"What is destiny? If a person is destined to die tomorrow, can they avoid it? Do we just follow the flow, or can we break it?"
These were the questions that haunted me. They came from a book I remembered reading—a book that detailed my own fate. In its pages, I was the villain, and my story ended in death. I was supposed to follow that path, but if my destiny was a blade aimed at my throat, I would shatter it, no matter which god told me to submit.
My eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar ceiling, a breathtaking expanse of carved plaster and gold leaf that seemed impossibly high. A cascade of what I assumed was my own hair, long and silvery-white, spilt over the silk pillow in front of me. I had never had long hair. The sensation of it, cool and heavy against my cheek, was the first of many things that felt utterly wrong.
Half-asleep, I pushed myself up, the fine-spun sheets pooling around my waist. The room was a sea of opulence I didn't recognise: a grand, silver-framed mirror, a heavy mahogany dressing table cluttered with crystal bottles, and a wardrobe that loomed like a monolith, its dark wood intricately carved with unfamiliar sigils. Beside the bed, large glass doors framed a balcony overlooking a vast, manicured garden. Everything was foreign. Everything was wrong.
The bedroom door creaked open, and a young maid entered, balancing a porcelain bowl and a folded towel. Her movements were practised and quiet until our eyes met. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, a sound of pure shock. The bowl slipped from her grasp and shattered against the marble floor, the noise echoing in the silent room. I raised a hand, a word of reassurance on my lips, but she turned and fled as if she'd seen a ghost.
I sank back into the plush mattress, my mind racing, a frantic litany of questions screaming for answers. What the hell is going on? When did I own a room like this? When did my hair turn white? I forced myself out of bed, my bare feet sinking into a thick, soft rug. I walked towards the mirror, my reflection growing clearer with each step. The girl who stared back was a stranger: small and painfully thin, her face pale under a mane of white hair, her body no older than fourteen. My body? I couldn't believe it. I reached out a trembling hand, my fingers tracing the unfamiliar lines of her—my—face, the delicate arch of an eyebrow, and the startling texture of the strange, white hair. It felt real, terrifyingly real.
The door opened again, more forcefully this time. A group of people rushed in: the maid from before, a woman with the same long white hair as mine, a man with short white hair, and trailing behind them, a little boy and girl. Worry was etched onto every one of their faces, a shared anxiety that seemed to focus entirely on me.
"Is that really my Aurelia?" the woman asked, her voice thick with a mixture of hope and disbelief.
She and the man rushed to my side, enveloping me in a hug before I could react. I stood stiffly in their arms, a wooden doll in a stranger's embrace. The gesture felt awkward, unearned, and deeply unsettling. The woman pulled back, her hands framing my face, tears glistening in her striking red eyes.
"Aurelia… You're awake… How is your body? Does anything hurt?" Her questions were a torrent, each one laced with years of pent-up worry.
"Oh, dear… Calm down for a second," the man said gently, placing a hand on her arm. "She looks overwhelmed. Look at her; she's still pale and in shock."
They released me, though their concerned eyes never left my face.
"I know, my dear," the woman said, her voice trembling slightly. "But to see her standing… after so long… I can't hold it in."
Just as I thought the contact was over, I felt a tug at my legs. The little boy and girl were clinging to me, their small arms wrapped tightly around my calves. Looking down, I saw they were twins, though their eyes were different. The girl, clutching a worn-out porcelain doll, had her mother's red eyes, while the boy had his father's piercing blue. They were adorable and utterly strange to me.
"Aurelia, you need to rest," the woman said, her voice softening as she gently pried the children away. "You two, let your sister go."
The twins released their grip, and the woman guided me back to the bed. I lay down, my head spinning, and she pulled the heavy blanket over me.
"How are you feeling?" she pressed, her questions a constant, gentle stream.
"Au… re… li… a," I managed, the name feeling foreign and clumsy on my tongue.
"What is it?"
"You called me Aurelia. Is that my name?"
A collective shock, sharp and sudden, silenced the room. Every face was a mask of disbelief.
The man's voice boomed, startling me. "WHERE IS THE PHYSICIAN I ORDERED?"
"She is on her way, Your Grace," the maid stammered, her face ashen.
"HOW LONG? GO AND GET HER! NOW!"
