Since she was a little kid, the thought that magic might exist has always fascinated her. Oh, it certainly was not a real thing in her world, but it still called to her just like a siren would a lost sailor. It was an intrinsic longing firmly stitched to her soul, flooding her very being. So she started studying anything pertinent to it as soon as she learnt to read, whether it was possible for her to actually put it into practise or not. From then on, Magic openly became her most tightly kept obsession, and once people started scolding her for her harmless, childish yearning, she vowed to disregard their opinions and not abandon her passion, even if she had to keep it to herself only.

Years later, she entered college and got her Psychology major in record time. A true prodigy regarding social and emotional intelligence, her thesis director claimed. Honestly, she never understood the awe she supposedly inspired, nor did she ever get why people had to always complicate everything, nor how humankind could blind itself so frequently and intensely as not to see what had always been right in front of them, smacking their faces. Thus, she made it her own personal mission to try to figure out the complexities of the human mind and its rationalisation.

Her name was Reina Herrera Gutiérrez, born in June of 2000, in Spain, to a half-Spanish, half-British mother, and a full Spanish father, and twin sister to a young man who shared her fierce fixation on all things related to magic. Key word being 'was'. She was Reina, resident prodigy slash weirdo and full-time Magic and Occultism devotee. Now, however, she was not so sure.

Her mind was hazy when she woke up, just like her sight, if not more. Her body ached even when she was certain she had not slept in any weird position. She felt heavy, way more than usual. Which was quite strange, considering she had kept up with the healthy habit of going to the local gym at least thrice a week — she should be more energetic and fit than she was feeling. She also had a terrible headache, which felt like a hangover, and it weirded her out way more than she was letting on. She was absolutely sure she had not drunk a drop of alcohol in the past several years.

When her vision finally cleared out the slightest bit, it was to see an unfamiliar room. She took in the furniture and objects in sight; this was not her bed, nor her room at all, for that matter. She did not recognise her surroundings in the least: she was an alien in a potentially hostile environment —sure, there was a nasty, nagging feeling at the back of her mind, but she was too busy trying with all her might not to lose her hanging rationality so she simply ignored it.

Immediately, her mind started to conjure up different explanations to what may have happened, no matter how outlandish they would seem. She could have got unwittingly drugged, or she could be suffering a concussion. She could also be hallucinating, despite having no precedents of having any kind of mental illness, much less schizophrenia or something along those lines. It was incredibly hard to fathom, but almost unintentionally, she thought she finally had proof that magic —or the supernatural overall— existed. Reality shifting, body swapping, body snatching, astral projection, transmigration… this last one sounded the most ridiculous thought, she would know if she had died. In all honesty, she did not even know how she had not triggered a panic attack yet, but she felt inwardly grateful to whatever deity out there that may have granted this small mercy.

She got up from the bed slowly — she did not want to get dizzy and fall. She stood on shaky legs, but was determined to find out just what the hell was going on. Instinctively and without giving it much thought, not being entirely aware, she got to the bathroom and what she saw left her utterly shocked. The mirror's reflection showed an impossible face that she both recognised and did not. It seemed familiar, but she was oblivious to why. What she could conclude was that she was not seeing her face. She did not look like this at all. Last time she checked, her natural colour hair was a copperish auburn shade, not this rich chocolate brown. She was beautiful. But those seemed the sort of looks to attract danger like an inescapable magnet.

One, two, three ticks of the clock.

Then, she clumsily clutched her head in a feeble attempt to prevent her head from imploding, for suddenly all the unwanted memories came furiously rushing in — the sneaking out a couple of weeks earlier, the party she was not supposed to attend, her parents coming to pick her up while sporting identical faces if disappointment and dissatisfaction, the storm… the accident.

One minute she was in the foreign room she had woken up, the next she felt like she no longer was.

Gasp— she choked on air.

Gasp— she was drowning.

Gasp— she could not breathe.

She kept trying to inhale but

she

was

helplessly

falling…

Her senses were overwhelmed, she was deaf despite the intense, high-pitched beep engulfing her — she was numb from feeling too much too fast. So when there came a muted knock on the door she did not hear a thing. "Elena?" All her thoughts screeched to a halt. She did not respond. No word would come from her mouth, in spite of her desperate need to assure the voice from behind the door.

"Elena? Are you okay?" Unable to utter anything coherent, she could not help but let out a sob full of misery. That seemed to be the cue the unknown was waiting for. The door burst open, swiftly followed by a young teen with unkempt dark hair making his way into the room. He saw she was on the floor —she must have fallen, she belatedly realises, absentminded, even though she had not felt when her knees hit the cold floor—, and approached her carefully, making sure she had enough time to back out if she did not seek any kind of physical touch. When he made sure she was comfortable enough with his presence, he kneeled, gingerly cradled her face in his hands so he could look her in the eyes, and his eyes gentled.

"I'm here, try to breathe in, sis, you got this."

She froze, time froze, everything stopped. For it had finally clicked what was going on. She just had a panic attack. A teenager had just called her 'sis'. Said teenager wore the face of one Jeremy Gilbert.