Storm Reawakened

A World Of Fiction

Placing a stethoscope back into a large leathered bag, the doctor smiles. "There, everything seems to be fine. None of your vital organs have been damaged nor blood lost. Although, I must say this is a miracle. You had quite a lot of water clogged in you and haven't awoken in five days. The Duke will be thrilled to know of your recovery."

The only thing that feels clogged is my brain stirring with endless questions and the aftermath of too many drinks. All I remember is bar hopping till my surroundings became a blur, hailing a taxi, and somehow crashing into bed fully clothed.

"But sir, what of her ladyship's head?" the maid called Ellis asked, biting her lip with worry.

A thin frown replaces the doctor's smile and he offers the maid a professional nod. "Ah, yes. She may exhibit some memory loss and altercations to her mood and emotions, but it's nothing to worry about as she is physically as fit as a fiddle and will recover splendidly. Simply have her take that tonic I've prescribed and watch over her progress. I will notify the Duke directly of Miss Storm's health report."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"I bid you adieu, young lady Storm," he said, turning to me with a bow.

I stare, my lashes fluttering with every blink. "Er, thank you, doctor," I mumbled, pulling the sheets of the bed closer to my face.

Okay, Blair Aven. You're a realist. The fact of the matter is, that you're trapped in another woman's body and this woman happens to be the daughter of a Duke. Other facts gained — this lady Storm might have possibly committed suicide by drowning because she was severely lovesick and almost anyone of equal standing hates her guts.

Except, except...I've heard of the name Storm before and the premise of this scenario seems eerily familiar. I just can't place my finger on it.

"Young lady, would you like us to draw you a bath? Your father wishes to see you once you are ready for visitation," Arin said. I found out that the maid who shed tears over me—over Storm, is named Arin. Ellis stands next to her, awaiting orders and carefully scrutinises my dark expression.

"Yes, yes," I said absentmindedly, waving them away with a quick hand.

Where have I heard this name before? Wait, why am I thinking so hard about this? This is probably some VR effect or I'm sitting in a chair at therapy where the therapist has somehow transported my subconscious into this imaginative world of make believe where my desires for refinement and luxury reside. Right.

"The bath is ready," Ellis announced.

Sighing, I leave the bed of my dreams and follow Ellis through several rooms until we arrive at an enormous bath made of fine white marble the size of a swimming pool.

....Maybe I should leave the flood of questions in my head aside? Just for now. At least until I've had the chance to exploit this lavish experience.

The water is tinted pink by aromas and perfumes and sprinkled with an arrangement of flowers from roses to lilies, as a dual facet shaped and formed into the image of a mermaid spouts cold and hot water simultaneously from either of her hands that stretch out.

I can definitely eliminate Stevie from having a part in any of this. He wouldn't be able to afford recreating such a place, not with all the details and intricacies of all the rooms we passed by just to arrive at the most beautiful bath I'll ever set eyes on. Roman baths and resorts have nothing on this. Especially not when there are marble pillars stemming upwards from the corners of the room itself and stretch to a glass ceiling where the sunlight filters through, angelic and marvellous.

Sliding out of the silk slip I'm in, I dismiss the maids' horrified looks at not doing the deed for me and take the steps down leading into the bath, wading through the waters and watch the flowers float all around me.

Is this heaven? I think I might cry.

"Is everything to your liking, young lady?" Arin asked, her voice sailing through the room.

"It's beyond perfect," I murmured, resting my head on my arms that are set against the cool marble edge.

"Will there be anything else you require?" questioned Ellis lightly.

"No—wait, yes. I believe I might have a diary in my room, do you mind fetching it for me?"

"Of course."

Phew. A woman living like this has all the time in the world to journal her thoughts and life. It was a lucky guess, and I'm hoping by reading through her private most thoughts, I'll uncover the reason for this impossible, inexplicable series of events.

Ellis returns promptly and hands me a book bound in crimson fabric. Thanking her, I flip through the pages but my hands tremble and the flipping becomes more frantic with every word I read.

NO. NO. NO. NOOOO.

Evara Storm.

That's her name and one I know all too well.

The villainess of a popular novel written by a bestselling author.

A villainess who is a work of fiction. In a fictional world.

And one who dies a tragic death in what's meant to be poetic justice.

"I'm the villain," I said aloud, watching wet webbed fingertips stain the corners of the pages and wish that the ink would bleed into oblivion.

I've somehow awakened as a cruel villain in an imaginative world.