Chapter Text
She always said that “everything will be okay”. But, really, that was just a lie so people would not think she was a helpless pessimistic mess. She was, though, but she always thought she was good enough to just “fake it until you make it”.
Her dream weekend was clearly not cleaning some old auntie’s house. But here she was, throwing stuff away, trying not to suffocate with all the dust there for god knows how many decades. A humid, dusty and putrid smell all around her, she wondered how long she would rot there.
She arrived first, and some of her family was supposed to help but they were apparently too busy to show off. Sighing, she went upstairs to take some boxes to the trash.
Her arms heavy with the boxes, she carefully checked the mirror in front of the stairs to watch each step during her descent. There, her feet slipped on a stupid, moldy, old step.
Everything was suddenly a flash, though also terribly slow at the same time. She saw herself tripping, all the cardboard boxes floating in the air in front of her. She saw creepy dolls, ancient rotten books, and other garbage flying while, she, kept falling inevitably.
Her screams stayed locked in her throat.
She felt her body lean over, her center of gravity officially abandoning her like her dad had. Funny thought, ha. But during her humoristic reflection, she also understood that her head was far too close to the damp wooden stair. She hated herself because she was holding these idiotic boxes that would slow her hand down too much to soften her fall.
Then, she felt.
How hard the stairs were. How violent the shock was on her head. How loud her body slammed into the floor.
She rolled for a moment at the end of the staircase. Each step striking her face, arms and legs. The pain blocked all the air inside her lungs.
In a perfect world, this would be the end : she would be crying, hating her family for making her clean this shithole by herself.
In this world, she simply crushed herself in the mirror.
With a warm liquid dripping on her skin, she tried to look somewhere desperately. Dizzy, her eyes started to blink quickly. She couldn’t just die in here. Not this dramatically. She was lying among old stuff and broken glass, but she could still stand up. Her head suddenly started spinning and stars clouded her vision. Another “boom”. Then, nothing.
...*...
The sunlight gently passed through the window, its warm orange glow signaling the nearing sunset. After some time, pain woke her up. Slowly, she observed her surroundings. She was still in front of a broken mirror. The rest of the glass showed her that she was a) still alive but b) completely disfigured. Blood had dried on all her face, cuts partly healing. She passed her finger softly over the scars–still painful but not bleeding anymore. Her hair was sticky and kind of rigid because of the blood.
Slowly, she tried to stand back again. First time, she screamed loudly. Then, she started panting heavily, moaning each time she tried to get her feet. She was dramatic, but she also had broken shards in her skin so she allowed herself some crybaby time before going out. Assessing all her wounds, she sighed once again seeing she would not bleed to death when removing any of the broken fragments.
But first, she would need light, and with the sun rising down, she was not seeing anything. She searched the switch light on the wall.
Wait.
She.
Wasn't.
At her aunt’s.
The wall, the furniture– everything was different. Less moldy, less old. Kind of nice, actually.
Panicking a little, she threw herself at the window to inspect her new location. With a gasp, she did not recognise anything.
Her car? The street? The pizzeria at the corner of the street? Lord she needed her post-cleaning-oldie-auntie-house margarita. More than ever after the fall and all.
Closing her eyes one more time, she tried to breath carefully between the building panic inside her and, quite literally, the pieces of mirror still piercing her.
Then, during her reflection, she saw a carriage–horse and all–running away. She broke down.
“Did I just get myself fucking Isekai-ed?”
...*...
One micro mental breakdown later: she was not home, not at the right time either, in some bloody futuristic clothes.
First thing: stay incognito.
Not staying with some proof that she was who she was, like her papers with her name and birthdate and–
Wait.
What was her name again?
Please. No.
Feeling that she had no time for another breakdown, she moved after hearing some noise outside. Was the house inhabited? She hoped not. But it seemed well maintained, so better be quick. After changing rooms, she discovered a bedroom with a big wooden wardrobe. Quickly, she opened the doors to see some women's clothes. Perfect for camouflaging. She inspected one or two garments, and even with the stress, she was surprised with the quality of the fabric. Nothing comparable with all the acrylic and polyester that all the clothes are now made of. It was thick, quality fabric, soft and well cutted. She passed her hand on several pieces, all beautiful but old clothes. She finally picked a pink one, more peony than pink but still. The white shirt fitted a little tight but it would be alright.
Knock knock.
Fuck. She thought. Catching a pair of boots, only to see they were too small, she ran along the stairs–grabbing firmly the wood during all her descent– she saw a man behind the opaque glass of the main door. Knocking again, the man added:
“Mr. Leighton? Ms. Leighton? Is that you?”
Fuck fuck. She ran to the opposite side, and managed to find a backdoor. Now, all she had to do outside was to be incognito. Easy, she dressed like the people. Probably.
Curiously, she was not so far in the past. But she did not quite find the exact time period. After one of the wars? During? She would not say so, but she, at least, still seems to be in England.
Closing the door behind her, she now noticed that it started raining. “everything will be ok”, right. Her bare feet touching the wet stone, she prayed a little that she would not fall –again. Lost in the street, she just kept wandering, trying to hide her missing shoes by walking a little more slowly on the grass when possible. With all the rain that kept pouring, she was literally freezing. She didn't have the time to grab a coat, but lord, the weather was so, so cold she thought she would freeze to death before finding somewhere to stay.
With each breath came steam, and her lung became painful with the frozen air that came each time she breathed.
Where could she go? A bar maybe, time to think and not be frozen. But the night came and she didn't had her phone. And for what, anyway? It's not like she would have signal, and maps with the correct time period.
Once again, tears would come to her eyes. But she felt like, if she broke, she could not be functional again. She could not stop at the risk of not going out again.
So she walked. Her feet freezing and becoming painful each time they touched the cold, wet and abrasive floor.
“Miss?”
She looked back, surprised.
“Are you well, miss?”
A woman, middle aged, well dressed, stopped her. She seemed genuinely worried, with an umbrella protecting her and a big coat. Waiting for an answer, a silence took place.
“Well,” she started, nearly out of breath.
But then she saw her face. More especially her eyes. They were exactly like her mother's. If she kind of hated her dad, she deeply loved her mother. She had raised her mostly alone, this badass woman that loved her, brought her everything she needed and was there every time she needed her.
She couldn't fight anymore.
Tears fell from her red, tired eyes.
“No, I'm lost, forgot my name and I'm freezing to death,” she admitted, completely helpless.
The elegant woman was left in silence. This young lady was dressed quite elegantly, but was covered with blood, her hairs completely messed up, and with cuts clearly not taken care of.
“Well, would you like to come with me?” she asked slowly.
“Yes. Please. Please.” she cried. “That would be very nice.”