She woke up with the distinct feeling that something was wrong.
She blearily rolled out of bed and nearly tripped over her own feet, the ground suddenly much closer than she expected. She blinked her surroundings into focus. This was not her room.
It was a bedroom, sort of old-fashioned, like you might find in a medieval monastery, with books everywhere, most in languages she couldn't begin to decipher, and between them all sorts of things she could only think to describe as artifacts, made of petrified wood or tarnished metal and encrusted with gems.
In between the books on the dresser, she glimpsed a reflection that should have been her's, but the face looking back wasn't her own. It looked nothing like her at all. The sleep-mussed hair was long, not short, she was too tall; what might even be called willowy, and her casual sweat clothes had been replaced by a pretty nightgown.
But she knew that face. She saw it a few times a week across the staff room between classes, usually lingering by the coffee maker. They had both just started that year, but her colleague seemed to keep to herself. However, occasionally she glimpsed a private smile or frown that she imagined was about the usual ups and downs of working with impossible, cunning, always surprising students. Sometimes she even managed to stammer out a few words, and she kept swearing she would finally get up the courage to suggest they go for coffee or something, but just hadn't gotten around to it yet.
This wasn't what she'd had in mind—whatever this was. The longer she looked in the mirror, the more certain she was that something had happened, unless it was all a weird dream. But no matter what, she wasn't about to risk being late to school. She would just have to figure out what classes she was going to teach when she got there.
She spent too long trying to tame the long hair she always thought looked effortlessly beautiful into something approximately manageable, and then got up the courage to rummage through the closet, where she finally found a nice pantsuit that was brighter and nicer than what she would usually wear, but was a comfortable enough compromise—as comfortable as she could get in someone else's clothes. She grabbed a quick bite to eat in the kitchen, which was lined with bundles of drying herbs, and then she raced to school, miraculously only a little later than usual.
She was so busy trying to figure out where to go for the first class of the day, while desperately hoping no one realized anything was wrong, that she didn't notice a student coming up to her.
"Any word on that curse?"
She jolted in surprise, but the boy kept pace next to her, apparently unperturbed. He had a reputation as a troubled student, rocky grades at best, but he had tried in her classes and she wished she'd been able to help him more.
"Apparently the book says it has something to do with something about the victim's heart, but we couldn't figure out any more than that, or even if it was literal. Were you able to find anything? It looked pretty serious."
"I-"
Thankfully, before she stammered out some reply, there came a shout from across the hall. "Excuse me, could I have a word?"
It was the strangest feeling, seeing herself, almost like in a mirror, but not quite. It was her, the face was hers, the clothes were hers, but she never put that much care into how she looked or carried herself and her expressions was so serious and thoughtful. There was only one person she could think it could be.
"Y-yes," she managed.
She saw her own lips quirk up into that little private smile.
Writer's Month - word: heart | setting: body switch
AUgust - Teachers