Awakening

I am no stranger to suffering. Rather, my life has been filled with nothing but suffering. I was not only born out of wedlock, but abandoned cruelly on the orphanage steps, or so I've been told.

I was far too young to understand the world around me and the people in it, and as I grew, I couldn't help but wonder one thing: What is the point?

I had pondered many times over this simple question. I had spent hours doing nothing but staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling, the rickety fan that spun so fast you could have sword it would tear itself off and fall onto the ground with a resounding crash, just thinking of this simple question.

And yet, I never found my answer.

Not even until death.

However, waking up after dying was certainly something I never expected.

I was on my way back to my small, moldy, one bedroom apartment when out of nowhere, a nearby construction site crane had somehow unfastened and metal beams came crashing down upon me, and I was greeted with darkness.

But upon opening my eyes, I was met with the sight of a bright white light. Not the heavenly kind, but a ceiling so white and clean that it was practically shining.

I quickly sat up, surveying my surroundings. What on earth had happened?

A sharp pain shot through my head, quickly rendering me unable to move. Instead, I stared at the pristine ceiling, much different in comparison to the peeling paint of my dingy apartment.

Questions ran through my head at lightning speed.

Where was I?

Who brought me here?

What kind of hospital has this nice of a ceiling?

But no matter how much I racked my brain, I could not find an answer.

"It seems you have awoken, Sir Montreux."

Who?

The strange voice moved into my peripheral, giving me a rather glorious view of a long-haired gentleman.

The first thing I noticed about him was his stunningly snow-white hair, and his deep violet eyes. Was this some kind of costume? I had seen people dress similarly during my time traveling when I was much younger, coming across a variety of people with the hobby of dressing up.

He wore an elegant garb similar to that of a priest, a white, robe-like vestment with gold embellishments here and there, twisting around his robe like golden vines on a pillar. A picture of wealth, something I'd never come across until now.

The strange man-no, perhaps it would be best to call him a priest, as that was the appearance he exuded-leaned forward, his long hair resting on my chest.

My body instinctively tightened. I wouldn't say I have an introverted personality, I just happen to detest people who come closer than a foot of me.

"Is something wrong, Sir Montreux? Are there any wounds I missed?" He placed a gloved hand gently on my forehead. I felt the white silk run across my skin as he searched for any injuries he could have possibly missed.

For a second, I almost felt relaxed. However, I snapped out of my stupor almost immediately.

I had finally gained control over my body, and quickly sat up. The priest yanked his hand away, startled by my sudden reaction.

There were more pressing matters at hand, I did not have time to focus on this abnormally handsome priest.

"Where am I?" I interrogated him. He seemed stunned at this, and tilted his head slightly in confusion.

"The infirmary of Serenity Church. Are you alright-?"

I quickly moved off of the table, a smooth white granite with a paper covering atop it, stained with quite a bit of blood. But whose?

I scan my surroundings. If this was the infirmary in a church, it was quite luxurious. Much more so than one would assume for a church. The ceiling was domed and in the very center of the room was a spherical skylight, shining directly onto a small, circular garden with an array of greenery unknown to me, all surrounded by marble pillars.

Tables such as the one I had woken up on lined the edges of the circular room, with a small half-circle at the far side of the room, where desks cluttered with papers and vials of unknown liquids sat.

It was as if I was inside of a novel of some sorts, and any second now magic would appear before me.

"Sir Montreux, shall I call in Priest Rothchester?" The priest asked, giving me a look of concern.

"Wh-?"

Not even a full second after I had opened my mouth, the sharp pain in my head suddenly returned, this time, a hundred times worse.

It felt as if my skull was splitting open and someone was poking my brain with a thousand needles at once, slicing and dicing here and there.

My memories...were being rearranged.

My first day of primary school, a boy scrapping his knees whilst climbing trees.

The neighborhood cat rubbing itself on my ankles as I walked to school, a boy clad in black alone in the rain.

My teacher praising my perfect test score, a boy standing before a man clad in white robes.

The orphanage director slapping my wrists with a ruler after shattering a vase while playing with the cat, a boy surrounded by the gazes of dark figures.

My first girlfriend throwing a bouquet of garden roses I had gifted her on the ground, a now older boy with his hands clasped together and his eyes squeezed shut as he sat in church pews.

My graduation ceremony I had spent alone at the back of the school, the now teenage boy in a small room sitting at a wooden desk, with only a candle to illuminate a scroll he was studying.

My first day of University where I had finally moved into a small apartment on a second floor, the boy carrying books as he walked down pristine hallways towards large wooden doors.

These memories...they weren't mine.

These thoughts and feelings...none of them belonged to me. The pain, the anguish, the loneliness, it was similar, but it was not mine. No, this suffering was different.

This suffering did not belong to me, but to Vincent Montreux.

The man whose body I had stolen.