Chapter Text
Pain. Pain dominated her memories. There was the physical pain, a molten-hot lead sensation starting at a point, spreading like a plague through her body. Making her limbs numb. Her hands weak.
And another kind of pain, one seen through blurry eyes, as the Princess clung to her. Weeping. Begging. Pleading with God, or Satan, or any other power that might care to listen. And receiving no answer other than the red spreading across her dress.
She knew they were all there. She couldn't see them. No, the world was turning red. Becoming fuzzy and indistinct. Even Princess' face lost definition. Red. Darkening. Turning black around the edges. And she fought. Oh, she fought.
But her strength was draining as quick as her blood.
And as the light of the world faded into dark oblivion, she could hear Princess cry. Heard her voice as she wailed, as her anguish blended seamlessly into a slow, steady beeping.
Beeping. A mechanical beeping. It was rhythmic, even. It matched her heartbeat, Ange realized.
Just a beep. There was no light. There was no other noise.
No. No, there was another. A mechanical hissing, rising and falling with each breath she took.
As Ange's awareness sharpened, she started to feel her body again. She was laying on a strange mattress. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, but very strange.
She was wearing a thin cloth gown, barely reaching to her knees, and tied off in back in a less than complete way. It gapped. She felt the material of the bedsheet against her back and rear.
A needle was stuck into her left arm. It didn't hurt, but it was impossible to miss the sensation. A bandage was wrapped around it, presumably to avoid it being ripped out. A tube was connected to this needle, but she didn't know where it led.
And there were other tubes. A tube between her lips, leading down her throat, and another in one of her nostrils. The hissing came from the one in her nose.
And there were wires, connected to her body in various places and trailing off somewhere.
And, an overall sensation of wrongness. Her proportions felt wrong. She could feel her legs and feet, arms, hands, fingers and toes. They just didn't seem to be in the right places, in a way she couldn't quite describe.
The utter darkness of oblivion lightened up fractionally. She heard voices, distant and hollow. She didn't recognize them. Didn't recognize the words.
And the voices stopped, and the darkness increased again.
And still the beeping, and the hissing. An occasional sensation broke the monotony of her limbo. Pressure on her arm, cold on her chest or back. The sensation of moving, or being moved.
And she heard voices again. And the beeping. And the hissing.
"Alice?!"
Just that one word. Spoken by a young girl she didn't recognize. The voice was very close to her. She felt the unmistakable sensation of a soft, warm hand covering hers. Ange closed her fingers around it. Tightened them. Moving her fingers, in response to a sensation.
"Alice, you ...."
The girl's words lost their coherence, but the hand was still there. Ange's fingers still gripped it.
And the oblivion faded as light flooded into her eyes. Blurry. Vague. Light blue.
Ange blinked. Her vision sharpened fractionally. She was staring up at a ceiling that was painted blue.
"Alice!" The voice repeated. The blue was replaced by the vague outline of a human face. A face with green eyes, and tear-soaked cheeks, all framed by chestnut-brown hair.
Ange blinked, again. The face took on a slightly sharper focus. She had tanned skin, and natural pink lips, and her cheeks were flushed.
"I," the girl blubbered. "I gotta get mom and dad."
Mom.
Ange felt the hand pull out of her grip. Her fingers tightened. She didn't want to not feel that hand in hers.
"Alice, I ... please I ... gonna be right back, okay?"
Ange blinked again. Something in the tone made her loosen her grasp. She felt a surge of regret, as the hand slipped away from hers, and the face pulled back, out of her vision.
Ange strained to sit up, but couldn't get her body to cooperate. She managed to lift her head up off the pillow, enough to see the girl run to a windowless wooden door.
Her hair was shoulder length, or thereabouts. She wore a peach-colored, short-sleeved top. That was all she saw, before her head flopped back down. She heard the door open, then close.
Ange took as deep a breath as she could, considering. It felt strange, breathing in one nostril, as air was forced into her lungs through a tube in the other.
She glanced around. To her left, she could see a machine. The surface had lights, and glowing numbers, and lines that wavered, in sync with the beeping, with her heartbeat.
