waking in this body again

"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.

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