I can't resist a derisive snort at the very idea of that drunken bastard allowing such intimacies. But Aislin is already rounding on me, her expression hardening into rare sternness.

"Lile Ban, you listen to me well," she says, jabbing a finger towards my face. "You are NEVER to provoke your father's temper again, do you understand? If you so much as breathe a cross word in his direction, I'll be taking the first step to disciplining you myself before Oisin can lay a hand on you!"

I blink up at her owlishly for a moment before giving a jerky nod, my throat bobbing as I swallow hard. Aislin's shoulders slump slightly as she seems to rein in her uncharacteristic fierceness.

"Look around you, poppet," she murmurs, gesturing to the gleaming interior and my own opulent attire. "Feel that full belly, smell the cleanliness all around us. Remember this well, lamb - remember how wretched our existence was before today's blessings."

Aislin's sunken eyes bore into mine, her voice taking on a hushed, reverent tone. "Do not take any of this for granted, Lile. This...this is what being a noble must feel like."

With that, she sinks down onto the rough-hewn bench, a strange look of wonderment crossing her features. A soft chuckle escapes Aislin's lips as she shakes her head slowly.

As I sit on the hard bench, my mind drifts to darker thoughts. Surely the modern era I hailed from wasn't nearly as cruel and barbaric when it came to the treatment of young girls? The notion of prepubescent maidens being violated like poor Aislin seems utterly abhorrent by 21st century standards.

And yet...hazy memories of news reports and human trafficking cases filter through my addled psyche. That Vietnamese father who sold his thirteen-year-old daughter to Chinese traffickers for a mere $4,300 to cover medical expenses. Or the Afghan farmer, Akhtar Mohammad, who traded away his two-year-old for the paltry sum of $2,000. Hell, even the antiquated practice of arranged marriages with negotiated "bridal prices" could be viewed as a sanitized form of sanctioned sexual bartering, just less overt than this primitive mudhole.

I shudder, feeling the first stirrings of existential dread creeping up my spine. What sort of twisted cosmic prank is this, being hurled over a thousand years into the past to inhabit the body of a filthy, lice-ridden peasant child? Why not just chuck me straight into the fiery pits of hell and be done with it? At least the demons would provide basic amenities like, oh, I don't know...a working fucking toilet?!

But no, it seems I'm well and truly damned to suffer through this endless backwater shitshow until the next conveniently timed plague or famine mercifully snuffs out my tortured existence. If this is some sick idea of quality entertainment for the uncaring universe - watching me gnaw on stale hardtack and choke down watery gruel while wallowing in my own filth - then whoever's pulling the strings needs to be committed to the nearest psychiatric facility!

And if this is meant as some profound philosophical thought experiment about the human condition, let me be the first to declare: experiencing the utter degradations and horrors of medieval peasant life firsthand can bite my disembodied, ghostly ass! I wouldn't wish the eternal torment of this festering cesspit on my worst enemy, let alone some random, innocent soul.

So whoever the sick fuck is that put me in this nightmarish existence, congratulations you twisted bastard! You get a front row seat to gloat and revel in my daily suffering and humiliations like some depraved sadist. I hope you choke on your popcorn while relishing every agonizing moment of this hell I'm trapped in.

And when I finally figure out a way to claw my way free of this wretched mudhole, I swear to any god that may be listening that I'm coming for you next, you son of a bitch! You hear me, you demented prick? Once I escape this torment, your ass is next on my list!

Hah, listen to me now - a grown man yelling impotent threats into the void like a raving lunatic, expecting some cosmic answer to my ranting. Hello there brain damage and psychosis, looks like we're going to be the best of friends in this backwater shitscape! If only I could remember even a shred of who I was before waking up in this festering cesspit, I have all this knowledge and information crammed into my skull but I can't for the life of me recall where the fuck it came from. Goddammit, fuck everything about this waking nightmare!

Aislin stands up from the bench and moves towards the hearth to prepare for baking bread. As she crouches down on all fours and blows gently on the kindling, I notice something strange happening around me. The world seems to be slowing down gradually until it comes to a complete halt. The colors then start fading away bit by bit until everything turns a dull gray shade.

I look around in shock, my eyes wide with disbelief. Glancing down at my hands, I realize that I'm the only one still in full color amidst this bizarre monochrome freeze. What the fuck is going on here? This can't be real!

Rushing over to the door, I try to open it and escape outside, but the handle won't budge no matter how hard I pull and push. It's like the entire door has been fused into an immovable slab. Panic starts to set in as I realize I'm trapped inside this eerie stillness.

Turning back towards Aislin's frozen form, I reach out and poke her arm with my finger. But not even the fabric of her dress yields to my touch - it's as solid and unmoving as stone. Everything around me has stopped completely, the flow of time itself suspended in this unnatural stasis.

My mind races to make sense of this impossibility. If time itself has truly halted, then the photons carrying light should have frozen too, rendering me blind in utter darkness. Yet I can still see everything with perfect clarity. No, time cannot have simply stopped...there has to be another explanation for this bizarre phenomenon.

