If I could describe how it feels to have your skull crushed, your stomach burning, and bones screaming; then comes the pressure. Rising. Squeezing you so tight, there's no air left. Tighter. Tighter. Tighter.

There's a pulsating need to breathe. To taste a sweet release from the constrictive forces tearing at the fabrics of your sanity.

But you can't. You can't breathe.

Your chest caves sinking further. Further. Further. Your ribs weaken and deacy with every thud and hammer of your beating heart.

If I could describe all this clearly. Then perhaps, I can begin to explain what I'm experiencing. Even then words are lacking to explain every sensation of my blood curling ready to burst from past my skin, the violent searing heat blighting every inch of me, and my vision blanketed in a smog.

Perhaps there is one word that can describe this.

Pain.

Indescribable pain.

There is no end to it. Even the seconds feel like years in this state.

Pain.

Only pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Only pain.

Then like magic.

Everything stops.

It stopped.

The burning.

The tearing.

There's only stillness left.

I am like a feather. Floating back to my body.

Where was I?

I feel as if I were lost at sea. Swaying in the current of the ocean. There's a peace to it. Pure solace. A humming in my ears. Its melodic.

It's confusing.

I can't place it.

There's this revitalizing feeling pouring into me. I'm returning. But I don't know from where. I just know, I'm returning.

Air pushes into my lungs, forcing me to breathe. My eyes flutter open. The bright rays of sunlight make me squint. It's warm. I feel almost blanketed in gentle mild heat.

"Elise?" I know I've never heard the voice before. "Elise?" The voice cracks, desperately searching for a response. From the deeper timbre and lower pitch I know it must belong to a man's. I pull my heavy eyes open wider.

"Elise?" A soft touch presses onto my cheek. Grey eyes shine like the gleam of a coin, then the color shifts. His eyes become that of a dove grey, and I swear, for a moment, I see it. The wings of a dove in his eyes.

"Elise." He whispers. His voice stands firm this time. His resolution clear. The soft touch become more aggressive. Hands gripping my cheeks, and fingers exploring the surface of my skin.

"Elise."  My vision wavers becoming fuzzy lens. Everything's so blurry. Yet, why?

Why is he so clear?

Isolated from all the fuzz is him. His hands press deeper holding my face tighter, as if he let go, I slip through his fingers. He pulls us closer. Grey eyes against mines. Smooth Tawny brown hair. Soft features that appear painted. Sun kissed maroon skin. Everything about him, from slow rising smile, hopeful glow, and his frantic grasp, is unfamiliar. Yet he stares at me. Feels me. All as if, he knows me.

Missed me.

"Elise." Again, that's the one name he won't stop uttering. It's as if he has no words left, except for the name.

"Elise." I know he's on the verge of tears with his shaking voice. The blur clears and my scenery become distinct. I pull away from the man's grasp. Velvet red curtains with gold trimmings dance in the wind. Satin covers rest on the bed I'm lying in. A graceful royal purple bed canopy hangs above me. The ceiling pure white gilded with chandeliers and dramatic domes and caves. I've never seen this bed. I've never seen this room.

"Elise, I...," I can hear him looking for words.  I don't know this man. I don't know this place.

And for the life of me, I don't know who the hell Elise is.

A pit grows in my stomach. Panic settles on my tongue. Where am I? I must leave. I must go. This is not my home. This is not my room. My room has yellow curtains and dainty small window that lets in just air for circulation and an inch of light. My room is average sized, one of 4 in my house. I know it's not this spacious expansive room that spreads in front of me now. All at once, the realization dawns on me.

I don't know where I am.

My breath begans to break its rhythm, becoming sporadic.

Leave. I need to leave.

In one hasty movement I rip away from the bed.

"Wait! Elise, it's too early to move—-!"

"Bang!" I crash into the floor. My legs knot together becoming a tangled mess that weighs me to ground. A stinging sensation vibrates through my muscles. It's as if my legs aren't used to walking.

"Are you alright?" The man hurries to my side.

