The Voice

My eyes shot open, wet and blurry to the sight of a warm bed and sun streaming through the window. Birds sang outside and the bustling sounds of life could be heard close by. I blinked, adding to the array of tears that now stained my cheeks. My chest heaved up and down, limbs aching and heavy, weighing down like bricks on the mattress. The dream remained fresh in my mind. I laid there recalling it for some time, trying to make sense or come to terms with the horror. Even now, the shadows in the room felt as though they would come to life.

[Estelle?]

A woman's voice called in my mind, sultry and welcoming, like that of a singer or an actress. It was the voice from my dream. I pushed myself up, arms shaking all the while.

[That is your name, right? Estelle?]

I couldn't answer the woman's question even if I wanted to. The moment she called my name, I realized I didn't know it. I also didn't know whose room I was in, where I was, or anything I had ever seen or done. My memories were gone, completely wiped, and all that remained was the snow, school, and rifts that had shrouded the sky.

As I pondered I determined there were still things I knew intrinsically, information that seemed to match my age and experience, like what birds were or the fact that the furniture in this room was expensive and fancy. A hand came up to rub my tired face along with the wet from my eyes. My brows furrowed.

'Amnesia?'

[There is someone coming up the stairs]

My head whipped towards the door. Seconds later it opened, and in its frame stood an older woman with cropped black hair and umber skin, bearing a thin, towering stature and sharp features. She wore a formal purple dress with a silver on the collar that looked somewhere between a modern suit and a cheongsam. The lady tilted her head, lazily eyeing me up and down.

"I told you to be ready by eight. The carriage leaves in an hour for city transport. Iona will be up soon." She stated. My mind stumbled as I tried to come up with a reply, but the woman whipped around without pause, waltzing back out of the door as abruptly as she had arrived, shutting it behind her.

Once her footsteps became difficult to hear I made my way out of bed. Scattered across the room were boxes and suitcases full of this room's belongings. I tiptoed carefully around them, steadying my shaking legs. I headed towards what looked to be a bathroom on the right side of the bed. After shutting the door and locking it, I turned to the mirror.

My eyes widened, and I tilted my head back and forth, feeling like I was watching a recording of someone else rather than my reflection. I put a hand to my cheek, admiring the deep brown skin with bluish undertones. Puffy doll-like lips and a wide nose bridge softened a pair of sharp black eyes that were still slightly red and worn. Ringlets of thick hair fell over my shoulder. A quick check over the rest of my body found no scars or signs of injury, malnutrition, or any other immediate issues. I ran my hands through my hair feeling for bumps. If my memory loss was natural, then a head injury was probably the cause.

[All vital signs are normal, except for a slightly raised heartbeat. No physical or mental deficiencies have been detected. There are no obvious head injuries.]

'Is she some sort of robot? Can she tell everything I'm feeling?'

I pushed open the bathroom door and headed back towards the bed, easing onto the welcoming mattress. The lady had said someone would be here soon, so doing anything else until then felt not only unnerving but tiring.

I decided that even though I could not remember anything, I needed to have some sort of protocol in place to deal with all the unknowns ahead. From what little I knew, I was moving somewhere for a long period of time, and, if luck would have it, a place with people who did not know me. For now, I needed to keep quiet, follow instructions, and be aware of any immediate exits in case things went south. I wondered offhand if I could survive a jump out the window.

'That's only three things…" I mumbled, falling back onto the sheets, my stress increasing with each passing minute.

[...There is someone coming up the stairs.]

I sat back up, putting my hands in my lap and eyes to the window, trying to act inconspicuously. If anyone asked, I had a cold or woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I did not know how I acted normally, so staying quiet and distant felt like a safe bet. The chances of me being a snooty young lady were not impossible.

With a knock, the door to the bedroom opened once again. There stood a solemn maid, with sulking wrinkles and a lengthy black and white headdress. She wore a traditional maid outfit which did nothing to flatter her ancient body and bony limbs. In her hand, she held what looked to be an outfit tied with a ribbon, and a small caddy filled with combs and hair supplies.

"Nun?" I murmured, staring at the women. "x…and an outfit? Did I pack all my clothes-"

"I go by Iona, young miss." The woman retorted, seemingly teleporting her way over to me and beginning to fling my clothes off.

