The world was white for a while when she finally regained consciousness.
The first thing she took notice of, was how hard and uncomfortable the ground felt under her back, then she realized she was sweating. Which was weird, because it was mid autumn and the temperatures had dropped significantly in the past weeks.
When she opened her eyes, clear blue sky was what greeted her; which, again, she found odd to find in the beginning of a rather cold November…
With no small amount of fatigue, she bid her sore body to move, leveraging on her abs to get seated. Her head was literally swimming for a couple minutes, her stomach joining on the ride, and she thought she was going to throw up everything she had eaten that day. Then her eyes came back into focus, and she finally took in where she was sitting; the quaint cul-de-sac ended on one side with the wall of what she supposed was a stone house, while the other opened on a bigger street.
Her surroundings told her nothing, and a feeling of helplessness started to build up inside her chest.
Where was she?
The last thing she remembered was walking home, and then… she saw a… mirror? Her memory was fogged at best, but whatever little she could pull up in her head did not help her make sense of her situation.
A small breeze flew in the alley, bringing along a waft of smells that almost made her gag. The unmistakable smell of piss and decaying waste filled her nose, and bile rose in her stomach to make its displeasure known. She tried to quiet her insides, hating the feeling of vomiting more than the sour odors coming up from the ground.
Realization and disgust hit her hard, and she jumped up right, putting the less surface possible between her and whatever had touched the dirt she had been laying on.
It was only when she proceeded to brush the dirt from her legs that her eyes fell on herself: she was still wearing her clothes, same as before – a denim shirt over her gray 'Game of Thrones' Tee, jeans and black ankle boots - , but there was no trace of her coat nor her bag.
Feeling the heat in the air, she rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, revealing her forearms; a glimmer caught her attention, and at the sight of the tattoo, her mind seemed to suddenly recall everything that had happened up to that point, as if before it had been shielding itself from the weirdest of truths.
She clearly saw the mirror before her eyes, her reflection staring back at her inside it, and then with shifting imagines swimming through it as if the glass had turned to water. She remembered touching it, her hand sinking right in, and then being unable to pull away… the glass had then shifted to mist, and she had fallen inside…
She frowned.
When had she even got a tattoo, anyway?
No, that was wrong, she remembered getting one as a birthday present from her friends...but was it that one? The design was familiar, and yet she could not tell why. What she was sure of, at least, was that no tattoo artist that she knew of could be able to give that shining, moving element...it was as if the gold was sifting through the lines like a river, filling up the spaces that should have been empty, showing off her skin to contrast the black of the ink.
What the fucking fuck had even happened with that blasted mirror?!
She could not, for the life of her, recollect any of her thoughts prior to her waking up in that filthy alley, and it was starting to freak her out.
Maybe she was just dreaming or it could even be that she was just hallucinating anyway; maybe she had had an accident on her way home, and this was her brain keeping her out of consciousness so she wouldn't go into shock…
Well, whatever side of the coin she looked at, it certainly didn't look pretty...
She was ready for the panic to hit her like a rock, when her attention was switched to the approaching sound of steps and the conceited whispers of two or more voices. She tensed, waiting for them to pass, but the sounds only grew louder, and ceased only when the three people responsible stopped right at the mouth of the alleyway, efficiently cutting her way out.
The three shared a suspicious look before turning to her, who was still standing there, frozen, hoping that maybe she was invisible or that she could disappear into the wall behind her if she stayed still enough.
"Who are 'ya? Yar not the usual" one of the three men – were they all men? – spoke in an accent that she barely managed to comprehend.
Of course, she did not reply.
What could she say, anyway?
"Maybe she stole da delivery!" the one on the left suggested, and his anger made the hair on her arms raise.
What the hell were they talking about? Delivery? And why would she have stolen it?
"Don't be daft, you idiot! This one don't look like a thief!" the third one spoke up, and she felt somewhat relieved that the misunderstanding was cleared.
Or was it?
"Uh, 's that why she here but the package's not?" the middle one challenged, crossing his arms on the chest.
"Yeah, she stole it, she did!" thug number two insisted.
An argument sprang between the three, while she was left to her own devices, with confusion swirling in her head and anxiety building up in her chest.
Maybe if she tried to say something…
"Ah- I, uh, don't know what you are talking about?" she said tentatively, speaking softly. For a moment she feared they had not heard her over their own ruckus, but then thug number three – the reasonable one – pointed at her with an open hand.
"See? She knows nuthing, I told ya" he said, and for a fraction of a second she felt herself smile.
Slap a fur on my shoulders and call me Jon Snow, she mused; but her mirth was sort lived.
"Ya, and now we go around believin' every street urchin in Kirkwall! What do ya think I am, an idiot?" the middle one – thug number one – shot back, glaring at his companion.
The other one snorted at his side, murmuring something under his breath, but she was more preoccupied with her own mind going ablaze at the mention of a particular name.
Kirkwall.
The word was etched in fire in her mind, and she had the horrible presentiment that she should know what it meant.
'Kirkwall, one of three city states in the Free Marches, the city of chains' a voice in the back of her head pointed out, and suddenly her tattoo started burning again.
I have no fucking idea what that means! She cried to herself, unable to reconcile the knowledge she seemed to have with no real, tangent, information.
Her left hand went to soothe the burning sensation on her right forearm, and a small sigh of relief left her lips.
The sound seemed to earn her the full attention of the marry band of thugs in front of her, who promptly gasped in horror at the sight of her shimmering golden tattoo.
"Andraste gian' tits! Are ya seein' that?!" thug number two said, almost chocking on the words of surprise leaving his mouth.
"Shut yer mouth, you fool! Do ya want the Guards to find us?" number one seethed through barred teeth, grabbing number two by the coat and shaking him a little. Panic seemed to dictate his actions, but she could not tell what had caused the sudden change in their demeanor.
"She's one of the Kirkwallers, she is. Interesting. I think the boss would be delighted if we brought her back to him" number three suddenly chimed in, every trace of an accent gone, leaving behind only a cold and calculating voice.
The other two shared one long look before glancing back at number three, who was now…smiling?
Chills shot down her spine despite the heat in the air and the burning on her arm.
What was happening?!
"But we can't drag her thru the streets now!" number one whispered hotly, sparing her a quick look.
"Oh I think she'll come willingly, won't you?" he chuckled, and it was only then that she noted that something had appeared in his hand.
Is that a motherfucking dagger? Her eyes bulged at the sight of the weapon before she truly took notice of their appearance as well.
Was that armor they were wearing? For real?
Oh my god where the fuck am I?
Panic rose victorious from her guts, clutching her body in an iron grip, and within a minute her mind was fogged, unable to process even the smallest of information; her breath came short, her lungs seemingly unable to contain any air at all, which caused her body to start shutting down.
Have you tried turning it off and on? A mocking part of her brain sing-songed as the heat in the air started to become unbearable.
Her vision began to swim, the three thugs dancing together in one single three-headed figure, and then all she saw was the ground coming closer and closer.
She hit the dirt with a deaf thud.
"Well, that saves us the trouble" she heard thug number two satisfied voice say before the darkness reclaimed her.
Maybe the next time she would wake up, none of this would have been real and she could just forget it ever happened.