"Elise," he wraps a hand around my arm lifting me slowly, "please be careful."

Elise.

Elise.

Elise.

Enough of that!

"Stop it!" I shout, snatching my arm away and propelling from him. The shock on his face is prominent.

"Elise," he reaches out for my hand, "I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you. Please return to the bed, you're still so weak."

"No!" I state, every letter hinging on the fear boiling in blood. Why does my body ache this way? Every second standing feels like walking on glass. The stinging sensation spreads from toes and rolling up through my legs. My bones feel brittle, gnawed down by fatigue.

It's strange. I feel different. My legs shake feeling thinner than paper. I'm slimmer than I remember, in fact, everything feels ganut and threadlike. My throat burns, as if I've had a sore throat for longer than a day.

"Elise? Please," he begs, "return back to the bed. You shouldn't stand. Not when you're this weak."

"No!" Has my voice always sounded this way? This raspy croaking murmur of a voice? The pain blazes through my wobbling legs. I know they're about to give away. Stumbling to the wide vanity desk only a few steps, I make my way forward, although every step might as well be stomping on shards of glass. Exhausted, I catch my breath, and lift my head in ragged movements. My eyes are first to catch sight of the mirror. 

Who?

Who?

Who is that?

Those aren't my eyes. That's not my nose. These aren't my lips. Those aren't my ears. That isn't the color of my hair.

Who?

Who?

Who am I staring at?

I don't have large doe brown eyes, charcoal black hair, or rounded petite lips. I didn't have these deep set bags under my eyes. My fingers trail across an unknown face.

I didn't have this sunken in appearance. My eyes fell to my body. I didn't go to sleep in a pastel pink nightgown. I was never this small, so fragile, almost broken. I'm pale. So pale I could disappear. So small I could be carried by wind.

Just who?

Who am I staring at?

Who is this?

This is not me.

Tears well in my eyes.

This is not my body.

The ground is icy against her feet. It's a cold that bites and nips all the warmth from the skin. But, it doesn't dissuade her. No. Her footsteps have a purpose. She pushes on, no matter how the bitter and frigid the cold becomes. Each step, a glacial chill finds life, like a snake it coils and slithers wrapping itself around her with a strict hold.

Even then, she doesn't stop. She preserves. Her steps are with confidence. She descends down, a force within her will, drags her further into the arms of the darkness below.

The endless spiral of darker than black, looms, ready to consume her. Despite continuing into the mouth of the dark, not one moment scares her, she doesn't falter. No. No. Her footsteps have a purpose.

Until she falls.

She misplaces her foot, just enough to lose her balance, and like a flightless bird, she falls. Her arms shoot out, much like she hopes to fly again. But she's not going to fly. She's defenseless against the gravity, seizing her, and accelerating her downwards.

Thud.

One tumble into the stair.

Thud.

One head busted against the banister.

Thud.

One back punched with every tumultuous fall.

Thud.

One bleeding and bruised body into something soft.

She's curled into a ball. Squeezing her burning foot, now likely twisted. There's a feeling that she should call for help. But she can't make a word with a mangled tongue. Lifting herself up, with the last amount of strength left, she peers around herself. Everything is like the night. Dark. Silent.

And always hiding a skeleton or two.

The scream almost rips her throat open. Her landing was soft because of the wealth of bodies below her.

All dead.

All bloodied, decaying flesh, and a patchwork of knotted arms, fingers, and an assortment of human puzzle pieces. 

The shock is too much. She can't take it. With every shrill of her screams, escalating breath, and fading complexion, she nears the edge of consciousness.

They can't be dead.

She has to deny it.

They can't be dead.

She has to deny it.

They can't be dead.

She can't ever accept it.

Reality snatches her back. With a heavy gasp, her eyes whip open. She shivers so wildly her vision even begins to shake.

"Ilyas?" Her voice is light whisper, while her fingers reach out from her sides. The bed is cold without him there.

"Ilyas?" She calls out, her hands pressed into empty bedside. Her teeth begin to chatter beyond her control.