Furrowing my brow, I try to think through the physics rationally. What if the universal flow of time is still progressing normally, but this pocket of localized space has been somehow displaced into an alternate dimension where different rules apply? A realm where the fundamental forces governing reality have been distorted or even inverted, trapping me in an isolated bubble separate from the regular continuum?

The door to the hovel swings open fully, but it makes no sound at all. A chill runs down my spine as I stare at the gaping entrance. "Who is there?" I call out, my childish voice wavering slightly.

Slowly, cautiously, I walk towards the open door and peer outside. What I see makes my jaw drop in shock and confusion. Everything is frozen in shades of grey - the chickens, the garden, even the clouds overhead. It's like the entire world has been drained of color and life.

"What the fuck is going on?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. This is simply not possible! Whatever force could cause this kind of phenomena would require an incredible amount of energy, far beyond anything I can comprehend.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of the bizarre tableau before me. There's only one thing I can think of that might be capable of such a feat - but no, that's just crazy talk. I must be hallucinating or going utterly mad.

A faint sound from the sleeping alcove snaps me out of my reverie. "Aleeeexanderrr..." The drawn-out whisper sends shivers racing across my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and neck.

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Heart pounding, I turn slowly towards the alcove's entrance, gulping audibly. "Who goes there?" I call out, my voice trembling.

The whisper comes again, clearer this time. "Aleeeexanderrr..."

Against my better judgment, I find myself inching towards the alcove, dread coiling in my belly. I peer inside, but the small chamber is empty and still, just like the rest of this bizarre frozen world.

Letting out a shaky breath, I turn back towards the hovel's entrance - and freeze in shock. There, silhouetted in the open doorway, is the pale naked form of a woman. She's crouched on all fours, her long white hair spilling over her shoulders, but her head is tilted back at an unnatural angle, face upturned towards the ceiling.

Before I can even process this new horror, the woman suddenly springs into motion. She sprints forward on all fours with unnatural speed, her body seeming to flicker and distort like a mirage. I let out a startled shriek as she reaches me - and then she's simply gone, vanished into thin air!

The shock is too much. I feel my legs give out as I crumple backwards, landing hard on my backside. Scrambling away in a panic, I huddle in the corner of the sleeping alcove, chest heaving with sobs.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die," I keen over and over, rocking back and forth.

That haunting whisper drifts down from somewhere above me. "Aleeeexanderrr..."

Slowly, I raise my head and open my eyes. Everything is a blinding, featureless white, her hair. Then a dark shape resolves in the blank expanse - the naked woman again, but this time she's standing upright with her legs firmly planted on the ceiling above me. Her eyes are glowing a malevolent red, and her pale lips are twisted into a vicious grin that chills me to the core.

I can't stop the scream that tears from my throat. Scrambling to my feet, I turn and run blindly back into the main room of the hovel which shuts down before I can reach for it. I lunge for the door, scratching and kicking at the unyielding wood, desperate to escape this nightmare. But the door doesn't budge.

Chest heaving, I slowly turn and press my back against the door, sliding down until I'm huddled on the floor. There's no way out. I'm trapped. All I can do is wait for whatever doom this demented specter has in store.

I blink once and there she is - the pale naked woman standing at the entrance of the sleeping alcove, her long white hair spilling over her shoulders. I blink again and she vanishes into thin air. Another blink and suddenly she's right in front of me, crouching down so her face is mere inches from mine. Her crimson lips curve into a wicked grin as one cold hand reaches out to caress my chin.

A scream tears from my throat before I can stop it. The woman throws back her head and laughs, the sound harsh and mocking. "I scared the shit out of you, didn't I? Alex boy! Haha! Should have seen your face!"

I force myself to stop screaming, swallowing hard as I meet her gaze. The woman's eyes are glowing a malevolent red, seeming to bore straight into my soul. Her build is impossibly curvaceous, every inch of her pale flesh radiating an ethereal, almost translucent glow.

But it's her hair that truly captivates me - those long white tresses shimmering with an otherworldly luster, as if each strand is spun from pure moonlight itself. The woman is utterly mesmerizing...and utterly terrifying.

I ask the pale naked woman standing before me, "Who are you?"

Friend or foe? Friend or foe?!

She stands up and walks to the center of the room, turning to face me with her arms spread wide. In a dramatic voice, she declares, "I am the Blessed Virgin come to earth! I am Guinevere, legendary queen! I am fearsome goddess Gwenhwyfar arisen from myth! I am sacred whore and unholy temptress of Babylon! I am the Lord God himself wearing female flesh! The Beast! Satan! Angel! Devil!"

She pauses to catch her breath, then slowly turns her burning red gaze upon me. "Or worse..." she adds ominously.

My eyes widen as I realize this strange woman is claiming to be the Virgin Mary that the villagers pray to in the church. Unsure how to address her, I ask meekly, "How should I call you?"

She arches one white brow. "What do you think you should call me?"

