“I believe Lady Briony has been afflicted by amnesia.” Doctor Silver said gravely. The doctor was an older man, perhaps in his fifties with thin gray hair and watery blue eyes. He leaned hard against a cane and dressed in a rumpled suit.
Quenton glared sullenly at him. Over the past hour, the doctor had poked and prodded every inch of him and interrogated him about a body he had only had for a fucking hour.
“Amnesia?” The older woman exclaimed, clutching a hand to her breast and turning to Quenton. “You must remember me, you do, don’t you Briony?” She said desperately.
The woman was younger than the doctor, middle-aged with bound up brown hair, a narrow face, an upturned nose, wide-set brown eyes, and thin lips. She wore a fancy-looking green dress that fell past her ankles.
Quenton shook his head, feeling as though he were in some bizarre prank show. “I…uh, have no clue who you are.” He mumbled.
The woman gasped and drew back. “By the Four!” She cried, facing the doctor. “What can be done for my sweet lamb?”
Doctor Silver seemed grave, his mustache quivering solemnly. “I am afraid modern medicine has not yet found a cure for this most damaging malady.”
The other man in the room nodded thoughtfully at the doctor’s words. “You’re saying nothing can be done?”
Quenton flinched as the Doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. “I would recommend continuing life as normal, putting her in familiar situations may serve to return some lost memories.” He sighed deeply, “Yet there is also a strong possibility that these memories are gone for good, if that is the case then Briony must be retaught all those vital lessons that she has lost.”
Dabbing at her eyes with a kerchief, the woman turned to Briony. “We can tell no one about this…this catastrophe! No one would wed her, why, they would advocate we send her to the asylum!”
Quenton blinked, fear coiling serpent-like in his stomach. Asylum? He remembered old horror movies with lobotomies and straight jackets and felt a jolt of terror for his imminent future.
He clutched the handles of his chair, looking fearfully at the doctor. The doctor caught his eye and shook his head slowly. “You have my vow, I will not speak a word of this. I’ve known Briony since she was but a girl and I would not see her livelihood left in ruins.”
The other man stood and offered the doctor a hand. “You have our thanks, Doctor Silver. Let this remain a secret shared amongst we four.” He turned to Briony. “Tell no one of this, not your sisters and brother nor your companions. You may yet recover from this and if that occurs then we needn’t fear. However, if your condition proves permanent…” He paused. “Then we still must act as though you are of well mind, your future, as well as ours, depends on this.”
The woman placed a steadying hand on one of the sofas. “If word of this reaches court, not only poor Briony but her sisters will be seen as…as bad stock!” The woman said fearfully.
The man shook his head at her utterance. “That was uneedly vulgar.” He reproved, his eyes still on Quenton. The woman nodded, shamefaced. “I apologize for my conduct, I am, I’m afraid, quite distressed.” She said in a quavering voice.
Quenton squirmed under the man’s intense gaze. “I won’t tell.” He muttered.
“I should hope not.” The man said. “We will tell your sisters and brother that we brought Doctor Silver here on account of your fainting spell and we shall say no more on the topic.” He turned from Quenton to the doctor. “What course of action do you recommend?”
The doctor cleared his throat and sighed. “As of now, you must treat Briony as though she were newly born.” Doctor Silver advised. “She will need to relearn the very fundamentals of living.”
“How dreadful!” The woman said, placing a hand to her head and giving Quenton an almost accusatory look. “Well, we must inform Mrs. Seaver I’m afraid, if Briony is to relearn all that she knows we should require her assistance.”
The man nodded slowly. “I suppose so, we ought to inform Aliss as well and ensure that she keeps silent. Should she wag her tongue to the other servants the story will be in Tetrigard by nightfall.”
The doctor and the couple all shared a look before the woman turned to Quenton.
“Briony, you…you said before you don’t recall us.” The woman's voice trembled. “I suppose then, it falls to me, to tell you that I am your mother.” She paused for a long moment and then frowned at him. “I am called Ivy Moray.” She added, twisting and untwisting her handkerchief.
He nodded awkwardly unsure how else to respond and began shifting slightly as Ivy looked at him expectantly. “You’re uh…my dad then?” He asked the man, avoiding Ivy’s gaze.
The man grimaced. “I am your father if that is what you meant. I am Tomas Moray of house Moray.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “Well, as for the rest, I am certain that Aliss will be willing to provide a more extensive explanation.”
Quenton gaped at him silently, the words mother, father, and lord ricocheting in his mind.