Above her left shoulder, roughly, a clear bag filled with liquid hung from a metal pole. It was attached to a tube that ran down to the needle in Ange's left arm.
The right hand side of the room had a small table and three chairs, and a metal bedside stand, close enough that she could reach reach it. At that thought, she tried. She raised her arm with difficulty. It didn't hurt, but it was sore. Stiff. As though it hadn't moved in a very long time.
And again, she had the sense of wrongness. Her hand was too small. Her arm not quite long enough.
The door opened before she could dwell too heavily on this. A man and a woman entered, with the girl from before dashing in with a look of excitement.
"See, Alice's awake!"
The woman had shoulder length hair, brown with faint auburn highlights. Her eyes lit up in joy, and she clapped her hands together.
"Oh ... oh God. Alice, you're ...."
Ange had no idea who the people were, and had no idea how to react to them. she was, in a way, thankful for the tube that ran down her throat, as it provided an excuse not to say anything. What could she possibly say?
The older woman reached out for Ange's hand. She clasped it in both of hers. Ange, again, gripped her hand in response. Being able to move, to feel ... even if it was a stranger.
And the woman blubbered as tears streamed out of her eyes. "I was so terrified. That we'd lose you. Oh .., oh Alice ...."
"Does this mean you're gonna come home?" the girl asked, excited.
The man, who had black hair and thin-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat. "Kate, Alice can't talk right now."
Ange shook her head, with some effort, in agreement with his assessment.
"Besides," the man continued, "the doctors have to say when she can come home."
The woman sniffled, and put one arm around the girl's ... Kate's ... shoulder. Pulling her in close. "You'll be coming home soon, though. We'll all be home soon."
Thankfully, another woman entered the room at that moment, distracting the others.
"Good morning Alice," the woman said with a smile. She wore a light blue jumpsuit. Or at least, that was the best label Ange could apply to the outfit. A stethoscope hung around her neck, and she carried what looked roughly like a clipboard, except Ange didn't see any paper.
"It's nice to see you awake," she said.
Ange didn't try to answer, beyond a very thin smile.
"Oh," the man said, "um, do we need to leave?"
"No, that's fine. I'll just be a minute."
She walked over to the machine, looking at it closely, and glancing down at the board that she held. She touched part of it, and Ange saw with some surprise that her touch caused something on the surface to blink and move.
"Well, things look good here, though I do have to take your vitals too."
Ange managed a thin nod, and the woman's smile widened.
"Okay then. First will be blood pressure."
She walked around to the right side, and Ange saw her take a black cuff from somewhere just beyond her vision.
"Can you lift your arm for me?"
Ange nodded, and did so. She heard the woman say something in excitement, but didn't clearly hear the words.
The nurse, or doctor, fit the cuff over Ange's upper arm. Ange expected to see her use a rubber bulb, but instead she pressed a button or toggle, just out of Ange's sight, and the cuff began inflating automatically.
She tapped the board she was carrying, as though using a typewriter. Then the cuff deflated, and she pulled it off, with a ripping sound.
"Okay. Now, heart and lungs. Sorry if it's a bit cold."
She put the stethoscope’s earpieces in her ears, and leaned forward. Ange lay still as she placed the stethoscope against her chest, in several places.
She then pressed a button on a small device on the bedside stand. To Ange's surprise, the upper part of the bed moved, putting her in a seated position.
The woman smiled. "Sorry, should've warned you."
Ange shrugged, and a sheepish grin crossed her lips.
As the bed stopped moving, she again had the sense of wrongness. The woman seemed larger than she ought. Or Ange was smaller. The feeling passed quickly enough
"Can you lean forward for me, dear?"
Ange nodded, and did so, with a slight wince.
"Pain?"
Ange shook her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but that produced even greater discomfort.
"Don¨t talk, hon. Stiff? Sore?"
Ange nodded.
"Understandably. Well, gonna listen to your lungs now."
The cold metal of the stethoscope pressed against Ange’s bare back.