The bodies.

The blood.

"Ilyas!" She shouts. "Ilyas!" The shaking takes an extreme hold on her. Now, her bones rattle and waver becoming a throbbing spasm.

"Ilyas!" She had to hold him. To feel his tender touch. She needed to be sure. She just had to be sure—-that he was the same person she knew: Her Ilyas.

"Ilyas!" The cry is muffled by the sound of the bedroom door swinging open.

"Ilyas." The sigh of relief comes naturally, the moment she saw him lantern in hand, and whisking to the bedside.

"You're going to wear out my name at this point." He chortled, setting down the lantern on the bed table.

"Ilyas." She grabbed his hands, holding them tightly. They were just as warm as she remembered.

"What's wrong?" He asked returning her hands a light squeeze. His eyebrows furrowed together, concern settling. The light glow of the lantern's flame allowed him to see the ghastly fear on her face.

"I...I had a nightmare." She said, searching in his face for any consolation.

"About what?" He sat beside her. Her teeth pressed down into her lip, her jaw locking in place.

"I'm so scared, Ilyas." The murmur barely left her lips.

"What is it that plagues you this way?" He asks. Her only response is rest her head against him. He sighs, accepting her reticence. His fingers trail through her short curly hair. He wished there was some way, he could make her feel at ease. Unbeknownst to him, just his presence alone, comforted her.

"Ilyas?" Her tone is hushed.

"Yes?" He combs through her hair so lightly, it was almost shy.

"Sometimes," she breathes in, " I get this feeling. This thing," she breathes out, "I can't shake. I feel like it's inevitable." She breathes in. "I feel, as if," she breathes out, "I feel I'm drifting away, going away somewhere, and for a long time, I just," she breathes in, " I know I won't return."  She breathes out.

Then she stops.

She stops breathing.

"Ilyas." The whisper slips from me, my fingers stretch outreaching, and searching for the touch of something. The bed is cool against my hands, as I pressed into the empty bedside. Where is he? I rip my eyelids open, charging upwards. Velvet red curtains with gold trimmings dance in the wind. My grip strengthens its fistful of satin covers. A graceful royal purple bed canopy hangs above me. The ceiling pure white gilded with chandeliers and dramatic domes and caves.

No. This just can't be right. I can't be in this body again. I can't. I can't. I can't.

I stand in frailty, to my feet hurrying to the mirror. Black hair, brown eyes, and delicate features.

These are her eyes.

Her hair.

Her face.

Ilyas.

Whose names is that?

Calling the name feels natural.

"Miss?" A young female's voice echos from behind me. I crane my head to the source, a young girl no more than her teens, dressed in a maid's uniform stares at me, eyes bulging from the sockets. She's baffled, the utter shock obvious in her beady eyes. I can see, she makes an attempt to try to hide it, the small puffy duster faltering between her hands.

"Miss Elise," she speaks slowly, "the Master requested you remain bed resting. Your condition is far too weak." Her lips are pressed firmly together, and she bundles her apron with her free hand.

Elise.

Yes. That's your name. This body belongs to you, doesn't it? This is your life? The regal bedroom, dainty apparel, a working staff, and that man? Who are these people to you, Elise?

"Mi-Miss?" The maid sputters the moment I stumble backward.

This just isn't right.

Elise.

This is your body.

This is yours.

Take it back.

I need to wake up in my bed, my clothes, be next to my family, and be back in my body.

"Miss? Are you all alright? Shall I escort you back to your bed?" The young girl nearly darts to my side. She steadies me, holding me up for dear life.

"No," my head rigorously shakes, "No. No. No! This isn't right!" I don't have any control over the bursting of my emotions and my words overflowing. "Who are you? Why? Why? Why am I here? What's happening?" Like a faucet, I spill every thought that crossed my hazy mind.

"Madame?" The young girl's face grows intensively petrified, "Shall I retrieve the Master?"

"No, no, no," my fingers tear into my skull—no her skull. I sway down holding my head in my head. But these aren't my hands. It's hers.