"Hey, wait-"I stuttered, the nightdress disappearing into the abyss of packed boxes, and the ribbon holding the new outfit removed. Leaving no room for protest, Nun Iona expertly worked to put on the outfit of perfectly pressed thick gray pants, a soft white undershirt, and a decorated collared jacket far faster than I could have done myself.

Once dressed, she wheeled me to the bathroom and began a rapid process of moisturizing, lightly combing, and styling my mane of ringlets. My head was already aching, but the incessant pulling caused it to pound almost rhythmically. My stomach joined the symphony by rumbling, and as if on cue, the Nun finished, grabbed the caddy, gave me a quick nod, and disappeared from the premises.

Dazed and starving, I looked in the mirror once more. Seeing the full outfit, it was clear now that this was a school uniform. The black jacket had a red trim with three silver buttons down the front. It blended well with the pants and undershirt, giving the wearer a scholarly aura. On the left breast was a formal white and silver patch with a grandiose raven on it. The bird was gazing downward, but its wings were opened to the sky as if bowing to whoever stood before it. On its head sat a golden crown, slightly tilted.

[Ravens are often known as harbingers of omens. Some even say they come from another realm entirely, free from the confines of time.]

On the bottom of the patch, etched in red was the phrase 'RavenArts ES.'

"Raven arts?" I wondered aloud. 'but what's the ES stand for?'

S probably stood for school, but the E didn't make a lot of sense.

'Evil? Entrance? Eating? Is it possible for there to be an eating school?"

[It could stand for Etiquette]

"Ah that makes se.." I muttered, pausing mid-sentence. Half an hour into amnesia was not a good time to start talking to yourself. Or to your evil twin. Or to a ghost?

[Not an evil twin.]

Ghost it is then.

[…]

Another pang of hunger gnawed at my stomach. I didn't want to go downstairs and talk to people I was probably supposed to know, but it wasn't like staying up here was an option. I couldn't call in sick on the first day. I took one more look at myself in the mirror, trying to get used to this face, body, and uniform. For now, I was stuck with it, whether I liked it or not. Then, a dark thought crossed my mind. What if I had taken over this girls' body? What if this wasn't amnesia? Was the voice in my head the voice of whoever's body this was? The fact that the thought had even occurred filled me with unease.

There was a pause, and then a response.

[...I am not the owner of this vessel. Nor do I believe you are capable of taking another's body.]

'Well how capable can I be if I don't even remember what I've done?' I despaired, making my way over to the bedroom door. With a deep breath, I pulled it open and crept out into the hallway. Waiting for me was a large chandelier overlooking a gorgeous, carpeted walkway that allowed one to see over the entirety of the mansion's foyer. Just like the bedroom the rest of the home was large, well kept, and a debt-inducing nightmare for a clumsy person. There were clangs coming from another room in the house, which sounded to be from pots and pans. I had to wonder about the limits of what I could and could not remember. I didn't recognize my appearance but knew certain sounds, and what a nun was.

The butterflies in my stomach only increased as I crept further across the overpass and to the stairs. The atmosphere was bustling, but cold and direct. People dressed in similar outfits to Iona moved purposefully from place to place, none looking up to meet my gaze.

After arriving at the bottom of the winding staircase, a noise to the left caught my attention, and I turned to see Iona staring at me. The maid seemed to be waiting for something, and when the order never came she shook her head and strode past me towards the sounds of the pots and pans. I stood there, watching her go, before gazing towards the large front door. I wondered when I would eat, and if I should have grabbed my bags, which were still upstairs in the room. Maybe Iona was upset I hadn't grabbed them.

[For someone trying to remain inconspicuous, your demeanor is that of a rabbit not but inches from the wolf's jaws.]

Decision made. This first thing to do was find a way to strangle a disembodied voice.

With a startling bang, the front door burst open to the sight of a sweaty boy not much older than I was, dressed in outdoor wear with bandages on his hands. He met my eyes and I, without realizing it, instinctively shrunk back.

He turned away from me and stuck his head back out the door, shouting.

