Ch. 2: I’m Dead?
Winter, Winter, Winter. My body was sobbing uncontrollably but my head was going in circles as I wondered where I had heard the name. Passersby looked curiously into the open window at the crying baby, me. The woman holding me walked over the window and slammed it shut in the face of onlookers. I felt embarrassed to be sobbing so openly in front of people, but it was like my new body couldn’t help it.
“Just be quiet, you little bugger,” she muttered angrily, her heavy perfume washing over me. I was cold and hungry, and her strange clothes did not do much to warm me. I was wearing a loose white dress cut out of a fabric so rough you could sand wood with it. free(w)ebnovel(.)com
“Cold!” I whined as she thrust me back down on my prickly bed. What had this woman stuffed the mattress with? Or at least I tried to say that. Instead, it came out more like “cod”. I struggled against her arms but it was like hitting the wall, there was no effect. As soon as she set me down, she began to lift the flimsy dress I was wearing, forcing me to wail even louder. This is assault! 911!
“Yup, you did wet it,” she sighed. Her hands unfastened the pin holding my underwear together and I was mortified to see that not only was I wearing a diaper, but I also had wet the white cloth. The humiliation that washed over me at the sight was second to none. I hadn’t wet my bed since I was in preschool, this was the worst dream or hallucination ever.
How old was this body I was dreaming in? I don’t personally know any kids to use as a reference but I wagered I was around a year old since I could walk. Something seemed too familiar about the moment and as the mean woman began wrapping my private parts in another diaper, I wondered where I had seen this. My tiny fingers were not much good for counting on, but I held them up any.
Could this dream be related to Lord of the Rings? I thought hard, then shook my little head. Nope, the only people with silvery hair were wizards and fairies, and I definitely wasn’t a fairy. Harry Potter? That was an easy one to cross off my list. I would be a middle schooler right now if this dream was based on Harry Potter.
“There,” the woman said, and she tugged my dress back down after exposing me. I looked at her suspiciously, as she sounded much calmer than she had when she’d entered the room. It seemed she was going to finally say something nice to me, so I looked at her expectantly.
“You look so much like her, Winter.” she sighed with a faraway look. “But I’d rather she was here rather than you.”
.....
I’ve seen those words before and a realization hit me like a lightning bolt. In my free time, I’ve taken up the habit of reading online novels on my phone and the most recent one I read was an isekai fantasy about a noblewoman, Clara St. Claire, who wakes up in a new world and ends up marrying the crown prince of the Erudian empire after overcoming trials of love and politics in the palace. It had been an entertaining story written by the mysterious author under the pseudonym Peppermint.
As for Winter, she was a minor character in the story, meant to evoke pity in the heart of the reader. She was a young slave born princess discovered in the slums of the capital and brought into the castle where she was later treated worse than dirt and accused of a false crime worthy of execution.
In the Erudian Empire, there is a prophecy that when the promised child of fortune is born, a star will appear in the sky and the tides of fate will turn in favor of the Empire. Winter had been born on this day as had the only daughter of the empress. In order to steal the glory for herself, the empress accuses Winter of being a witch so that way her own daughter is believed to be the promised child of the Empire.
When I had first read about this sorry side character, I only felt a passing sliver of sadness for her. After all, our heroine Clara along with her royal beau eventually uncovers the empress’ plots and avenges Winter in the story. A shiver ran through my body, but not from the chill. Why would I dream about myself as a minor character rather than the larger than life Clara? That’s it, it was time to leave the dream. Even though my fingers were clumsy and pretty useless, I was able to grab enough skin to hurt myself. The stinging pain brought tears to my eyes, but I stifled my cries lest the mean woman came back in.
It wasn’t working.
Everything felt too real. From the din outside my window to the blood welling up from the small cut I made on my arm. I throw two quick, successive slaps to my cheek, but nothing happens. I’m still lying in a straw-filled crib in a tiny room the size of an office cubicle. Raucous laughter echoes in my ears and someone bumps into the side of the tiny hovel I am trapped in. One of the windows is open a crack and I can only watch transfixed as a tiny red object flies in and lands on the floor beyond where I can see.
Out of worry about the mystery object that has ended up in my room, I flip onto my stomach and drag myself towards the edge of the crib. All throughout, I check how I’m feeling. The mattress feels real and when I reached the end of the crib, I gnaw on the edge of the crib, which already has a few bite marks on it. My little eyes widen. On the floor underneath the window, a single peppermint is lying on the floor. A sign? Was I brought here? I’ve read enough fantasy books to know how these things work and seeing the little mint, I flop back onto my crib, feeling a thousand years old.
Reality sets in over the next few days as I’m albeit poorly taken care of by the gray-haired woman. She curses my existence and handles me roughly, but I don’t think she really hates me. I’ve slowly come to realize that I must have somehow died and passed into the world of Clara St. Claire.
Dwelling on the way I had guzzled the wine and pills, tears well up in my eyes and my body starts to uncontrollably cry again. My real mother must have been beside herself when she came down the next morning and saw my lifeless body. It hurts my heart every time I think back to my accidental death. I want to scream into the world that I am not Winter, I am Maria Lopez! But as I come to every morning in the same bed, I come to realize that there is no way back. I’m stuck here, permanently.
I spend my days lying inside the crib, as the gray-haired woman never lets me out. She sleeps during the days and works at night, always forgetting about me until later in the afternoon. The thumps against the wall keep me awake in the darkness, followed by the familiar rattle of coins. Bianca stores all her money in a loose floorboard inside my little room. She never brings me out of it, so I have yet to see much of the world.
When Bianca does remember that she has to take care of an infant, she feeds me milk but I am too old to solely rely on milk for sustenance and am frequently hungry. Last night, in the naps that I got between Bianca’s ‘work’, I dreamt of tacos and hamburgers. I looked like myself, a tall, pretty Latina, and I walked arm in arm with a Jonathan who didn’t cheat on me. Then the morning light streaming in from the window wakes me up from my world that has become little more than a dream now.
Boredom is my constant companion. Bianca has not been kind enough to give me any toys and my greatest entertainment these days comes from her reactions to me the few times she comes in. I pretend to be asleep when she creeps stealthily with her bag of coins. The loosened floorboard creaks and she does her best to not awaken the sleeping beast (me). Then just as Bianca thinks the coast is clear and begins to escape from my cubicle bedroom, I burst into loud tears and ruin her plan. I’ve done it every day since I’ve been reborn and it has been an efficient way to remind my terrible aunt to feed me.
Sometimes when there is daylight I look outside the window if Bianca leaves it open and watch people. Lying around in a crib all day gives me a lot of time to think so I’ve begun to compile the meager information I remember about Winter.
I’ve clearly reincarnated into the young Winter before she was discovered and brought to the palace. This means that there is some hope for me. Furiously sucking my little thumbs, which doesn’t do anything for my rumbling tummy, I’ve come up with a plan to circumvent my fate. The written Winter ended up at the palace because she had been discovered by a nobleman who saw her gold eyes that only members of the royal family had.
So, step one: Don’t ever be seen by Bianca’s ‘guests’.
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