I consider for a moment before replying, "I'll call you Gwenhwyfar since it seems locally appropriate."

Gwenhwyfar smirks. "Did you enjoy my little dramatic entrance?"

I shake my head and push myself up to stand, using the door for support. "Why are you here?" I ask bluntly.

Tapping her chin with one crimson nail, she says, "I'm just checking up on old friends."

"Old friends?" I echo in confusion. "Me?"

Gwenhwyfar slowly walks towards me, bending over to gaze directly into my eyes. "Yes, you, Alexander," she purrs.

Frowning, I ask, "Who is Alexander?"

Straightening up, she chuckles darkly. "Yes yes, you never remember once you've shuffled off the mortal coil and popped out bawling from some infant's cunt again." She pauses, then adds with relish, "I suppose that's the only entertaining part of these cycles - watching the great Alexander reduced to a mewling babe all over again!"

Gwenhwyfar's full crimson lips curve into a wicked grin as she regards me with those burning ruby eyes. "I'll never forget the shock on your face in a past iteration when you suddenly realized you were a toothless, wrinkled prune barely able to walk or wipe your own arse," she purrs, her musical voice dripping with dark amusement. "That was priceless comedy, I must admit."

A cruel peal of laughter spills from the pale woman's lips as she throws back her head, long white tresses cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. One delicate hand rises to dab at the corners of her eyes as if wiping away tears of mirth.

"It was almost worth creating this entire little hamster wheel world just to witness that moment," Gwenhwyfar declares, fixing me with that smoldering ruby stare once more.

I feel my eyes widen in shock and confusion at her bizarre words. Did...did she just claim to have created this whole realm? Some instinct deep inside me rebels against the very notion. Surely no being could possess such godlike power!

The question tumbles from my lips before I can stop it. "Did...did you make this world just to torture me?" I ask in a small, trembling voice.

Gwenhwyfar's full lips split into another unsettling grin, revealing a glimpse of wickedly sharp teeth. "Why yes, little one," she purrs in confirmation. "Though I must admit, the cycles have grown rather dull after the first few million iterations."

Million iterations? My mind reels at the implications of her words as I gasp aloud, "Million iterations?! How...how long has this been going on?"

The pale woman arches one perfect eyebrow as that unnerving smile never wavers. "We are soon reaching a billion years since the year 2077, child."

A billion years? That's simply not possible! This whole situation is too bizarre, too utterly insane to be anything more than an elaborate delusion or fever dream. Gwenhwyfar must be lying, trying to unsettle me further with her outrageous claims.

As if sensing my doubts, the woman tsks softly and shakes her head in a mockery of disappointment. "I'm not lying, little one," she states, her tone matter-of-fact.

Wait...how did she know I thought she was lying? The words never passed my lips, yet Gwenhwyfar responded as if I'd voiced my skepticism aloud. A chill races down my spine as realization blossoms.

"What the fuck?!" I blurt, unable to contain my shock and growing sense of unease. Pointing a trembling finger at the pale woman, I demand, "Why did you call me your friend if you're just torturing me?"

Gwenhwyfar taps her finger against her cheek, a contemplative look on her face. "Now now, let's not place too much blame on me for your torment," she says with a sly grin. "I merely create the movie setting - the history, the world, the animals and plants, the geography, even the religions. But the true torture?" She pauses dramatically. "That comes from the world itself, not from me."

I blink in confusion, my brow furrowing. "A...movie? This is a movie?" I ask hesitantly, struggling to comprehend her bizarre words.

Gwenhwyfar nods sagely, then proceeds to lay herself out on the rough wooden table, her head dangling off the edge as she gazes up at me. "That's right, little one. You're the star of my movie, the leading lady if you will." Her full crimson lips curve into an unsettling smile. "And every time I cast you - well, Alexander really - in the lead role, the ending is always the same. The world gets destroyed, just like that." She snaps her fingers for emphasis.

My eyes widen at her strange proclamation. "Alexander? Who's Alexander?" I demand, unable to hide the childish petulance in my tone. "I can't even remember my own face or history!"

The pale woman simply chuckles, utterly unfazed by my outburst. "Oh, you'll remember eventually," she assures me with an airy wave of her hand. "The details always come trickling back at the most...inopportune moments."

I shake my head vehemently, pigtails swishing. "No, I refuse to accept such a cruel fate!" I declare, stamping my foot defiantly. "Being a player in your deranged movie? That's not right!"

But Gwenhwyfar merely laughs, the sound rich and mocking. "That's the glorious punchline though, isn't it?" she counters, eyes glittering with dark amusement. "We've already played out this pathetic drama a million times over. And every single iteration ends the exact same way - with Alexander destroying the world, just like you're destined to."

She grins then, the expression somehow both feral and indulgent. "Round and round the wheel turns, civilizations rising from the mud and ash only to be exterminated again. All while I drink in the delicious agony as Alexander realizes there's no point to any of it. That all existence is ultimately futile."[...]