors. The men wore tunics, woolen sleeveless jackets, and pants fastened with belts. The women wore long woolen long-sleeved dresses with buttons down the front, and cloaks fastened with some circular thing. Most of the women covered their hair with a cloth, like a nun’s habit. I also could hear them speaking a language which I couldn’t place: it definitely didn’t sound like English, and there were some guttural sounds. German maybe? Or French?

Based on all of this, and all the clay cottages with thatched roofs, I figured I must be somewhere in Europe. Probably before industrialization, which was just… excellent. Of all the places I could’ve ended up it had to be some goddamn Renaissance Fair that predated toilets. Brilliant. Well done, Radha. You absolute and utter moron.

Even so… it was kinda cool that I built an actual working time machine. If I ever manage to get back home I’m definitely trying for a Nobel Prize.

I thought I saw someone spot me, so I quickly ducked behind a cottage. I must not let anyone see me. I have a feeling these people have never seen someone like me before. Or clothes like mine. The consequences to that would be… well, just thinking about it made my head hurt–

*GASP*

I turned around. There was a young woman with uncovered dark hair holding a sack of grain staring intensely at me. Her bright, blue-green eyes were filled with fear and shock, but also… curiosity.

“Please, miss, do you speak English?” I asked. She continued to stare, but slowly nodded her head. I felt a bit of relief.

“Where am I?”

The woman glanced around.

“Cill Rois”, she said hesitantly. “Thomond.”

Thomond. Yeah, that tells me everything.

“Okay, what land is this?”

Now she looked puzzled.

“Thomond.”

“Right, you already said that. But what land is ‘Thomond’ in?”

“An… Éire?”

Éire… so, Ireland?

Or no, yeah, that makes sense actually. Those hills I landed on were super green.

“What year is this?”

She stared at me blankly. How do I rephrase this…

“Uuuhh, who’s the king?”

“Charles,” she said, quietly. “Twelve y-years.”

Charles… Charles I of England, no doubt. And if he’s been in charge for the last twelve years, then that puts me in… wait, 1637…???

… and that was the last thing I remembered before I blacked out.