Tomas sighed heavily and rang a small silver bell. “I suggest you retire to your room and take some rest, it seems you will be needing it.” He said grimly.
Quenton stood, glad to leave the room and it’s awkward expectations behind. Letting the door shut behind him he padded down the halls, trying to go quietly. He didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence and find himself facing yet another expectant stranger.
The halls were made of burnished wood, lined with vivid paintings, landscapes and portraits mostly, on one side and large windows that went from floor to ceiling on the other. It was carpeted with a soft forest green rug that looked expensive, as everything in the house did.
Returning to his room, he glared at the mirror and turned it to face the wall before sinking exhausted onto his bed. I’m in another world. He thought, too tired to be amazed. His wish had come true; he was another person, living another life yet this one was if anything worse than his first life.
At least in the real world, he’d had video games, anime, light novels, and movies, to distract him but this world hadn’t even invented electricity.
With a miserable sigh, he closed his eyes. What am I going to do? He seemed screwed. Whoever Briony was, he wasn’t anything like her. How was he supposed to live her life?
He rubbed at his eyes, exhausted. “Fuck.” He mumbled, a piercing headache above his eye. Pulling the covers over his head to block out the light, he turned to his side and surrendered to an uneasy sleep.
----------------------------------------
“Ladyship?” A soft voice called.
Probably time for school, must’ve missed the stupid alarm again. He thought grumpily. “Lemme alone,” Quenton muttered, the words slurring together. He wouldn’t go to school today, he felt like shit. His head aching and exhaustion trying to pull him back under.
“It’s time for supper, Ladyship.” The voice said, louder this time.
Ladyship? His mom had never called him that and she didn’t bother waking him for dinner either.
He raised his head warily, shifting the covers a bit so he could see his surroundings. This isn’t my room. He thought vaguely, before his head fell back with a muffled thump, the day’s events returned to him. “Oh.” He murmured softly.
He was still in the other world. It hadn’t been a dream or at least, he hadn’t awoken yet. The maid, Aliss, he was pretty sure she was called, approached him, tugging off the covers.
Quenton glanced around the room, through the arched windows night had fallen over the grassy yard giving it a gloomy ominous look. The room, however, was well lit, a glass lamp with a yellow dancing flame was embedded on the wall.
“You don’t want to be late.” She admonished, though her words were mild.
Quenton grimaced. He was hungry, starving really but going to dinner would mean facing his “family” and plunging back into the awkward hell he’d been condemned to.
“I’m exhausted, couldn’t I skip dinner?” He pleaded.
Aliss considered for a long moment, before her face set in determination. “I understand your reluctance, my lady,” she gave him a sympathetic look, “but we must keep up the pretense that you are perfectly well. Besides, it may be that spending time with your family will restore your memories.”
Quenton hugged his knees to his chest. “But I don’t…I won’t know anyone! What am I supposed to say to them?”
Aliss gently but firmly took him by the shoulder. He tried not to blush at her proximity or at the faint smell of lavender that followed her. Besides Carrie, he had never been so close to a girl.
“You’ve had a fainting spell just today, they shall expect you to be withdrawn.” She guided him towards the stool, gesturing at it when Quenton stayed standing.
“Sit, my lady, we have to get you properly dressed.” She ordered.
Quenton’s face burned. “You’re going to undress me?” As if the day hadn’t been humiliating enough now he was going to be stripped and dressed up like a fucking barbie doll. He began backing away but quick as a snake the maid’s hand shot out and clasped his arm.
“I am, now please sit.” Her hand tightly but not painfully grasped his arm and Quenton sank onto the stool in humiliated defeat.
She quickly worked off his nightgown leaving him exposed, with only a pair of loose-fitting pants to cover him. He crossed his arms, repressing a desperate giggle at the unfamiliar parts he brushed against.
I have tits. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Aliss hummed softly as she pulled on long silk socks that continued up to his thighs and tied them off with a lacy ribboned thing. Quenton didn’t bother to resist. More clothes were good, anything that would keep him from being half-naked in front of a pretty maid was fine with him.
He soon reevaluated his “more clothing good” stance as Aliss approached with what he recognized from cosplay, as a corset.
“No way.” He said firmly. “I’m not wearing that thing!” Aliss’ eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why ever not? It’s merely a corset, nothing scandalous or painful I assure you.”
“A corset is-” He cut himself off before he could say “for girls”. Insisting he was a man was not only pointless but possibly liable to get him sent to an asylum.
“Uncomfortable.” He said instead.
The maid clicked her tongue. “Fashion is comfort for the eyes, not the body.” She said, lightly wrapping the corset around his waist even as he squirmed.
