still me

Episode 3: The Cold That Shouldn't Exist

Cold.

That was the first thing Rosalie noticed.

Not the pleasant chill of an air conditioner.

Not the cool breeze that sometimes slipped through her bedroom window when she forgot to close it.

This cold was different.

It seeped through her skin and settled deep inside her bones.

Rosalie frowned.

She instinctively reached for her blanket.

Her fingers touched nothing.

She tried again.

Nothing.

Her brows knitted together.

Still half-asleep, she moved her hand across the surface beneath her.

Wood.

Cold.

Damp wood.

Her eyes slowly opened.

Darkness.

For several seconds, Rosalie simply stared.

This wasn't her ceiling.

There was no soft glow from her bedside lamp.

No curtains.

No familiar furniture.

No warmth.

Just darkness and the smell of dampness.

Rosalie slowly pushed herself upright.

Her shoulder struck something.

She froze.

She reached out.

A wall.

She turned the other way.

Another wall.

Her breathing changed.

The space around her was tiny.

Far too tiny.

She could barely move without touching something.

"What..."

Her voice trembled.

She placed both hands against the wall and pushed.

Nothing.

She pushed harder.

Still nothing.

Panic began creeping into her chest.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Is anyone there?"

Nothing.

Rosalie swallowed.

Maybe this was a prank.

Noah.

It had to be Noah.

He was always doing ridiculous things.

"Okay, Noah."

She tried to laugh.

"Very funny."

No answer.

Her smile disappeared.

"Noah?"

Nothing.

"Ethan?"

Silence.

"Julian?"

Nothing.

The realization slowly settled in.

Her brothers weren't here.

Neither were her parents.

Rosalie's heartbeat quickened.

She tried to remember what happened.

Her bedroom.

Her comic.

Her bed.

She remembered closing the book.

She remembered telling herself she would finish it tomorrow.

Then she had fallen asleep.

That's all.

"What happened after that?"

A strange ache suddenly pulsed behind her eyes.

Rosalie winced.

Then—

A flash.

A little girl.

Two graves.

Cold earth.

A stomach twisting with hunger.

A woman's voice.

Again? You're asking for food again?

Rosalie's eyes widened.

The image disappeared.

"What was that?"

Another flash.

A dark room.

A small body curled against the cold.

A door closing.

Footsteps walking away.

Rosalie grabbed her head.

"Stop..."

The memories vanished.

Her breathing became uneven.

Those weren't her memories.

At least...

She didn't think they were.

She looked down at her hands.

Something felt wrong.

They were thinner than she remembered.

Paler.

Her fingers trembled.

Rosalie slowly raised one hand toward her face.

She couldn't explain why, but a sudden fear settled inside her.

She needed to see herself.

She searched the darkness.

A small piece of broken glass lay near the wall.

Rosalie crawled toward it and picked it up.

The faint light coming through a tiny gap above the door was barely enough.

She looked down.

And froze.

A face stared back at her.

Rosalie's breath caught.

It wasn't exactly her.

But...

It looked strangely familiar.

The same general features.

The same shape of eyes.

The same delicate appearance.

Yet this girl looked nothing like the Rosalie she knew.

She was painfully thin.

Her skin was pale.

Her face looked exhausted.

Her eyes seemed too large for her thin features.

She looked as though she had been hungry for far too long.

Rosalie slowly touched her cheek.

The girl in the glass did the same.

"No..."

She lowered the glass.

"Who are you?"

Before she could think any further, footsteps sounded outside.

Rosalie froze.

The footsteps stopped.

A key turned in the lock.

Click.

The door opened.

Light flooded into the tiny room.

Rosalie raised an arm to shield her eyes.

A woman stood outside.

Margaret Everly.

The woman stared at Rosalie.

For a moment, surprise crossed her face.

Then irritation replaced it.

Her expression hardened.

"So you're finally awake."

Rosalie lowered her arm.

She stared at the stranger.

"Who are you?"

Margaret's eyebrows drew together.

"What?"

Rosalie swallowed.

"I don't know where I am."

Margaret stared at her as though she had said something ridiculous.

Then she scoffed.

"Of course you don't."

Rosalie frowned.

"What does that mean?"

Margaret's eyes narrowed.

"Don't start."

Rosalie didn't understand.

"Start what?"

Margaret clicked her tongue.

"You've always been troublesome."

She turned away as though the conversation wasn't worth her time.

Rosalie stared after her.

"Wait."

Margaret stopped.

"Who are you?"

The woman slowly looked over her shoulder.

"Margaret."

The name meant nothing.

Rosalie hesitated.

"And who am I?"

For the first time, Margaret looked genuinely unsettled.

She stared at Rosalie for several seconds.

Then her expression hardened again.

"Liora."

The name echoed inside Rosalie's mind.

Liora.

A strange ache passed through her chest.

She didn't know that name.

Yet somehow...

It felt familiar.

Margaret stepped away from the door.

"Get yourself together."

"Wait!"

Rosalie reached toward her.

"I'm hungry."

Margaret stopped.

Her eyes moved over Rosalie's thin body.

Then she simply shrugged.

"You'll eat when you're supposed to."

The door slammed shut.

Darkness returned.

Rosalie stood completely still.

Her stomach twisted painfully.

She looked down at the piece of glass still in her hand.

"Liora..."

She whispered the name.

She didn't know who Liora was.

She didn't know where she was.

She didn't know why she had someone else's face.

And she certainly didn't know why someone else's memories were beginning to appear inside her head.

But one thing was becoming painfully clear.

Something had happened to her while she slept.

Something impossible.

And she had no idea how to get home.