Cold Touch Beneath the Stone Ceiling
Her face was cold.
Her cheeks were ice-cold.
Even her ears felt chilled to the bone.
The sensation was damp and rough at the same time.
“…?”
She blinked awake, confused by the unfamiliar touch.
A strange ceiling met her eyes.
It was curved and arched, made of rough stone.
Too dark to see clearly, but enough was visible.
Am I kidnapped…?
The situation felt anything but normal.
She had never made enemies in life.
Yet here she was.
…
Red stains, tangled like spiderwebs, floated in the dim light.
She couldn’t make them out clearly.
Blood… probably.
High probability.
—Clap.
She placed both hands on the floor.
An odd sound echoed.
Looking down, she found the viscous, clammy liquid soaking her fingers.
She had to stay calm.
…Hic.
Of course she should.
But impossible situations kept stacking up.
Especially when her small, calloused hand was buried in the dark red mess.
…No.
Following the hand’s direction, she saw her arm was the same way.
“Eh?”
…And now a new problem had appeared.
Ah…
The voice rolled lightly along the acrid air before falling silent.
The issue was that it didn’t sound male at all.
It wasn’t her own voice.
Yet somehow it came from her mouth.
…
She slowly brought her hand to her neck, feeling the collarbone, then the shoulder, then the arm.
They were thin.
Too thin.
But her memories were clear.
She was a man.
So what was this body?
She had woken in a place that looked straight out of a medieval game.
She didn’t know why.
But her fingers were painfully slender and pale.
First, it wasn’t kidnapping.
If it were, there would be a reason.
She had no parents, no friends.
So perhaps this really was a game?
That would be bad news.
She had never played those kinds of games.
She had been an orphan, after all.
She would much rather this had been one of the novels she loved reading…
…
She lowered the crossed hands carefully, then explored her body further.
Waist.
Hips.
Legs.
All her senses felt foreign.
Yet every one of them came from her own body.
…No way.
The strange whisper came from her throat again.
She ignored it and brought her face close to the red pool.
Ha…
The red liquid didn’t reflect her properly.
Shadows danced from the flickering torches.
She couldn’t make out her exact features.
But one thing was certain.
…
She lifted her hand to her face.
She stroked her lips, then the bridge of her nose, and the tip.
Small.
Soft.
And most of all, beautiful.
…Ah.
Her reflection in the pool was beautiful.
Even though the parts she had just touched were smeared with dark red liquid.
…What is this?
Information she couldn’t process poured in.
Where she was.
The impossible change in her body.
If only she had a little more time, she might understand.
But before her mind could even catch up—
—Plop.
From far away.
Or rather, surprisingly close.
—Plop.
Something was stepping into the water pool.
—Plop.
None of the situations made sense.
Her head spun.
Her forehead felt a little warm.
Even so, she could still do basic situation assessment.
Those footsteps didn’t sound happy.
—Plop.
She cautiously rose in place and searched for something that could help.
Stones.
Bricks.
Gravel.
Ha.
Just rocks.
Choices were few.
She was glad.
—Plop.
She picked up a stone of suitable size with both hands.
Then she stood at the corner of the corridor where the footsteps were coming from.
—Plop.
She thought.
No matter what happened after this moment,
—Plop.
—Plop.
Her life would be a tough journey.
“Kreeeeee—!”
—Puff!