4.
Ia awoke to a sight she had never woken to before: that of a cloud-filled, blue sky. The sun, as ever, remained stationary, though due to the enchanted barrier above the skies, its light filtered through in a way that informed Ia that there was perhaps an hour or so before noon. Beneath her, a cloak shifted, its fabric heavy, embracing. That same cloak was draped around her, her head nestled by its hood.
As Ia stared at the slow-shifting clouds, their bellies deep and grey, but not so blue as to open and weep, she became aware of her thigh. It didn't exactly throb, but it was sore. Before really noting why she was where she was, her hand, in her half-wakened state, reached for her leg and rubbed the offending spot. Then she felt a softness that was not her skin. Tracing a neat bandage, she found the slight puncture wound taped. Half slumping, half rolling, Ia twisted, her knees lifting to her chin, her arm pillowing her face. The grogginess did not dissipate, but her lids, heavier than she could say, flickered, fluttered, and eventually fell shut.
A huge hamster stared at her, its rainbow toenails protruding from furry little feet ringed with a dozen anklets. These ankles held the riches of the world, strew with opals, diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds. A crown rested on its fuzzy head, its whiskers pulsing like the sun.
"Mmm-rrrmmm," Ia protested, burying her face and trying to return to the dream. The hand holding her shoulder shook again, its firm insistence ignoring how warm, snug and cosy Ia's world was.
"Lian." The word, spoken so softly, so assertively, resounded in her ear.
"Huh? That's not my name." Rubbing at her eyes, Ia twisted and stared into her own face. She blinked. Then blinked again. It wasn't her face, it was older. Smooth, with slight creases, dark eyes, tired, heavy, but alive, resolute, glinting with a fierceness Ia had never seen before. Those sharp porcelain cheeks, even sharper eyebrows, and dark, luscious hair. Full, but not wide, lips, a sleek nose, broken at one time and reset. Ia's nose had never been broken, at least, not to her knowledge. Was this her future self somehow travelled back through time via means of some magical gateway she had yet to discover?
The woman's lips cracked fractionally, but her gaze softened, her hand tenderly stroking Ia's cheek.
That was strange. Ia would never stroke her own face, would she? Who was she? Where was she? Pushing herself up, or trying to, Ia propped one elbow to the… floor? She glanced around. The room was burnished wood, planked floor to ceiling, and shone with an orangey-gold, their soft yellow glistening in… candlelight? Ia blinked several more times. Was she still dreaming? She pushed at the woman, who still loomed over her, clad in a hooded cloak, similar to those of the monks, or maybe a traveller. Ia's hand connected on something soft, and startled, she stared only to be met with a long look, the woman's lips now in a thin line. Ia quickly retracted her hand, and shuffled back, her hands behind her as she angled herself towards the woman. Hoping she could bring her knees to her chest and stand, Ia waited for the opportune moment. While thoughts of escape teased at her, her curiosity roared like an inferno driven by a gale. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the woman.
Finally, her the corner of her mouth scrunching, Ia could endure it no longer. While the silence lengthened, the woman seemed to be drinking in her every feature, tracing her every hair, from the curve of her nostril to the arch of her neck. Ia didn't feel even remotely violated, but she wasn't exactly comfortable, and no amount of shuffling deterred the strange woman. So Ia, unable to keep herself composed, prodded the woman in the bicep. Something flashed across those eyes, an abrupt widening and instant retraction, and then, then they twinkled, dancing. Ia could explain it, but everything changed.
"Come on," Ia found herself whining, "Tell me what's going on. Who are you?"
The mirth faded, and the woman's long hands cupped Ia's face. "You don't know?"
Squirming from her bottom to her shoulders, Ia could wriggle free, but managed a slight headshake. What was all this touching? It was so weird, but her smooth, soft hands felt so warm, her grasp so firm, yet tender. Ia wasn't about to be someone else's porcelain doll.
"Sit still, and I'll tell you a story." The woman who wore Ia's face offered.
"Mmkay." She murmured, shuffling her seat.
A long, not-quite-irritated sigh emitted from her captor, who shifted slightly, and to Ia's relief, released her and drew back, kneeling with her seat her ankles. Upright, she smoothed her robes and cloak, which now, Ia saw as a dark, almost shimmering green, almost obsidian.
