I sat up with a gasp, blurriness forcing me to fall back down into a cloud. Logic and reason told me that clouds cannot sustain a person's mass, but there was no other way to describe this softness. Not even the beds in the Governor's servant rooms were this fluffy and those were the nicest beds I'd ever laid on.

To distract myself, and in an effort to regain my vision, I put my hand in front of my eyes, clasping and unclasping a fist until I could see all the details of my skin. By some miracle the trick worked. So despite the pounding in my head, whatever happened to me couldn't possibly be so bad. Naturally it was when I relaxed that memories of blood, death and violence flooded my head. I couldn't recall the faces that well, but I remembered the gold eyes of the black wolf tearing into flesh and bone.

This time, however, I bit my lip until I iron flooded my mouth. The bitter taste provided me with the clarity needed not to embarrass myself more than I already had. As I sucked on my self-inflicted cut, my eyes darted every which way in an effort to orientate myself. I was in some sort of bedroom, but the bed I was on was large enough to fit four grown human men or two or three male werewolves. Likewise, the room was brightly decorated, a myriad of greens and golds and large enough to house my living room plus two bedrooms. This was even when I factored in how my family's house was one of the largest human dwellings in my ward.

On the thought of color, I frowned, looking down at my sleeve and then at my clothing. Gone were the bloodied and soiled gray garments, but instead of a new one or even the simple white pajamas all humans wore, I was in a lavender nightgown. Yet who would dare dress me in something so delicate and bright? Unmated humans couldn't wear bright colors, not even when some of us performed as storytellers. Although our performance clothes were a bit nicer, they were still always in shades of white, brown and grey. Even black was considered to opulent.

"It must be some sort of mistake," I muttered.

Thinking on it more, it had to have been a mistake. Our hormone meds normally kept us from being too emotional but the shock and gore of what happened coupled with the stress of almost missing my bus and entertaining a bored she-wolf for a couple days was too much. I must have been sent to some sort of infirmary and someone must have moved me by mistake. Maybe there was another mate with similar features and they thought it was me. After all dark curls, bronze skin and hazel eyes were terribly common in District Eleven. Sure I was a little chubbier than the average human, but Warda had confirmed that the governor of my ward was not the only one who favored some of their human servants.

This was a mistake and by rectifying it, I would be helping some poor soul who would likely end up in some serious trouble. Convinced of this to be true, I crawled out from the heavy and thick covers and maneuvered out of the bed. The odd thing was that a part of me knew that I must have hit my head or had some bruises, but I felt better than I had in years. Before my mind could tread dangerous waters, I reminded myself that if this was a mistake, they probably gave me treatment reserved for mates by mistake too.

Once I finally removed myself from the too-large bed that threatened to suck me in, I put a hand to my wrist steadying myself until I was sure my heartbeat moved at a steady pace. Later there would be time for crying and screaming, but for now the most important thing was to stay calm and appear reasonable until I sorted out this mess. It would be like putting on a performance in front of an especially brutal guest of the Governor's.

It was as my bare feet walked across a carpet as soft as feathers that my façade of peace and calm threatened to slip away. For on the other side of this too-large room lay my oud case, laying so pristinely that it could only have been purposefully placed there. Yet, if this were all a mistake, how could that have been possible? Could the other person I looked like have also been a storyteller? No, according to Leyla, although our peers existed in other wards, they were few and far between. The likelihood of another storyteller who shared my height and features was too improbable.

I shook my head, pushing away such intrusive thoughts. This had to be a mistake. The alternative was much too awful to contemplate. Even if it wasn't and I was wrong, I had to believe it was a mistake. Some among the werewolves could smell fear and lies. Even if the likelihood of this being a mistake was becoming more and more improbable by the second, I had to believe it.

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So I took a deep breathe and thought about this logically: Perhaps if I was taken to an infirmary and my oud was also there, there person who moved me was unfamiliar with the one who looked like me. If it was close enough to where I rested, it would have been a simple mistake to assume that the object was mine and deposit both me and my oud to this place.

There was a less than one percent chance of this exact scenario, but it was possible. After all, hadn't the end of the Age of Man come because my kind could not come to terms with a species that did not line up to their own small definitions? Yes, to rule out this possibility would make me just as narrow-minded as those long ago people. This was all a mistake.

That my oud was here just meant that the person they thought I was must have been important. It was the just thing to rectify it and in a few hours, I'd be in my assigned room, awaiting testing until I went on a train home. Then this entire episode would be nothing more than a funny memory I'd compose some song of, adding to my family's collection.

Once more I put a hand to my wrist, feeling my heartbeat become steady and steadier still until serenity overcame my senses. In the next moment, I approached my oud, opening the case. Carefully moving the instrument, I felt around until my fingers traced the hidden zipper Leyla had sewed on. Her gift inside was intended for me to sneak out past curfew to "have some fun and live a little" as she put it.

As I slowly unzipped the compartment, I had never been so glad that I had decided to humor her. For inside was a small key-ring with a various assortment of distorted bobby-pins among them. This particular set was the result of Leyla and I's experimentation in secondary school. I hadn't picked a lock since I graduated a few years back, but hopefully I still remembered the mechanics.

It'd be fine. This was all for the sake of correcting a mistake. Once I explained myself, they'd be so grateful that it wouldn't matter if I'd picked a lock to get out. Besides, the door might not even be locked.

But what if the door is electrical? I shook my head right to left at my intrusive thought, zipping up my oud and slinging the case over my shoulder. After, I felt around the nightgown someone dressed me in and by some miracle there were pockets. I slipped my assortment of bobby pins into the right one.

As soon as I was done, the familiar weight brought on a wave of relief. It was as if just carrying something familiar and normal assured me that everything would be alright. So it was that I wandered across the room, turning a corner until I came upon a grand and opulent door. Luckily it had a sort of ancient style to it with a normal key hole instead of an electric one. Better yet, when I actually turned it, it opened.

However, instead of a hallway, it gave way to a massive living room of sorts. There were ornate couches in the same green and gold color scheme of the bedroom. In front of it was a a coffee table and a large TV screen was on the wall facing the couch. Although the only reason I recognized it was because the Governor had a similar one on her private lands. The rest of the room had a simple, old fashioned design with shelves in the back, but I quickly glanced at them before moving on. What I needed was a door, not a place to sit down.

After darting my eyes every which way, they finally landed on another door, as large as the ones to the bedroom. After walking the seemingly million kilometers it took to cross the room, I tried the doorknob, but this one was locked. Now I examined the keyhole, taking in its size and dimension before trying to decide which bobbing pin would work.

Naturally, the first one didn't work. At the very least, it didn't even break so I took a deep breath and re-examined the keyhole, willing memories of my schooldays to come back. As long as I thought about it logically, everything would be okay.

This time, I carefully examined each bobby pin, one by one until I found the one I thought would work. Placing it in, I slowly moved it around until I heard a familiar click. Pocketing the make-shift keys once more, I couldn't help but grin. "I still got it."

With that I opened the door, but instead of a hallway was a wooden porch that descended into soft grass. Looking down at my attire, I didn't have any shoes and my slim clothing wouldn't protect me when night fell. Still, it was better than staying here and doing nothing. Besides, as soon as I found someone and corrected this mistake, I'm sure I'd be given my usual grey clothing back.

So with only one way forward, I stepped down onto the damp grass, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.