ONE

October woke up thanks to a faint beam of sunlight coming from the outside, finding herself cuddled up near an extinguished fire. She had lit it some hours before, not to actually freeze to death. What the hell, she didn't really want to die. Especially in the remote case it was happening what she thought it was happening. Pretty impossible, in fact, but hey. Life had taught her to draw the best she could out of any experience. Look on the bright side. Ride the wave. Whatever. Anyway, don't freak out, breathe deep and do believe you could do almost anything and enjoy the outcome.

Okay, girl, stop with the philosophical gibberish, she thought standing up and stretching. The moldy smell was heavily permeating the air, making her grimace in distaste. She sighed with her fists on her hips, embracing the whole area with a clinical glance. There wasn't much: the leftover ashes, a bunch of cigarette butts, a box of raisins she had found and emptied not to starve and some crumpled slips of paper. She decided to examine them. They were mainly scribbled notes mixed with some tissues and… No way, a fifty-dollar bill. She cursed, overwhelmed by the stroke of luck. Perhaps she could eventually cope. Gradually. Step by step.

Man, she was sweating. Step by step, she had walked for what had looked like ages and reached the town. Not a single eye had decided against staring at her. Why couldn't people mind their own bloody business? What was it? Her hair, her clothes? She knew she was practically glowing like a neon light among them, but Jesus! She snorted, keeping her profile low, trying to concentrate on the pavement and observe the surroundings at the same time. Not an easy business, mind. But, luckily, everybody seemed to be in a hurry, so she could take note of the stores, a bakery, a bank, a park, the theater, all nicely blended as if in a pretty postcard. Good God, it was real. It looked real, at least. She felt the excitement in her stomach, for more than one reason. It was unbelievable. But she had to stop wasting time in her ramblings and focus. She spotted a tiny and crumbling guesthouse, bit her lower lip and made up her mind. Not the time to be fussy. She had to survive with half a yard, after all.

The hall greeted her with a faint smell of damp; the walls were stained. Brown seemed to be the main color. The armchairs peeking out from the next room were displaying small white tufts here and there. On the counter, a glass vase with no water held some withered flowers in it. They were brown, too. Of course. Jeez.

"Hello?" she tried, to no avail. "Is anybody here?" she spoke again, louder. A soft brush on her right arm made her jump high and jerk her head to see what was coming from behind. Then her eyes went wide, noticing the minuscule lady approaching. Gosh, she was old. No, she was ancient. She had to be two centuries old at the very least. Her sparse white hair was half-up, half-down in a messy bun and she was wearing a flowery dress. Guess what the color was.

The lady raised her faded blue eyes to the girl, questioning her with no words. October gulped.

"Er… Hello, ma'am. I… I was wondering if you could host me. Do you have any available room?"

The miniature of a woman stared at the younger one for a long moment before heading towards the counter at her snail pace.

Okay, forget what I thought about starving and freezing. I'll die murdered in my sleep.

October was considering leaving and finding a tad more expensive but definitely safer place when the granny fished out a brass key, looking at her again meaningfully. She blinked twice, startled.

"Oh… Thank you, ma'am. See, I can pay" she added, sliding the bill across the counter, "but I have no documents with me. I'm sorry, I've just arrived from abroad and they stole my purse and luggage, I have nothing with me, nowhere to go, no acquaintances and…"

She suddenly stopped her logorrhea at the other woman's behavior: she had closed her eyes and raised a hand, shaking her head ever so slowly. Apparently, she was not interested in the tall tale October had made up in a matter of seconds after she had eyed up the signboard outside. The landlady just handed her a leaflet with breakfast time and general house rules, waiting for the girl to follow her in a small tour of the building: there were a living room with a very small television and a falling-to-pieces sofa, a kitchen – which October could use by herself – and a pantry. After two flights of creaky wooden stairs, the lady showed October her room – the only one for guests in the whole boarding house – then pointed at a closed door and herself, meaning that was her place. She finally bowed her head and left the girl to her own devices.

Claiming that she was stunned was an understatement. She shook her bafflement off before entering her new accommodation. Only to be shocked again.

The room was not like the rest of the house at all. It was clean and new, with a pleasant soapy scent. It was bright, mainly made of white wood with cerulean touches. There were a single bed with its nightstand, a desk with its chair and a chest of drawers full of tiny bergamot bags. The table lamps on the surfaces were white and blue, too. There were paper sheets and a fountain pen available. A low bowl full of forget-me-nots on the windowsill was peeking out amid the fluttering curtains. A second door led to her private bathroom, also white and aquamarine. Fluffy towels were neatly folded near the bathtub. October could have squealed in delight, hadn't she been busy discarding her clothes on the floor to rush towards the hot spurt of water luring her.

Covered in running droplets, she let her thoughts flow with the water. The chances she was in a dream were growing dimmer by the minute. But there were other issues, too. How had it happened in the first place? How to get back? What to do in case she couldn't? Did that have a meaning or a purpose? What about reality and aging? And, above all, what about… Them?

After her cleansing, she decided to go shopping and buy some clothes. They were so different and beautiful. Everything was incredibly beautiful, the whole situation indeed: who was she trying to fool? She loved that madness. After a frugal dinner and a lazy walk to become familiar with the neighborhood, she headed back to the guesthouse, tiptoeing in order not to annoy her dumb hostess, and found a little box on her bed, which turned out to be her third shock. It hid toiletries. Brushes for hair and teeth. A body lotion. Shampoo and vanilla bubble bath. A red lipstick that she would never use and a black eye pencil. Even a razor. The reason why she didn't squeal that time was that she was too touched to do anything more than press her palm on her chest, feeling a faster heartbeat, while a sweet smile slowly spread on her face. She was not going to die in her sleep, after all.