Chapter Text
Your head hurt. Quite badly, you’d say. Bad enough for you to open your eyes, forcing you out of the blissful state of sleep you were once in. Well, maybe not as blissful as you thought; even with the headache, you feel pretty groggy.
You slowly blinked your eyes, your eyelids heavy from sluggishness. You quickly regretted it when you felt the harsh light hit your sensitive eyes, and you felt a tiny whimper slip from your throat. Goodness, your headache seemed to grow worse.
Still, you slowly sat up, blinking your eyes in the meantime as you felt the sheets covering you untangle themselves. You pause for a moment, your previously sleepy eyes taking in the sight laid out before you. You were currently tightly tucked in a small bed that you were fairly certain wasn't yours. At least, you think it wasn't yours.
The bed itself was a bit plain, yet you felt comfortable sitting in it. The sheets were a slightly faded white, most likely due to age, while the thick covers were a soft yellow with a red checkered pattern.
You were not one for interior decorating, but you were certain that the colors seemed to fit a child's bedroom better, yet the room suggested otherwise, and you were very confident that you're not a child.
Blinking, you slowly began to take in your surroundings as you continued to ignore the head-splitting ache in your skull. Now that you thought about it, this room certainly didn't belong to you, either. Just where exactly were you?
You moved your hand up to your head, wincing slightly from the pain as you continue your little scan.
Overall, the room was a bit plain, just like the bed, but it gave off a very homey air to it. The walls were a beige color and didn’t hold many decorations on them other than a few hanging picture frames here and there. All of the pictures had the same three people in them; an old, what seemed to be sentient tea kettle with a bushy white mustache with two smaller sentient cups beside him. One who seemed fond of the color red and a look of mischief in his eye, and the other seemed to favor blue and had a gentle smile on his face.
You continued your sweep around the room, taking note of the antique-looking dresser that held some more portraits and a few large potted plants scattered around the room. There was a bookshelf stuffed to the brim with books of every size and color. There were even a few books neatly stacked on top of the shelf. Well, the owner certainly seemed fond of reading, you found yourself noting.
Right next to the bookshelf was a large window with the curtains drawn, allowing the light to flood the room and your senses. You wince and quickly look away from the light, desperately ignoring the buzzing pain in your head.
As you looked further, nothing else really stood out to you. Everything else just seemed like plain furniture that didn’t hold much meaning to you.
You soon catch sight of a large and broad mirror hanging on the wall next to the door of the room, and you soon found yourself shuffling your way over to it despite the pain in your head.
The sight that greeted you when you made it to your destination was surprising, but it felt welcome. Overall, you knew it was you in the mirror, but you still couldn’t help but feel incredibly confused as you continued to take in everything.
You wore a once pristine white suit jacket that held deep grass and dirt stains, most likely permanently ruining the fabric, with a shiny, slightly gaudy golden pin on the lapel. Perfectly pristine and unharmed despite the damage surrounding it. Another glint from the light caused you to notice the golden necklace that loosely dangled around your neck, a cross pendant gently swaying on the golden chain around your neck.
Your bottom half wasn’t exactly the best either, as you noticed the equally messed up white knee-length skirt that hugged your hips ( oddly well, might you add ) is torn up in many places. The same going for the sheer stocking hugging your legs.
Though, the stockings may as well have been threads in their sorry state. No way were you going to be able to salvage them at this rate.
The exposed areas of your legs were covered in a large array of tiny scratches and bruises that didn't prompt much concern, though the large bandage wrapped section of your calf was a bit concerning. Actually, you think you should feel alot more concerned at the sight of that, but oddly enough you felt oddly calm as your eyes continued to trail up your form.
Your hands were clad in a pair of slightly frilled white gloves that wouldn't look out of place on a beautifully dressed doll. Though, they probably didn't now that they looked like someone took a pair of scissors to them-- leaving the tender, rubbed-raw pink skin of your hand exposed for everyone to see.
You trailed your stare up over to your head, and everything seemed to be in order, despite your hair being incredibly disheveled and the bandage firmly wrapped around your head. Though you have to admit, the glowing ring floating above it was a bit of a surprise.
Looking even further, the large, feathered wings protruding from your back was certainly a surprise, too. The feathers were the same shade of pristine white as your clothes-- grass and dirt stains included. Many of them were ruffled, some of them stained and damaged so badly that some of them had turned black.
Were they even real?
Well, there was one way to find out, you suppose. Awkwardly, you rolled your shoulders, the wings moving along with them. Not flapping, but more-so awkwardly bobbing. You pause for a moment. Wait, how exactly did you do this again? Then the realization hit you fast. You felt dread flood your chest, your shoulders growing tense. Oh, dear. You forgot how to flap them. Huffing slightly, you moved your shoulders more harshly, the wings bobbing again.
It shouldn’t be too hard; you found yourself muttering under your breath, and you felt your frown grow deeper in frustration. You try clenching your back muscles, doing anything you can to get the huge, clunky things on your back to move on their own.
After a few minutes of tensing-and-untensing your muscles (and a few more minutes of moving your arms up and down), you let out a frustrated groan. Welp, you give up.
All you probably did in the past ten minutes was made a fool of yourself. Thank heavens that you were completely alone, too, because you were certain that you would die of embarrassment had anyone else been around.
With a small sniff, you went back to staring at the mirror, the woman staring back at you frowning.
You knew it shouldn't be that hard, but it seemed your memory failed you in regards to flapping the large, clumsy appendages on your back. After a second, an idea pops into mind. Wait, is it possible to get them to move just by thinking? Quickly after, you furrowed your brow with a small shake of your head.
Okay, so maybe getting them to move wasn't that hard, but you doubted the process was that sim-
You suddenly felt a gasp of pain tear itself out from your throat as you finally did get one of the wings to flap, your theory proven correct. However, you quickly regretted doing so as white hot pain filled your back and you heard the faint sounds of objects hitting the ground.
Looking behind you, ignoring the pain searing your back, you felt your mouth curling down in sheepish guilt at the sight of the picture frames on the ground. You felt the guilt grow worse when you realized that the glass of one of the portraits broke. Said portrait looked to be more sentimental, too, as it held a picture of a younger kettle smiling while holding the pair of cups from before, though much younger and swaddled in baby blankets.
Oh dear heavens, how were you going to explain this to the old man?
The door behind you opened up suddenly with a loud creak, causing you to jump and swivel your head behind you. You felt your face heat up as you found yourself staring at the kettle from the pictures holding a small tray of food in one hand, a cane in the other, and eyes possibly wide as yours from surprise.
A few seconds of silence passed between the two of you, your face growing redder and your legs felt paralyzed from embarrassment. Though, the kettle simply blinked and a gentle smile broke across his old tin face.
“Oh thank goodness, you’re awake! How's your head, young lady?”