"Breathe normally."
Normal wasn't a word that Ange would use to describe her breathing currently, but she did her best.
She felt the stethoscope move from place to place, then return to the first.
"Okay, breathe in. Hold it. And out. And again. And again."
The woman pulled back, and draped the stethoscope over her neck. "Okay, you can sit back now."
Ange did so, and looked up at her questioningly.
"The doctor will be in to see you in just a bit."
"Thank you," the woman said.
The nurse smiled at her and left.
There was an awkward moment of silence, before Kate and the woman (ought she be thought of as "mom?") took Ange's hands again. Ange chose to smile and squeeze their hands.
"Well," mom finally said, "I think you'll be home soon. It will be so nice having you back. Back in your own room again."
"Sandy," the man said with a sigh, "we really shouldn't ...."
He was interrupted when the door opened again, and a middle-aged woman with dark brown skin entered. She wore an outfit like the nurse's, though it was a bluish green, and she also had a white lab-coat on over it.
"Alice. Nice to see you awake. I'm Dr. Morgan, and I've been treating you while you were in a coma."
Ange nodded and smiled in her direction.
"It's nice to see you again doctor," dad said. "Alice is glad to meet you, I am sure."
Ange nodded.
"Okay. I'll get right to the point. Alice, you were very sick, and the coma was a result of that. It hurt your head, very badly. We believe, however, that you'll make a full recovery. Now that you're awake, we can start to work on making that happen. Okay?"
Ange nodded again. It was the easiest course of action, to agree to being "Alice ."
"Good. Now, I am going to have to ask you, all four of you, to be very patient with us. I know you want to go home together, but right now it's best if Alice stay here under observation."
"Oh," mom said. "Oh, do you think she might get worse again?"
"I don't know yet. It looks good. Like the underlying disease is gone, the swelling is down, there is no permanent brain damage that we can detect ... but in cases like this things are unpredictable."
"Um," mom said to Ange, "I'm sure everything will be okay."
"Well," Dr. Morgan said, "you most likely will be. However, we have to make sure."
Ange nodded, and mom sighed.
"How long?" she asked.
"Depends on how quickly she recovers. Maybe a week, maybe a month. Time will tell."
"I see," dad said with a solemn nod. "Well, I certainly understand."
"Yeah," Kate said slowly. "I mean, I wanna see you come home, but only if you're really better."
Ange nodded and smiled at her, and Kate returned the smile.
"Well, if you have any more questions, don't hesitate to ask. I'll make sure a nurse brings you a notebook."
Ange nodded again. Though, if she were honest, she had no idea what to communicate. Not to the family that she somehow found herself part of.
Her family didn't leave.
Her. Family. A concept Ange was having difficulty parsing. Yes, she'd been part of the Royal Family in her ... was it a past life? Well, when she was a child.
She'd then found herself on the streets, after switching places with the real Ange. Who became the Princess in her place. On the street, she had no family.
Then again, on the streets of London, she'd managed somehow to survive long enough to be recruited into the Commonwealth of Albion's spy network.
And as a spy, she had no family. She had comrades. She had friends, though they were few. And she had one love.
Ironically, the princess that had traded places with her.
The same Princess she now remembered pleading over her dying body.
The thought occurred to her, in the odd and awkward silence that had settled over the room with the doctor gone and nurse not yet arrived, that this life was somehow connected to that prayer.
Ange turned her head, as well as she could, to look at Kate. Her sister, apparently.
The girl was maybe ten. Ten years old. Ange recognized this, even though Kate was ... larger. Older.
Kate smiled. A thin, fragile smile. She'd had her earlier, childlike enthusiasm deflated. Ange was not coming home today. Not coming home any time soon.
Ange smiled back.
Ange. Now Alice. Alice was younger than Kate. Younger than ten. Seven?
Ange shifted slightly, drawing the attention of the others in the room.
"You okay sweetie?" Mom asked.
Ange turned to her, giving her a very thin smile. A quick nod.
"Okay. Just ... rest. Okay?"