“Stop it!” He insisted, Aliss paused in her work and gave him a pitying look. “I know this is quite vexing for you, my lady, I cannot imagine being in your place.” She said, gently. “But you’ve been in corsets for as long as I’ve dressed you. I think a familiar routine will do you some good.”
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Quenton glared at her. “How is me wearing a corset going to do good?” He demanded.
“As I said, the doctor recommends we do not stray from what is familiar and for you, the corset is familiar.” She answered.
Quenton thought about telling her to back the hell off and making a break for it. Then he thought about straightjackets, how he knew absolutely no one in this world, and how much conceivable danger lurked outside the manor.
With a dejected sigh, he raised his arms. “Fine.” He mumbled. It took less time than he expected for the corset to be tightened and laced around his waist. It proved less constricting than he’d thought, though he still took only shallow breaths.
Aliss patted him on the shoulder. “That was not as terrible as you feared, was it?”
Quenton reluctantly shook his head. I just stick out this dinner and get the lay of the place. Then I can become an adventurer and leave all this shit behind me.
With that comforting thought, he braced himself for the rest of the routine. Next came a white sleeveless dress, he raised his arms obediently as she slid the dress on. It was soft at least, not stiff as he had suspected most dress clothes were.
Then came yet another dress, a long-sleeved pink gown with buttons all the way to the neck and a heavy-looking ruffled skirt. He braced himself as he was maneuvered into the garment. Aliss was obviously experienced but she still let forth an occasional labored breath as she adjusted his limbs and tugged the fabric into place.
When at last the dress was on and Aliss had finished the long process of buttoning up, Quenton felt like he’d just run the mile. The dress was heavy and he felt like he was wearing one of those lead vests they put on for x-rays. Aliss smiled triumphantly at him. “Now for your hair.”
Cursing whatever capricious God sent him to this hell, Quenton seated himself on the stool, watching as Aliss opened a drawer of the desk and pulled forth a silver-handled brush with fierce-looking bristles.
Quenton sat in front of the mirror and for the first time he examined his new reflection. His new body was short and thin, with long brown hair and untidy bangs sweeping across her forehead, wide doe-like hazel eyes, and heart-shaped lips. He wasn’t exactly pretty, but, he realized with mortification, he was cute.
He clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see his warped reflection a second longer. He could hear Aliss’ soft footsteps as she approached him. A soft grip held a length of his hair and began with slow, delicate motions to work the brush down his hair.
To his shock, the sensation was oddly relaxing. The soft rhythm of the brush was almost soothing and he allowed himself a moment of peace.
He opened his eyes as Aliss began lightly tugging on his hair, twisting and curling it until it was swept up in an elegant bun, with two stray strands falling past her ears.
Quenton stared at himself in the mirror. That’s me. He couldn’t shake the thought from his mind. This was his life now, he was a girl. A cute girl. He took a deep breath trying to steady himself, grimacing as his corset tightened around him.
As he mutely stared, a silver necklace was slipped around his neck, and matching silver earrings were placed in his earlobes. “That is an amethyst necklace. Some say that amethysts bring good fortune.” Aliss murmured, as she lifted his wrist and slid on a silver bangle.
God, I need all the fortune I can get. He thought wearily.
Aliss leaned back, observing him in the wan gaslight. “You look a tad peaked, I think a bit of rouge will serve.” She returned to the desk drawer and drew out a silver compact and small brush. She opened the compact, revealing a red powdery substance, and dipped the brush in. Biting her lip in concentration, Aliss carefully drew the brush across his cheeks.
Flashes of his real face flit through his mind. He’d had acne scars, an awkward jutting nose, and bug-eyes but at the moment he’d have given a million dollars to return to his old face.
Aliss bent and shifted his feet into a pair of silk slippers. “You ought to hurry down, my lady, you do not wish to be tardy.”
Quenton didn’t move. He felt paralyzed, anxiety pooled in his stomach and he clenched the stool with both hands. Seeing his immobility Aliss smiled reassuringly at him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It won’t be terribly arduous, my lady, they are not expecting much affability from you.”
He nodded stiffly and gathering all his courage, forced himself to his feet. “I don’t know the way.” He said, marveling at the stiff inflexibility of his clothing. He could barely move without tripping over his skirt and he couldn’t raise an arm above his head.
“Follow me, my lady.” Aliss beckoned him as she left the room. With a growing sense of trepidation, Quenton followed her down the hall and to a spiraling staircase. He grimaced at the sight.