Drawing her knees to her chin, Ia hugged herself. She couldn't see a door, but neither did she feel afraid. Her tummy chose that moment to gurgle, and her bladder pressed uncomfortably against her. Ia found herself met with a look, one she couldn't quite read. Was that a hint of understanding? Could that be fondness, a warmth that made her heart want to melt? What was this strange feeling? Why did she want to rush to this strange woman, to be enveloped in her arms, yet at the same time, withdraw and keep her at bay? What did she know?
"Shall we freshen up first?" The suggestion was light, almost melodic, and it seemed as if her captor also wanted to scoop her up. Instead, Ia found the woman's hand over her own, even before Ia found herself drawn to her feet. The woman handled herself with such grace, her knees perfectly together, rising in one seamless motion.
Ia squinted at the use of the word 'we'. Images of being scrutinised as she stood about in her underwear, of her chemise tugged and a dress being pulled over her head, of its ties being bound tightly at her sides, of layers of petticoats and stockings filled her mind, and her mouth scrunched.
"Over there," The woman directed, half leading her, half providing a gentle shove.
Ia didn't see it. It just looked like an empty corner. The whole room could be no bigger than four of Gorion's suite while twice as high. Pursing her lips, she scrunched her eye at the corner, then at the woman.
"Push the panel."
What panel? Ia wondered but found herself obediently trotting off. Once there, she found a squared off plank, and pressed her palm to it. A door swung open, and instantly, Ia stepped through into a corridor. Six doors, three on each side, lined the passage, though the end of the hall had no door at all, at least, not that she could discern. Trying the first to her right, Ia discovered a room to meet her immediate needs, and to her great relief, the strange woman didn't stand over her, nor object when she closed the door. Still in her nightgown and her new cloak, Ia found slippers on her feet, slippers she most certainly did not wear to bed. Neither did she recall tugging on socks, which, she might have were the weather especially cold, but never during late summer. Upon closer inspection, she found the cloak held deep inner and outer pockets, pockets that were stuffed with her stockings. Ia made a face. Years of Phlydia kicked in, and without really stopping to think about the absurdity of it, she exchanged the socks for her thigh-high stockings, allowing her nightgown to fall back down to her ankles. Her socks, the fraying white ones, went back into her pocket, and Ia slipped back into her soft, satin slippers and stepped outside.
Met with the sight of a blanket strewn across the floor, porcelain dishes and, to her disgruntlement, what looked like rehydrated algae wound in rolls with small, fat white grains, Ia abandoned any attempt at elegance and flopped down on the edge of the blanket. She found herself presented with a measured look and a lidded dish in a saucer. Ia had never seen that style before, but the markings were similar to the tableware she had seen, cheaply imported from Shou. That distinctive aroma could only be tea, and trying not to sigh or groan, Ia accepted without wanting to appear rude. There was something in the way the woman moved, a precision, a presence, as if each motion was immaculate, calculated and controlled, but not consciously. Now Ia did want to sigh. Everything about her host was perfect, from her posture to her expression, to her body and figure. She made Ia feel fat, ungainly, completely lacking the trim, matured litheness that Ia had yet to attain, might never attain. Ia might have felt mollified if this lady didn't look like her slightly older reflection.
Could she really be her older self travelled to Ia's present from the future? Surely such a thing could not be possible. There was no way this lady could be Ia's twin, the age gap was just too much. Unless… Ia could have been placed in an enchanted sleep as a babe, only to wake years later without aging. Then this lady could most certainly be her twin.
Her host fixed her with a look, silently questioning if she was ready to listen. Ia couldn't help but scrunch up her nose, sigh and sit nicely, setting the tea down. The woman opposite her lifted her own lidded cup, the squat teapot beside it. Ia's tummy decided to gurgle again, this time more loudly, and flushing slightly, Ia found herself presented with a plate of the algae rolls. Hesitantly, she ventured a nibble, then experimented with one of the squared, dried pieces. There was a slight crunch as it broke between her teeth. There was a bowl of dipping sauce, an uninviting rich, dark brown, and another of a clear, light orangey-red. Ia tried both, and uncertain whether or not she liked it, decided she didn't dislike it, so took another, larger bite. The fat, puffed up grains were soft, different to anything she'd ever had. Her mouth felt so dry that she found herself reaching for the tea without intending to. After a couple of careful sips, Ia decided that this, too, wasn't nearly as bad as she was expecting. There were white flowers in it, and it gave off a strange, floral scent, a sweetness she had never encountered.
After she had her fill, Ia was ready to listen, or so her host seemed to observe, as Ia studied her expression. A distance seemed to enter the lady's dark stare, and then, in a far-off voice, she began.