Painful!

How painful!

What is this feeling?

Valerian Crow, who had been sleeping soundly, was jolted awake by a searing pain shooting through his head, as if someone had reached inside and tried to tear out his brain.

Grimacing, he rubbed his temples and opened his eyes. His vision was blurred at first, but he soon saw a faint light filtering through the threadbare curtains of his small room. He blinked several times to clear his sight and sat up slowly, feeling the ache throb through his head.

The room was sparsely furnished, with a narrow bed, a wooden nightstand, and a simple wooden chair. The walls were a faded off-white, stained with age and speckled with patches of peeling paint. A single window let in a pale glow that fell across the worn wooden floorboards.

Valerian took a few deep breaths to calm himself, glancing around the room to get his bearings. To the left of the bed was a wooden door with a slightly warped frame, which creaked when opened. The door had an old brass handle, tarnished from years of use.

An oil lamp on the nightstand cast a flickering light, surrounded by a few items: a tattered book, a small glass bottle with a cork stopper, and a wooden comb with missing teeth. The bed was covered with a patched quilt, offering little protection against the night's chill.

Opposite the bed, a rickety dresser leaned against the wall, its drawers sticking from years of neglect. A few pieces of worn clothing were strewn across the top, alongside a single brass candlestick. The room had an air of quiet solitude, with the faint scent of must and the distant sounds of the city drifting through the window.

Valerian felt a wave of confusion. Where am I? How did I get here? He scanned the room again, noticing a mirror in the corner. He picked it up and looked at his reflection. The face he saw was his own, but it felt strangely unfamiliar. Short black hair, green eyes, and a basic white collared linen shirt with visible stains and signs of wear. His black wool trousers were slightly too large for his frame, and his build was thin, almost frail.

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Who am I? He could barely remember anything, but a name came to him—Valerian Crow. An orphan living in a small apartment, with only his little brother, Clark, for company.

As he tried to make sense of everything, he heard footsteps in the hallway outside his door. Tap! Tap! Tap! The footsteps grew louder and louder, stopping just outside his door. He tensed up, wondering if it might be a thief or something worse. Before he could act, a knock sounded on the door, followed by a voice: "Are you still awake, brother? Don't you still need to find a new job tomorrow?"

Valerian relaxed, recognizing his brother's voice. He called back, "Yeah, I'm awake. Just a bit of a headache, that's all."

After a brief exchange with Clark, Valerian decided to try and get some sleep. He knew he needed rest if he wanted to search for jobs the next day. As he lay down, the pain in his head subsided, and he let his thoughts drift, hoping to remember more about who he was and how he ended up in this place.

As Valerian lay back on his bed, he gazed out the window. The view was uninspiring—just a plain brick wall, casting a dull shadow over his already cramped room. He could hear the distant hum of the city and the occasional shouts from the street, but there was little to see beyond the weathered bricks.

He closed his eyes, trying to relax, but his mind was a jumble of thoughts. What kind of place was this? The room felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember how he got here. His instincts told him to find work, but he wasn't sure where to start. Who could he even turn to for help? The uncertainty was unnerving, but he knew he couldn't just give up.

Valerian remembered the oil lamp on the nightstand and turned it down, letting the dim light fade. The room grew darker, with only the faint glow from the streetlights outside. He pulled the patched quilt over himself, trying to find comfort in its familiar weight.

His head throbbed from the earlier pain, and he wondered if it would return. The sensation had been so intense, it made him question if something deeper was wrong. He pushed the thought aside, focusing on his most immediate need: rest. Tomorrow, he would have to navigate this unknown city, search for work, and find some way to get his bearings.

Valerian took a deep breath, trying to calm the anxiety that gnawed at him. The sounds of the city faded into a low murmur, a backdrop to his racing thoughts. What did tomorrow hold? Where should he begin his search? He had no idea, but he knew he had to keep moving forward.

As the room grew silent, Valerian finally began to relax. He knew he had to find a way to make sense of this world, but for now, he just needed sleep. He closed his eyes and let his breathing slow, hoping that rest would bring clarity—or at least some sense of direction—for the day ahead.