Stairs are going to be a bitch in this dress. He tightly gripped the banister and descended the staircase slowly despite Aliss’ impatient glances.
Quenton let out a breath when they reached the landing. The room was like a smallish hotel lobby, a great chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a grand piano pushed against one wall.
He didn’t have much time to take in the room before Aliss was striding forward leaving him to trail after her, the dress was too constricting for anything but small dainty steps, any longer stride would leave him stepping on the fabric.
Aliss led him to a pair of dark wooden doors, the door gleamed as though the wood had been polished and it’s panels had been carved with flowers and vines.
“I’m afraid this is far as I can help you.” She murmured, gesturing to the doors.
Quenton swallowed hard and with a rush of nerves, gingerly pushed open the doors. Inside there was a long dining table and tall backed chairs with velvet seats. However, despite himself, he found himself meeting the gaze of the room’s occupants.
Tomas smiled wanly. “Ah, decided to join us at last?” Quenton nodded shallowly, reluctant to speak.
He gestured at one of the chairs. “Well, take your seat, we’ve been waiting on you to serve supper.”
Quenton walked to his seat as quickly as the dress allowed and sat down, his skirt stiff and awkward on the chair. He circumspectly glanced at the two girls sitting on either side of him.
To his left was a young girl, perhaps middle school-aged with light brown hair fixed into twin buns on top of her head. Her face was strangely pixie-like, her eyes heavy-lidded and nose snub-small. She wore an orange dress with puffy short sleeves, catching his eye and she gave him a mischievous smile.
“What occupied you, sister? I’ve never known you to miss a meal.” The girl said. Quenton looked at her warily, he could sense she was mocking him but he couldn’t say how.
“I…” He paused, realizing with dawning horror he hadn’t come up with a lie. “Um…I was…” He stammered, searching frantically for an explanation.
“Camilla, you know Briony had an episode in the garden. Certainly, she was resting.” The girl on his right said. She had long black hair and she wore it loose trailing past her waist. Her face was narrow and angular with high cheekbones, watery blue eyes, and the same snub nose. She wasn’t exactly pretty but her expression was sympathetic and her voice melodious.
The pixie girl, Camilla apparently, smirked. “Why Viola, don’t tell me you’re making Briony one of your causes.” She said lightly, next to her a boy of about the same age began laughing. He had the same light brown hair and oversized features that Camilla did, only his short hair, suit, and dress shorts marked him as a boy.
Viola’s lips thinned. “Compassion is always a worthy cause.” She said stiffly. Quenton shot her a grateful look, he could use any allies he could get at this point.
“Mmm. Yet pity is not compassion, is it Viola?” A girl from across the table said. Quenton looked at her and found himself unable to look away.
She looked like a cross between a Disney princess and a swimsuit model. Her hair was the same shade of brown as his own, but her’s was curly, falling past her shoulders like something out of a shampoo advert. Her wide hazel eyes were framed by long lashes and her lips were full and pink. She wore a peach-colored dress with white lace and filled it out far more effectively than his own body did.
He felt his face grow heated as he looked at her and quickly looked down at his plate.
The girl laughed. “You’re blushing Briony, I hope my sally did not fluster you. I meant nothing by it.”
“If you mean nothing, better to say nothing,” Viola responded, her voice taut. Ivy spoke up from her seat next to the girl. “Viola love, do speak kindly to your sisters. Rosalind said herself she meant no offense.”
He glanced carefully at the girl, Rosalind, he guessed. From her smile, you wouldn’t expect her to be capable of offense.
Tomas sighed. “Bring in the food, Forde. I think dinner a better occupation for the tongue than idle chatter.”
A moment later two servants carrying two large platters. Despite his stress, Quenton felt a quiet rumble in his stomach. He was starving. On the platter was a large roast surrounded by vegetables and a trench of gravy. The other held bread rolls and butter dishes.
He watched the others serve themselves from the tray and eagerly carved himself a large piece of roast and a small bowl of gravy when the servant, an old grandfatherly looking man, drew near.
Quneton picked up the small blunt knife next to his plate and began to carve only for Viola to shoot him a confused look. “That’s the dessert knife.” She murmured, leaning slightly towards him.
A searing pain shot through his temple and he let the dessert knife clatter to the table, the pain intensified. He put a hand to his temple, nearly whimpering from the pain.
It slowly abated though Quenton was loathed to pick up another knife. He looked at Viola who was daintily cutting the meat with a larger, sharper knife.
Looking at his plate he saw another knife identical to Viola’s, picking it up he began to cut his roast only for the pain once again to crest. He set the knife and fork down, only to meet Viola’s worried gaze.