The maid scrambled from the room. The woman's expression was one of stunned disbelief. She clutched my right hand, her grip tight and cold, while the man paced anxiously, his boots thudding against the marble. The twins stood silently by their mother's side, their wide, innocent eyes fixed on me. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the man's restless footsteps.
After what felt like an eternity, the maid returned with a red-haired woman in tow.
"The physician has arrived, Your Grace."
"Good. Quickly, check my daughter."
The words my daughter sent another jolt of dislocation through me. The twins stepped back as the physician sat on the edge of the bed, though the lady never let go of my hand. The physician took my other wrist, her touch cool and professional. Her eyes closed as she concentrated, her fingers pressing lightly against my pulse. After a moment, she placed her hand on my forehead, then on her own, comparing our temperatures.
"I believe there is nothing physically wrong with her," the physician announced, her voice calm and measured.
"Are you certain?" the man replied, his voice tight with suspicion.
"I am, Your Grace."
"But she asked for her own name," the lady countered, her voice barely a whisper. "It's as if she doesn't know who she is."
The physician turned her steady gaze to me. "Do you know your name?"
"They called me Aurelia… I suppose that's my name."
"And before that?"
"I don't know."
"Can you remember anything from your past?"
"What past?" My answer was honest, and it seemed to hang in the air like a death sentence.
"Hmm… What about these two children? Do you recognise them?"
I studied their small, worried faces, searching for any flicker of recognition, any connection at all. There was nothing. "I have no idea."
The worry on the lady's and the man's faces deepened into something closer to despair.
"You don't know them?"
"I'm sorry, I don't."
"And the lady holding your hand? Do you recognise her?"
I turned to meet her anxious, pleading gaze. "No idea."
Her face crumpled with a fresh wave of worry, her grip on my hand tightening.
"Do you have any dreams when you sleep?"
"I can't remember."
The physician stood and led the lady and the man out of the room, whispering something I couldn't hear. The twins remained, their faces looking as if they were about to cry. They crept closer to the bed and took hold of my arm.
The boy spoke first, his voice small and fragile. "Sister Aurelia, do you really not know us?"
I couldn't answer. The truth felt too cruel.
The girl's voice trembled, each word a struggle. "Sis-ter… Aurelia… Are you… really… Sister Aurelia?"
Still, I had no answer for them.
She held her doll up to me with both hands, a desperate offering. "Look… You must know who she is, right?"
I remained silent. The girl's composure finally broke, and she began to cry, her small body shaking with sobs. The boy tried to comfort her, but his own tears soon followed, and soon they were both weeping.
I sat up and reached out, placing my hands on their heads and patting them gently. I offered them a small, helpless smile, the only comfort I could give.
Just then, the adults returned. The lady rushed to the twins, pulling them into a comforting embrace while the physician stood before my bed.
"I think it's best if everyone understands," the physician began, her voice calm and steady, commanding the room. "My lady has suffered a profound memory loss. The extent is unclear, but given that she doesn't recognise her own birth mother, it's possible her entire past is gone. However, there is hope. Typically, such memory loss can cause one to revert to a childlike state. My lady has not. She understands us perfectly. The best course of action is for her to begin learning everything anew. It is my hope that in doing so, she may eventually regain what she has lost."
"Then we should start by introducing ourselves," the lady said, composing herself with a visible effort. "My name is Cordelia Aurelius. I am your mother, and you are Aurelia Aurelius." She patted the twins gently. "Do you two want to introduce yourselves?"
"I… I want to," the boy sniffled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "My name is… Aurelio Aurelius."
"I am… Ophelia… Aurelius," the girl stammered through her sobs.
Cordelia patted their heads, and I turned my gaze to the man.
"Dear," she prompted. "You should introduce yourself as well."
"Right," he cleared his throat, his voice rough with emotion. "I am Marcus Aurelius. I am your father."
"We are the Aurelius family," Cordelia continued, her voice regaining some of its strength. "And this is our family physician, Sofia."
Sofia offered me a small, respectful bow.
"I think it's best you get some rest now, Aurelia," Cordelia said softly. "You two, let your sister rest."
And with that, they all filed out of the room, leaving me alone with a name that wasn't mine and a life I didn't remember. The weight of it all settled upon me, a suffocating blanket of confusion and fear.