"Henry! Quickly get in here," He gazed over towards me with cold eyes. "Are your bags in the carriage already?" He questioned.

"Ah…well, no." I replied, my heart pounding while I watched the displeasure in his features grow, "I'll go get them now-"

"Oh for the sake of Olyntheo," He growled, just as a smaller young boy with pale skin and bright red hair came running through the door.

The boy paused upon seeing me and gazed up at the taller man. "Lord Daro, I apologize for-"

The sweaty man raised his hand, cutting Henry off. "Take her bags out to the carriage. Get help if you need it," He ordered, as the servant gave a quick bow and ran off to my room. His eyes then lazily found his way to mine as he sauntered over, hands in his pockets.

"And you," He spat, leaning down to my ear, practically hissing with malice, "Please try to be competent for once in your pathetic life."

I froze. Even if I did not understand why, it was incredibly uncomfortable to be told something like that. I remained motionless as his footsteps grew farther away behind me.

"See you in a week." He yelled back, a lingering threat.

'A week?'

[How unpleasant.]

Not but a second later Iona peeked in through the open front door and, upon seeing me, rushed forward and began urging me outside. I stumbled over the door frame, but Iona caught me by the collar, dragging me like a dead fish the rest of the way to the destination. The sun was blinding, and just as my eyes began to adjust I was tossed into a small compartment with two opposing benches and windows on either side. The carriage was a deep maroon with bronze trim, bearing a crest on the side door that encircled two swords crossed underneath a crescent moon. I looked back for Iona, only to see the old woman holding a paper bag towards me purposefully.

I reached forward and received the bag from Iona's hands with a, "Thank you?" and an unsure smile. Iona simply nodded and moved into the carriage, sitting on the opposing bench right next to a bag and making herself comfortable. From behind came the thuds and chatter of servants loading luggage into the carriage. Opening the bag, I found an apple, a few slices of cheese, and a still-warm crescent-shaped roll. My mouth began watering almost as much as my eyes, and I stared up at Iona. The old woman pulled out a pair of reading spectacles, set them on her nose, and then handed over a capsule full of water.

"If you are thirsty, I also brought this. The trip will only be an hour, but there won't be any breaks, so don't drink too much." She explained, reaching back to her bag to find something else.

[I do not know how to feel about this woman.]

I had to disagree. Maybe it was the way she helped me get dressed or the food…most likely the food…but the ugly old woman seemed like a good person.

Iona, as if to spite the both of us, then pulled out a book whose cover read '63 ways to tame unruly children (Maid Edition).'

I bit my tongue to smother a groan.

[Why only 63? What an odd number. I wonder what they all are.]

[…]

[Oh, I see. She is your maid. You must be the troublesome child it refers to. How wise of her to seek literary knowledge.]

Gazing out the window, I shoved the croissant in my mouth. Crumbs spilled indiscriminately onto the carriage seat and my pants. I hoped that after eating I could fall asleep and recover from barely an hour of being awake in this strange place.

[Do you get it. Because 63 is an odd number and an odd number for them to choose.]

I had tried to ignore the woman for fear of falling prey to crazy, but the poor attempt at a joke (?) had become the last straw.

'Okay, who the hell are you?' Why are you in my head? And what was with that nightmare? The amnesia?'

[Can you repeat all that please?]

'I am going to-'

[Joking. Ha. Ha.]

I remained silent, swallowing the last piece of croissant, and pulling out the apple.

[…]

[I do not know why I am in your head. I do know, however, that I am a separate entity from you. I am almost 100% sure I am not a figment of your imagination. And the dream…I am processing it. I'll let you know when I learn something new.]

'Wonderful. Well, what should I call you then? So, the next time you try to be witty with me I can give you a personalized message to be quiet?'

The voice was quiet for a while, and before she spoke again I managed to cover my pants in not only breadcrumbs but also bits of apple and cheese. I could have eaten with far less mess but felt the need to spite Iona for her brazen behavior and book choices.

[Angel.]

The woman's voice concluded, quiet as a whisper.

[I believe at one point I was called Angel.]

I wanted to joke about how the name didn't fit her personality, but the way she said it bore a certain tenderness I couldn't bring myself to mock.

'Angel it is then.'