Liam woke up face-down in the dirt, his mouth full of dust. He coughed and rolled onto his back, blinking up at a blue sky dotted with wispy clouds.
"What the hell...?"
As soon as he sat up, a wave of dizziness hit him. All around, the village was alive with activity—women hauling baskets of laundry, men guiding oxen carts, and kids darting after chickens that flitted between the wooden houses. The air was thick with the smell of baking bread mixed with animal dung, so pungent it made him wrinkle his nose.
Then, a shadow fell over him. "Liam! There you are!"
He looked up to see a girl about his age, maybe eighteen, with sun-kissed cheeks and straw-colored hair that had escaped from her braid. She wore a faded green dress, the hem stained, and her boots were caked in mud.
His mouth moved before his brain could catch up. "Mira."
The name rolled off his tongue like an old song, familiar and comforting. And then—
Pain.
Memories that didn't belong to him burst forth behind his eyes.
Splashing through the creek with Mira as kids. Her scolding him for tracking mud into her cottage. The way her nose scrunched up when she laughed.
Liam clutched his head, breathing heavily. These weren't his memories. He'd grown up in an orphanage in the city, not some remote village.
"Are you okay?" Mira crouched beside him, her calloused hand warm on his arm. "You look like you've seen Old Man Harker's ghost."
"I'm..." Liam's voice faltered. He wanted to shout that none of this was real, that he didn't belong here. But his mouth betrayed him. "Just tired."
Mira helped him to his feet, her grip surprisingly strong. As they strolled down the village's main path, people kept calling out to him:
"Liam! Those fence posts won't mend themselves!"
"Don't forget you promised to help with the shearing!"
"Your tab at the tavern's getting long, boy!"
Each time, Liam's body reacted on automatically, responding with the right words and tone. It made his skin crawl, like he was a puppet dancing on invisible strings.
Then he saw it.
Behind Mira, near the blacksmith's shop, a man stood completely still. His clothes were just as rough as everyone else's, but his face... His eyes were unnaturally wide, unblinking. His lips curled into a smile that revealed too many yellowed teeth.
Liam turned his gaze away - and froze.
On the hill overlooking the village stood a crumbling stone castle. Its broken towers jutted into the sky. Liam was absolutely certain that castle hadn't been there just five minutes ago.
"Mi-" he began to ask, but his throat tightened. The words felt stuck, like dry bread.
As the sun sank low, casting everything in a warm orange glow, Mira walked him home. Their cottages were at the village's edge, separated by a low stone wall. Hers had wildflowers blooming by the door, while his had a broken shutter that rattled in the wind.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Mira asked, her fingers lingering on his arm. "You've been acting strange all day."
Liam wanted to spill his thoughts. Oh, how he wanted to share with someone. But his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. "I just need some sleep," he muttered.
Inside, the cottage smelled of woodsmoke and old sweat. The table was marked with deep knife scars, as if someone had taken out their frustrations on it. The bed looked like it had been slept in, the blankets all rumpled. Every detail screamed that someone lived here - someone who wasn't him.
A knock startled him.
Mira stood there, holding a wooden bowl covered with cloth. "Figured you'd forget to eat again." She pressed the bowl into his hands - warm stew filled with chunks of meat and turnips.
For a moment, Liam just stared at her. This girl, with her sun-kissed freckles and chapped lips, looked at him with such genuine concern that it made his chest ache. Whoever she thought he was, it was clear she cared.
"Thanks," he managed to say.
Mira smiled, but her eyes still held worry. "Get some rest, okay?"
When the door clicked shut behind her, Liam sank onto the stool by the fire. He forced down a few bites of stew, even though it tasted like ash in his mouth.
As night quickly descended, Liam snuffed out the candle and settled into the darkness, listening to the wind rattle the broken shutter. Just as his eyelids began to droop...
He heard singing.
A girl's voice, sweet and high, floated through the cracks in the door:
"Where have you gone, my dear one...?"
Liam's breath caught in his throat. The voice felt unnervingly close. Too close.
Then came the scratching.
Long nails scraping against the rough wood of the door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
And then came the chilling twist. The voice shifted, now sounding just like Mira's.
"Liam... let me in... it's cold out here..."
His blood ran cold. Because Mira would never be out this late.
Would she?