When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, tears rolling down his cheeks. He brought his fingers to his cheeks, taking a breath and wincing as pain struck. It felt like his insides were being ripped apart. It was unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

Not only that, but this wasn't what he was supposed to see. He wasn’t supposed to feel this, either. Unlike the white paint his roof back home was coated with, he saw what looked to be an unpainted, dilapidated wooden ceiling. Unlike the comforting weight of his blanket, it felt scratchy and light. It irritated him, but not as much as the pain that was coursing through his body.

He didn’t think he could handle this.

No—he was certain he couldn’t. It’s just too much to bear.

He thinks that he doesn’t have a choice.

So, he pushed up against the bed, taking deep, long breaths as he did.

When he managed to pull himself up from the bed, he felt a different kind of pain in his stomach, quickly moving to look down at it and grab it, only to pause and grab at something else instead.

He saw, between his fingers, cascades of white hair fall. Just the same, he saw the hem of a shirt he didn’t own. Blankets he didn’t remember buying. He didn’t remember any of this.

That didn’t make sense, though.

He remembers everything. He doesn’t forget.

Looking back up, he saw minimal furniture. A wooden, ornate dresser with a mirror, a bed stand, a desk with… A bottle of ink? And a quill pen? A leather-bound journal? That was it. He didn’t see his computer, he didn’t see piles of clothes, he didn’t see anything.

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Tossing the sheets off his body, he went to get up, only for that sharp pang in his stomach to hit him again. He held a hand to his mouth, letting out a startled noise before shaking his head, willing himself to get up regardless. Hunger, he realized, it’s hunger. When was the last time he ate, anyways? He didn’t know. He didn’t think it mattered now. Finding slippers at the side of the bed, he slipped them on before standing up, bringing a hand to his head at the headache that threatened to develop. Badump, badump, badump, he heard, his heartbeat pounding against his skull. It was annoying. It would subside.

Slowly but surely, he made his way to the dresser, if for anything, to see the state he was in. He passed by a window with the curtains drawn, the sunlight peeking through the cracks letting him know that it was morning. Taking one of the curtains, he dragged it along as he moved, giving some light to the room. Just like that, it was immediately more obvious—this wasn’t his room, and it wasn’t like any he’s ever seen before.

“What happened…?” He whispered. “Did I get—?!”

He startled himself into silence, bringing his hand to his lips. He looked back to the dresser with wide eyes before quickly stomping over, stopping just in front of the mirror.

Long waves of white hair, dark purple eyes that glow like gemstones, and a stony face that didn’t fit the child, all dressed in something he’d see someone in a historical drama wear at night.

This was decidedly not his face.

“What the?!” He started before pausing again, bringing his hands to his throat. The man in the mirror looked pained as well, as if it was getting burned from the inside out. The voice was scratchy, burdened by the lack of use.

“What’s going on…? Why do I look like this…?” He asked the mirror slowly, staring into it as if it would give him the answers he was looking for. Unsurprisingly, the mirror didn’t answer, instead just staring back at him, just as confused and distressed.

He heard the doorknob jiggle, and he whipped his head over, hands brushing all over the dresser to find something—anything—to use as a weapon and finding nothing.

The door opened.

He heard a gasp.

“Young Master Azel! You’re awake!” A masculine voice proclaimed, and he blinked in shock before the stranger quickly left.

Young Master Azel…?

“That’s not…” He tried weakly, holding out his hand even though the intruder was long gone.

That wasn’t his name.

His name was…

Was…

What… Was his name again?