I was awake. I must have awoken, but strangely I felt as though I hadn't been sleeping. Normally I'm muzzy and vague until I've had my first cup of tea, but today I felt sharp and alert. Only the fact that I was undressed and in bed hinted that I had been asleep.

The bed... was not my bed. I didn't recognize the room either, but the decor seemed familiar. Some guest room of the manor? I thought as I looked around.

The heavy curtains were drawn against the morning sun, leaving a thin slice of sunshine to split the darkness of the unlit room. Recognition grew as I realized the uneven lighting had rendered the vibrant colors of the house into drab and grey.

In this room there was only the bed, a washstand and a simple chair beside it. The curtains must certainly be the gold trimmed red that adorned every window of the great house, though they appeared black and silver contrasting to the light. Where the light cut across the rich carpet, the elaborate and colorful geometric patterns were washed into simple lines of dark and light.

So, I knew where I was, but why was I here?

Memory siezed me all at once, and I gasped as I clutched at a remembered agony in my chest.

Remembered only... I felt my chest through the thin fabric of my nightshirt, and felt no wound. I flinched involuntarily at the mere memory of the terrible pain.

"A dream...?" I mumbled in a voice that creaked, and sat up in bed to open my shirt and peer inside.

It seemed impossible to have been real, but I had never had so vivid a nightmare. I rubbed firmly at the unbroken skin on my chest as i thought back on the night's events

We had been returning to the manor house from the city, or... Perhaps none of the trek that I remembered was real. I was certain the ale I had with dinner was not enough to leave me in a drunken stupor. Had I been drugged somehow? And why?

The more I thought about it the more ridiculous it seemed. Bandits? Maybe a hundred years ago. And why would they attack a lady's carriage? That's suicide even if they weren't killed by her footmen.

Absurd. It must have been a dream. I rubbed my forehead, wondering if I had a fever. I didn't feel warm, or at all ill. In fact I felt good. Better than I had in weeks. But I had no other memory of the previous night that  could recall.

Abruptly the door to the room opened, and a gaunt figure of a man walked in followed by... Lilly. Three L's, don't forget. The lady Lillian Thrace, Baroness Thrace to be proper. I felt a burst of pleasure at remembering her name, though why that should be I had no idea.

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The man was Markus Jerrow, steward of Thrace manor. An old man, skeletally thin, though he stood tall and unstooped with age. He had served the Thrace family longer than any current member of the household had been alive, or so I was told. The old man crossed the room to my bedside while Lilly seated herself on the only chair. 

"Good morning." I croaked, and attempted to rise from the bed, but Jerrow put his palm on my chest and pushed me back to lie down.

"What-" I began, surprised at the rudeness of the action, but he shook his head and said, "Just wait a moment," in a firm tone.

I studied him thoughtfully as he and Lilly both studied me, wondering what they were looking for. It seemed a day for strangeness, and I felt no particular urge to demand an explanation for their odd behavior.

Jerrow was... old, ancient really. The skin of his gaunt face was seamed like old leather, and his body seemed positively emaciated, but his thin limbs had a wiry strength I knew to respect. I remembered the old steward ripping the guts out of a man with his belt knife... But no, that was in the dream. And that man had been wearing a leather cuirasse. Absurd.

He was dressed as usual in a frock coat and trousers, but charcoal grey in place of his usual dark blue. White kid gloves and black shoes completed the outfit. He seemed to be studying my eyes, so I lifted my brows and stared right back into his faded blue irises, content to wait for him to speak first.

Then I blinked suddenly, and frowned. His eyes... Were a pale silver grey, not blue. I looked to the thin line of light that escaped the window drapes, and realized the odd lighting was leaching the color from everything in the room.

Curious, I left off from the strange staring contest with Jerrow and looked to where Lilly sat by the washstand. She wore a simple simple black dress with three silver buttons, and her silver-white hair was braided and coiled into a bun.

"Huh," I grunted. I knew her to have blonde hair, pale as a moonbeam but not white or grey. And I recognized that dress. It was blue, with bright brass buttons.

I wondered briefly at my own fascination with the lighting in the room. I wasn't usually prone to daydreaming or pondering inconsequential things.

"What?" Lilly snapped, and the harsh tone drew me sharply back to the present.

I realized Lilly was staring at me with an intensity to rival a cat preparing to pounce.

"I... nothing really. I seem to be in a fey mood. I was... thinking about the lighting."

It seemed I had said something wrong, as her expression turned stricken and she put a hand to her lips.

"What's wrong?" I asked, though I didn't feel overly concerned. That in itself was odd. She looked ill! Shouldn't I be concerned?

Jerrow's hand was suddenly on my wrist, and he leaned down to stare even more intently into my face.

"Jerrow?" I asked, "What's going on?"

"Lie still. Don't move. This may hurt."

I looked to his hands but he held no weapon. His fingers closed around my wrist and I was struck by how skeletal they felt inside his thin leather gloves.

Slowly, strangely slowly, he slid my hand across the bed. I watched with mild consternation. Was he going to wrench my arm? Then he released my hand and stepped back from the bed.

I frowned at my hand, then up at him. And then I heard a loud sob, and looked to see Lilly rushing from the room, swiping tears from her eyes as she ran.

"Jerrow..." I said, my voice creaking again, "What is going on?"

Jerrow just stood, silently contemplating my hand as it lay in the thin shaft of sunlight.