Traces of a Familiar Stranger

She let her eyes wander the room. To her immediate left was a window and she could see outside. There was a city, carved into the cliffs like stairs. Roads led from one level to next and at its lowest point was a harbor. Just judging from her view, this house may have sat somewhere high up.

The sky was a clean, cloudless blue. Seagulls wheeled past her window and dove beyond the buildings. A coastal city, no doubt. One whose name she did not recall, if she ever was here to begin with. It was a beautiful sight, yet no recollection stirred inside her. How frustrating…

He did not seem to recognize me… It seems that I’ve never been here before. She thought to
herself and turned her head around. What else is there?

She took in the rest of her surroundings, aimed for the room. It was a guest room and not a large
one at that. The floor was made of wooden boards and the walls seemed half-timbered, reinforced with bricks. There was a blue carpet, a few paintings depicting shores and other vistas, a bedside table and a wardrobe. On this bedside table, she found something that caught her attention: A mirror.

For the first time since she woke up, she came face to face with herself; a familiar stranger. And yet, a flicker of disappointment crossed her face when the reflection sparked no memory. Her big eyes were the color of amber like the rising sun. Her hair, the color of warm lavender framed her face, tied into twin tails with purple ribbons. They were saltlogged, the ribbons hanging onto dear life and she resisted the urge to fix them.

Black-rimmed spectacles sat on her nose, framing eyes that seemed perpetually curious. Her build appeared curvy with generous endowment and her eyes drifted to two long, pointed ears jutting from her lavender hair. If she had to guess, she was in her early twenties.

To her body clung tattered, sodden rags, the remains of a white and purple robe that might once have reached her calves but was now torn short at her thigh. What probably once showed the proud makings of a wizard, now showed only ruin.

Mira reached out to the mirror and held it, while the other hand traced her soft facial features, committing it all to memory. She touched the glass and the girl in the mirror touched back.

So this is me, yes? She thought. Then, she smiled at her reflection. She took everything in again.

Her face, the tattered robes clinging to her curves, the salt-logged hair she felt looked like a birds nest. She knew how she looked. Another piece to the puzzle. Though maybe she should take a bath at some point...

Well this is a start. Okay, now what next? She thought.

And she didn’t have to wait long for an answer; her stomach growled. In her excitement she had forgotten that she was still hungry. A bit embarrassed, her eyes drifted to the loaves and she cupped one of them. Cold, but still soft. They were baked today.

Ah, they’re soft! It still hurts a little when I swallow though… she thought.

But as she chewed, she got an idea. She knew what she looked like but everything she’d come with was its weight worth in gold. Bread in one hand, she nibbled as she dove back into her bag. Her belongings were pieces of a self she couldn’t remember. Silent as they were, their existence could tell her plenty. She emptied the bag onto the bed.

There was a small case and when she opened it, revealed a simple quill pen. The feather was white and ended in a silver ferrule. Next was a closed inkwell, luckily undamaged and unopened.There was another case, holding a spare set of glasses; intact. Mira gasped in joy and took off her damaged ones, replacing them with a fixed pair. Her old self came prepared, and it was a great mercy to her. She put them on and the world came fully into focus. She felt tension leave her shoulders and exhaled.

And last there was the book. It seeing how it had partially dried, she assumed Albert either put her bag somewhere warm or she was out for longer than she thought.

She flipped the pages open and skimmed through it. Her smile turned into a scowl while she munched and nibbled. The pages were unreadable, some of them stuck together. The saltwater had eaten through the pages and devoured the ink. There was only a few pages intact, and those were the front pages. And even that made her frown.

Is my handwriting really this poor? Ugh! Past me could have made this a little easier! She scolded herself in her mind.

Her handwriting was a hastily made scrawl, barely resembling any common writing, but still readable. But there was something she needed to test first. She needed to confirm that this was indeed her own book.

She uncorked the inkwell and dipped the quill into it. The motions were practiced; her body remembered what her mind did not. She read through the first few sentences of the intact page, then flipped to a blank one and transcribed them from memory. Once she had done that, she flipped the pages back and forth to compare the writing. It was nearly identical.

It really is mine then… All of those are. What a relief. I would have felt bad if I paid Albert with someone else’s money! She thought, exhaling.

She felt a weight being lifted from her shoulders. Now she really did know that all these items belonged to hers. And they became another comfort to her.

She looked over the pages again and something else surfaced to her mind from the fog: Arcane knowledge. All those diagrams, all those runes, she could read them. None of it was nonsense to her. This knowledge and her name were two things she could recall.

I guess it was obvious with the book and staff and robes but… A wizard, yes? She thought and cupped her cheek. It wasn’t much. But these small things were things she could latch onto. Pieces of her past self, none more important than the other.

Now she had to think this through. Spellbooks were important to wizards and if she skimmed through the first page, she could clearly see diagrams for a spell or two. She could read the finer details about it later. But this spellbook would no longer serve its purpose. She’d need a new one, a blank book. And then she could transcribe what she could save.

Mira took another bite, chewing on it with little restraint. She was hungry, her stomach was growling. And at least for the moment, she could ignore the hurt every swallow brought with it.

Munch munch much.

Curiosity got the better of her and she was just about to dig into the spell once more. Until-

“Gramps, I’m home!”

Mira froze when she heard a new voice. Moments later a man entered the room, appearing in his early twenties. He had swept, blonde hair with some strands tied to a ponytail. He had blue eyes as well as a lean physique as the width of his tunic hinted at. His face was undeniably handsome, clean shaven and chiseled in appearance. He had rounded ears; he too was a human. A blue cape hung from his shoulders and he wore leather boots and gauntlets. On his back, he carried a halberd, well worn with use. And at first, he didn’t immediately take in that someone else was sitting in this room.

“I’ve been looking for you forever! Just where have you b-“

The man stopped in the doorway. His blue eyes were wide and fixated on Mira. She could not tear her own wide eyes from him. Two strangers frozen, staring. And more importantly, the shock robbed her from any means to speak.

“Uhhhm…” the man started and tilted his head.

He took in Mira’s appearance. And it wasn’t hard for her to know what he was seeing either. Belongings on the bed, disheveled appearance, tattered clothes… It didn’t paint a pretty picture.

“…Who are you? And how did you get in?” he asked directly with a raised brow and slightly open mouth.

The sudden intrusion caught Mira off-guard. Mira eyed him like a deer caught in lamplight. Being put on the spot like that, she didn’t know how to respond. So she chewed.Munch much munch.

“Are you… Eating our bread?! Gramps made that earlier today!” he said, his voice rising in pitch and he hunched over with wide eyes.

Mira didn’t move. A bead of cold sweat ran down her forehead. She had to explain herself and the circumstance. She swallowed and the bigger piece scratched her aching throat. Once more she felt herself unable to speek. She chewed again.

Munch munch munch munch.

“Do you understand what I’m saying or are you mocking me right now…?!” the man asked. A vein pulsed on his forehead, his brows furrowed.

Mira’s eyes remained wide open. She blinked nervously, her head sinking between her shoulders. Whatever gods existed, they must have taken her ability for coherent speech. He grew loud and she didn’t know what to say.

Munch munch munch munch munch!

He bent over further and jabbed his arm forward, his finger pointing directly at Mira’s face.

“Stop eating our bread, evildoer!!!”