Ange nodded again, shifted again, refocused her gaze to the ceiling.
It was easier to think, looking up at the light blue, lightly textured blankness.
Alice was seven. Her older sister, Kate, was ten. Alice had been very, very sick. She was, apparently, fine now.
Except of course that Ange had died, and had woken up as Alice.
Had Alice died? Was she ... Ange shuddered at the thought that Alice had woken up in Ange's place.
"Alice?" Father's voice.
Ange glanced over to him.
"You're not okay, are you?"
Ange winced, and averted her gaze. After a moment, she shook her head.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" Mom asked.
Ange looked at her. Gave her a thin smile, then gestured vaguely at the tubes.
"Oh. Right. Um. When the .…"
Nurse gets back. Which happened just as Mom was about to say it,
"There's something wrong," Mom said in a note of panic.
The nurse, an attractive woman (in Ange's opinion) of middle-age, with light brown hair, was carrying a notebook and several pencils.
"What's wrong?" The nurse walked over to the bed.
Ange shook her head. She gestured at the tubes and wires around her, then pointed at the notebook.
"Oh, you have something on your mind?" The nurse asked.
Ange nodded.
Mom sighed in relief, and Dad muttered something under his breath. Kate, however, perked up.
"Is that Alice's notebook?"
"It is now," The nurse answered with a smile. She handed it to Ange, who hastily opened it, and hurriedly scribbled something on the new page. She held it up.
Do not feel like me.
Mom's expression fell. Kate looked confused.
"Don't ... who do you feel like?" Dad asked.
Ange turned the notebook around and began to write. She held it up again.
Amnesia. Do not remember my self.
It was as close to the truth as she felt comfortable admitting.
Mom, Dad, and Kate all looked at the nurse in panic.
The nurse smiled reassuringly. "You were in a coma for two weeks. Partly, that was medically induced, due to your illness, though the illness itself affected your brain too. In any case, it's natural to have amnesia after waking up from a coma.
Ange pulled her notebook back and wrote in it.
How long?
"Impossible to say. Your MRI didn't show any serious brain damage, so it ought to not be permanent, but beyond that, it's difficult to say exactly."
Ange pulled her notebook back. She looked at what she'd written so far.
Recovery. No brain damage. Amnesia?
She didn't hold the notebook up, closing it and placing it on the table beside her instead.
Mom looked worried, but said nothing.
"Taking notes?" Kate asked.
Ange gave her a thin smile, and nodded.
Kate grinned. "Yeah, just like you sis. I think you're gonna be fine!"
Darkness fell. Things grew quiet. Her family stayed in the room with her, preferring to sleep in chairs rather than leave.
Ange was, again, staring up at the now-darkened ceiling.
Am I Alice? she asked herself.
London had been vivid. Princess solid and soft and kind. Dorothy, Chise, Beatrice ... she knew them. They were all real! They had to be.
There was no possibility that she'd imagined seventeen years of life in the space of a two-week coma.
Impossible.
So, she was left with her earlier thought. She had died. Alice had died. By some mechanism she didn't understand, she had become Alice in her place.
If that were true, then souls existed. They could leave a body, and enter another. Like ... like exiting an auto broken down on the side of a road, and getting into that of a comrade.
It was clear this reality was far, far more advanced than hers. The technology here was such that it could keep someone alive, fed, give them oxygen, when utterly unable to do so for themselves. All through wires and tubes.
In her world ... her old world that is ... transfusions were possible, but risky. People died when given someone else's blood, and doctors were only just starting to figure out why.
If a heart stopped, that was it. If a brain was injured, that was it.
Here, it seemed, that was not true.
Except, Ange reminded herself, if I am right, Alice did die.
Alice's soul had passed on. To another world, further in the future? Perhaps. Regardless, if this theory was right, then Ange now occupied Alice's body. Her life.
She was seven again. Except she had the memories, experiences, of a seventeen year old. And no normal seventeen year old at that. She'd been a spy. She'd fought. Lied. Killed.
Died.
Could she be Alice? A normal seven year old girl?
It seemed she had little choice.