Martha knew something was wrong even before she opened her eyes. Her face felt wet and sticky like melted rubber. She tried to move her hands to inspect it, but her limbs had a mind of their own. They didn't budge. She felt drained and empty.

"She is crying, mama, Mary is crying," a young voice kept chanting. Martha could make out it belonged to a child of 11-13 years of age.

"The poor girl has gone through a lot, my boy," another pity-filled voice responded. Pity, she hated that emotion. Nobody had a right to pity her! She needed no man's pity.

"Go check if your father has returned with the physician," the pity-filled voice belonging to an older lady said, and the scrambling of feet, the sound of the door opening and closing told her the young boy had gone to carry out the command.

"What dream is this?" Martha was supposed to be getting rid of her husband and his vile mother, not be

Weeks had passed since Martha had been couped up in that little room recovering from the wounds on a body she was still struggling to adjust into and learning to get used to being called Mary, a name so foreign to her. She hadn't spoken in weeks, the sound of the voice coming out of her throat was not hers and it was difficult to get used to. The strange faces she couldn't recognize at first slowly began to become faces she got a little comfort seeing especially the little boy, but she hated the life she was living, one of poverty and lack.

Whoever brought her here could at least have given her a better life, not this poor miserable life in the body of a weak girl, a bastard at that. She had been told this morning that she was being called at the main house by the lady of the house, her supposed father's wife. From what was described to her by the little boy, she was wicked, at least to

Darkness. The constricting feeling of not knowing where the beginning from the end was surrounded, Mary. She could feel the sweat trickle down her back. Please let me out. Somebody...anybody, she desperately wished. Black and white flashes grazed through her mind in rapid succession. Like a script being played out, they seemed like memories, but these were not hers.

A world she never believed could exist.

Letting out a scream, she broke free, the cold hard floor greeting her. Snapping her eyes open, she looked around. Why was she on the floor?  Where is this place? Last she remembered, she was dragged by an unknown man next thing, she is in a different world... everything feels off. Scrambling to her feet she rushed to the large mirror at the corner of the room.

Her hands flew to her face. This was not how she looked!!. Whose face is this? Then the memories she had began to align themselves.

This is Martha...she was now Martha. I am Martha Bernard....the sole heiress to one of the most influential families in New York. She scanned her environment. A massive, exquisitely decorated room was on display. The bed alone could fit four people comfortably, a bathroom extension with things Mary had never seen before, and a  massive glass wall that gave a beautiful view of the city. In Mary’s memories, she knew just what all the pieces of equipment around her were, but they still felt strange.

Running her hands over the massive painting of Martha at the head of the bed unclad with just her hands over her boobs and her legs crossed, she couldn’t help but admire what a beauty this lady was-beauty I am ...I am Martha now she reminded herself. Her eyes, however looked so lifeless. Exactly how Mary’s eyes had always looked in her past life. It seemed she and this lady had one thing in common,they were both miserable.

Knock! Knock!

Mary-no Martha jolted back to reality in response to the rattling on the door. She stood paralyzed. Who would come to check on her this morning? She had no family. Martha’s parents were dead, and she lived alone, except Moses, her trusted driver. He was like family, the only familiar face that seemed genuinely concerned about her. He had been with her for as long as she could remember and continued to serve even after her parent’s death at the age of 16.

What do I do! Mary thought, she could not open the door. This body was covered in a flimsy nightgown that showed basically everything. If you ask her, it would have been better to sleep naked.

"Miss Martha, you need to come down. It is already 8:30 you have lectures by nine, besides you are meeting with the event planner to discuss plans for your 20th birthday coming up at the end of the week” He paused. Mary wriggled her fingers, something she did when she was nervous. She was sure he was waiting for a reply. She opened her mouth to speak, but only inaudible sounds came forth.

"I'll take that as a yes, see you down in hopefully less than 30 minutes" Sounds of retreating footsteps echoed through the hallway. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she flung herself on the bed. How soft and perfect, with eyes closed, she savored the feeling this was the best feeling in the world compared to the wooden bed on which she slept in her past life.

Hold up according to her memories, Martha was 30 years and married. How can she be celebrating her 20th birthday!?

Her eyes snapped open..did she also go back in time!!?

*

Meanwhile…

Deep in the forest, a young lady laid covered by a pile of dead fallen leaves bruised and bloodied. Her clothes were torn and ripped in very private places. Dried blood on her head and thighs, flesh remnants under her nails, and traces of tears from on her pale face a testament to what had happened.

"Mary! Mary!!" The young voice of Micheal, the gardener's son, rang out. He had not seen Mary since noon the previous day, it was implausible for her to disappear without letting him know. She was his best friend. She had promised him a story. He had told his Mama and Papa, but they were wasting time. Mary could be in trouble. He quickened his steps as much as his little feet could allow screaming her name at the top of his voice.

"Ouch!" His tiny hands were stretching just in time to brace his fall. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he reached out to dislodge whatever tripped him, probably a stone. Pulling harder, it refused to budge. This did not feel like a stone or a stick. It felt cold, smooth, and then rough, it felt like ...a human hand! He jumped to his feet, ready to make a run for it...just then, he heard a sound. Stopping, he listened again. It was a strained moan. His inquisitive side prevailed. Shaky hands slowly worked their way through the pile of dead leaves. With eyes wide like saucers, Micheal fell back.

His worst fear just became a reality.


Martha knew something was wrong even before she opened her eyes. Her face felt wet and sticky like melted rubber. She tried to move her hands to inspect it, but her limbs had a mind of their own. They didn't budge. She felt drained and empty.

"She is crying, mama, Mary is crying," a young voice kept chanting. Martha could make out it belonged to a child of 11-13 years of age.

"The poor girl has gone through a lot, my boy," another pity-filled voice responded. Pity, she hated that emotion. Nobody had a right to pity her! She needed no man's pity.

"Go check if your father has returned with the physician," the pity-filled voice belonging to an older lady said, and the scrambling of feet, the sound of the door opening and closing told her the young boy had gone to carry out the command.

"What dream is this?" Martha was supposed to be getting rid of her husband and his vile mother, not being trapped in a dream. The last thing she remembered was being stuck in a car, surrounded by flames

Chapter 4