“You’re supposed to cut with your left hand, you know that.” She said, quietly. “Are you certain you’re well, Briony?”
Quenton opened his mouth to answer as he attempted to massage away the headache, only to close it as Ivy swooped in. “Doctor Silver said she was perfectly hale.” Ivy rebuked. “I’ll thank you not to question Doctor Silver’s reputation, Viola.”
Viola blinked and tilted her head. “Ah, I apologize if it seemed I was doubting the good doctor’s opinion. I’m just concerned that Briony may still be ill, if so she ought not to be traipsed out for dinner.”
A rush of gratitude swelled at Viola’s words. He wasn’t precisely sure who she was besides a reasonable guess that she was his sister, but she seemed the only one in the manor willing to cut him some slack.
“It seems a tad hasty to conclude that Briony taken ill over a mere fainting spell.” Rosalind opined before taking a tiny bite of roast. Somehow she made eating look elegant.
“Besides, let Briony speak for herself. If she has fallen ill, she can tell us so.” The boy said.
Ivy’s lips pursed as if she’d swallowed a lemon. “Briony is certainly not ill. Now let us speak of other matters, I’d rather you not upset your poor sister further with such morbid talk.”
Viola’s face stayed placid but her eyes narrowed. “Of course mother.” She said flatly.
Quenton warily picked up the dinner knife and what he suspected was the right fork and began to cut with his left hand. The headache had abided and he managed to get a bite of roast.
It was savory and well-spiced, like kebabs he had once gotten from a food cart. Eagerly he began to eat, though he cut it into small pieces as Rosalind and Viola did.
As he ate, he listened to the others discussed something about a soiree (whatever that was) and who would be going and wearing what. It was boring and he soon found himself drifting off.
Once his portion of the roast was gone he looked to the roll on the side of his plate, he picked it up and raised it to his lips only for another jolt of pain to strike like a bolt through the head.
He dropped the bread in shock, vaguely noticing the others at the table staring at him.
“You break bread not bite it. By the four, did fainting addle your wits?” The boy said, Camila, giggling next to him.
“Right.” He said, trying to sound like he already knew that and that he knew what the fuck addling wits was.
I hate this fucking world, I can’t even eat bread without getting a migraine. He thought ruefully.
The pain had already begun to subside but he had lost his appetite for bread.
“You ought to apologize Lyndon, that was terribly discourteous,” Viola said, looking at the boy.
The boy, Lyndon, stared back unabashed as Ivy once again interceded. “I am certain Lyndon meant no offense. Do tell her Lyndon.”
“I meant nothing by it,” Lyndon said, his voice bored.
The conversation turned to small talk about people he’d never heard of doing things he didn’t care about and he checked out staring at one of the landscapes on the wall, thoroughly exhausted. Sighing inwardly, he began a mental checklist of questions he needed to answer.
How am I going to become an adventurer with no leveling system or skill trees? How do I get my original body back? Are monsters in this world? If not, who do I kill? What’s my class-
“Briony?” A voice said, snapping him from his musings. He swiveled his gaze to Viola who was looking at him with concern.
“I called for you three times, it was as if you weren’t here.” She whispered, her voice concerned.
“Sorry, I’m just tired.” He murmured nervously, avoiding her eyes. Viola nodded.
“Father, would mind if Briony, Rosalind, and I retire early, Lady Warwin’s soiree is tomorrow and I think we all ought to be refreshed.” She asked, smiling politely.
“How sweet of you to think of us sister.” Rosalind said sweetly, her voice lilting playfully.
Tomas stared at Viola, his face firm. “Very well,” he said before pausing. “But, I’ll hear no more of Briony's health, a good night’s rest will put right anything wrong.”
“Of course father,” Viola said coolly.
“Yes, father.” Rosalind echoed, her voice containing all the warmth Viola’s lacked.
It took a moment for Quenton to realize Tomas was staring at him. “Oh. Right father, yes.” He stammered out.
He left the dining room with the other two moving as fast as his dress allowed.
“You have a soft heart sister and a lovely sense of charity,” Rosalind said, her eyes falling on Briony.
“A pity so many value a pretty face over both mind and heart.” Viola retorted.
Quenton ignored both of them and whatever weird passive-aggressive game they were playing as he ascended the stairs until he could no longer hear their sniping.
As he trudged towards his room wondering how the fuck he was supposed to sleep in these clothes, something flickered in the corner of his vision. Then it rose, gleaming and beautiful. A system prompt.