"No! No! No! This can't be!" I scream.

"Mi-Miss I shall go get the Master!" The young girl bolts out the door without any delay.

Alone, I can feel every second of water swelling, stinging my eyes. Clutching my chest, I fling myself to the mirror.

Black hair, brown eyes, and delicate features.

These are her eyes.

Her hair.

Her face.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

This. Isn't. My. Body.

My teeth chatter so hard, they pierce my tongue. Blood swirls in my mouth. The rustic taste rolls over my tastebuds like poison. I grapple at my chest like flame is alight within me, it burns. It's burning. It's agonizing with every pricking and stinging of my heart.

"Elise take your body back," The wail forces out of me. I crumble. My knees snapping. My arms flailing. My body curling into a writhing sobbing mess on the floor.

Elise.

Please.

If you're in here.

In this body still.

Please.

If you can hear me.

Please.

This is your body.

Take it. Take it back.

I just want my body back. I want to go home, to my life.

I shudder with every convulsive sob.

"M-Master. She's over here." Voices echo behind me. "She just...she just became hysterical. I didn't do anything, Sir. I just told her you requested she stay in bed. That's all, Sir."

"Just leave! Tell everyone to leave! Now!"

"Ye-yes! I understand Sir!" The door latches shut.

"Elise?" It's a familiar mournful call.

That's her name. Not mines. I'm not Elise. I'm not. I'm Maria. My name is Maria.

"You can't pass out on me like yesterday. You have to talk to me." His warm hand rests on my shoulder.

"You don't understand," the words become caught in my throat and I have to choke it out, "you don't understand."

"Elise," he turns me from my side, "make me understand." Grey eyes meet with my blurry vision. Even through the water of tears, I can see his woeful gaze.

"No," my head shakes, the sobs keep leaking, "I'm not Elise. This is not my body. This is not me. I don't know who you are, or where I am."

It's then and there, I see something I've never seen before so clearly. The man in front of me caves. His eyes are glassy. His face covered in sorrow. He's absolutely grief-stricken.

"Elise," he whispers, "that's not true." His lips quiver. "I get it. You're just confused, right now. Your memories are just a little fuzzy." He takes my hand.

"Your name is Eliska Aberylton. You were raised in a little village you could never remember the name of," his grip strengths, "but you always knew, it was on the coastline. And you told me," He catches his breath, "you said, we'll find out the name of the place together."

"No. No. No." Tears stream down my cheeks, and I struggle to speak. "No, that's wrong—-," he continued speaking ignoring my broken voice.

"You told me, your parents only got to name you, but never to raise you. Your favorite color is Purple." His feebly smiles at me. "It's a purple like the lilacs that bloom in May. You love to take long strolls in the garden, and sometimes you pretend that you've planted every plant there because you've always wanted a green thumb."

That's not true.

That's not true.

It's not.

I never liked purple.

I never liked gardens.

"And," he locks eyes with me speaking louder, as if to be louder than my thoughts, "you love to spend time in the study. You've always thought you didn't have an aptitude for anything. Until you picked up the pen, writing such beautiful poems. You wonder where the talent comes from, and I've always told you that comes from your innate ability for empathy and love. You taught me that magic." I squeeze my eyes shut.

Elise. Please. Please. Come back. This is your body. Please. Please. Take it back. I just want mines back.

"Elise, look at me," his voice is weaker, "please look at me." The moment tears land on my cheeks, I pry my eyes open.

How are we both crying?

"You came to me under strange circumstances, and yet you loved me nevertheless. Even when you fell ill, and I almost lost you, you told me you'd come back. You promised you'd come back. And you did." Tears leap from his eyes as he lifts my hand. Why hadn't I noticed this from before? It's a gleaming golden embedded with amethyst stones. It's simple, yet strikingly beautiful.

"You came back to me." He utters placing a delicate kiss on my ring finger, where the golden ring looks snug on my finger, exactly where it's supposed to be.