Manifestation

The last thing Hera could remember was being struck by a bolt of lightning. She was lucky to be knocked out before an excruciating pain, along with a burning sensation, could wrap itself around her body.

As for the woman annoying her that time, who cares? She could be dead for all Hera knew, and, if ever she did, she deserved it. No one, no one pricked the hell out of her without paying. Big time. She’s not being a sadist or anything. She’s just being real. She’d rather wish for them to rot in hell than lament when they suffer even though she’s the one who’s in misery when they don’t. Being a masochist was never her dream. It never would be.

Hera lazily slapped her forehead, her eyes still closed. She’s being a little shit herself with all the thoughts buzzing in her head early in the morning. Here she was, feeling weak, yet her mind had the audacity to think of other people.

Shaking her head, she breathed heavily. It was only then that she noticed the soft mattress she was lying onto and, instantly, the unfamiliarity of the strong woody scent of perfume wafting in the air made her sit straight, her eyes bulging. She was greeted by a black curtain hanging elegantly at four vertical columns, each with white paints—drawn with infinite sign in five inches intervals, supporting a high-arching panel that was embroidered with intricate patterns, which composed her bed, or was it? It seemed so expensive for the orphanage to even afford.

“Where the hell am I?” she blurted out, her hands clenched at the thickest and softest blanket she ever laid her palms to. But it wasn’t the feel of the fabric that made her heart stopped its beat. It was the sound of her voice.

She rarely spoke, yes, but she’s not someone to forget her own voice. It was smoky and low; however, the sound that registered to her just now was big, raspy, and sharp.

Whatever happened, she’s losing it!

Her thoughts were disrupted when a ring reverberated in the room. Unconsciously, her hands drew her hair to her face. If her eyes were bulging earlier, it was nothing to the way it widened now. Since when did her hair become ivory? What’s more, was the fact that it only reached the lower part of her armpit, so she couldn’t hope to cover her whole features with it.

She even found that her face felt so uncomfortable with it being covered. Apart from being itchy, she also had this sudden urge to cut her hair off. It was becoming irksome for her to think of possible reasons why everything seemed distorted, why everything seemed unreal. Was she still dreaming? Or maybe she’d been in a coma and the orphanage had changed dramatically over the course of her unconsciousness.

With that in mind, her heart started racing, especially at the sight of the silky nightrobe she was wearing. She put her hands on her mouth as a gasp made its way out of her throat.

“Are you okay, my darling?” a velvety voice said, followed by a ringing sound of a door being closed.

Hera couldn’t recognize the voice, but her heart and body seemed to identify the speaker. Everything about her calmed down as though the voice was all it needed to be cleared from her creeping anxiety.

“Hey, it’s okay! I’m here now!”

Before she could so much as look ahead, a soft pair of hands already wrapped around her waist. Instead of feeling awkward, the way she expected to, she found herself leaning closer, her head resting on the shoulder that was almost heaven. It was as though she’d been washed. She felt so calm. If this was what they called walking in the clouds, then she understood now. It wasn’t at all cheesy. It was love.

A tear trickled past her cheeks, and, for the first time, it was not out of sadness. “I miss you!” Her lips spoke the words she didn’t feel like speaking.

It’s just like earlier. Her body had instincts and mechanisms she couldn’t influence. She’s starting to doubt her ownership of this body. Even the reality where she woke up had been put into question.

She had always wondered what it would feel like to be in someone’s body, in someone’s life, whether they had a good relationship with their parents or not, whether they were happy with what fate offered, whether they’re contented to be where they’ve been born. These thoughts spiraled in her head, never-ending.

But now that it seemed to have come true, either because she’s hallucinating or dreaming, she could still feel the hallowed emptiness crawling deep within her soul. It was the consciousness, the irksome feeling that she’s not in her real body that made everything fake.

She's not saying, she didn’t like the experience, though. She’d just make sure that, before this shit would wear off, she’d be able to enjoy it to the fullest.

“I do too, my love!” Her voice was serene, collected, so much so that Hera could listen to it all day and not get used to it. It’s almost inhumane.

Braving herself to look at her supposed-to-be mother, Hera broke the hug and smiled at her. There’s only one thing that came to her mind as she stared at her mother’s porcelain face: White Lady. She was pale, so pale that a sheet of paper would be ashamed to sit with her.

As always, despite being taken aback, it was easier for Hera to control her emotions.

The woman chuckled, leaning her head closer to her fist. When Hera’s brows furrowed, she beamed. “Don’t mind me, love, I’m just glad you’re already awake. It’s been a week, and you’re probably hungry.” She gently slapped her cheeks before kissing her forehead. “I’ll give you some time to prepare before I bring your breakfast here later.”

Her words seemed to have triggered her stomach to act all funny, so Hera immediately looked down as she rubbed her stomach, her ears feeling a little warm.

Chuckling once again, the woman ruffled her hair. “I’ll see you later, sweetums!”

And then she was gone, silence dominating once again, along with her thoughts who seemed to have had some courage to jump for another round now that the woman was nowhere in sight.

“The hell with this!” Hera rubbed the top of her head before forcing herself to lie down once again, her hands spreadeagled, a small smile on her lips. Somehow, she’s starting to feel the weird sensation that she’s not inside her real body. It’s as if she’s a puzzle piece fitted in the wrong picture.

The urge to look in the mirror poked her in the head; that’s even weirder, considering that it’s not something she ever wanted to do. In the past, that is. The same couldn’t be said now that the circumstances required her to. Just one glimpse.

Breathing heavily, she forced herself out of the bed’s magnet. If she thought she would have to look for a mirror, she had to think again, especially since the walls of the room were made up of 3D glass. She didn’t know if it’s illusion or she’s just seeing things, but it almost looked like it’s forming an inverted cube that was chained simultaneously.

So much for glasses. They’re pretty useless in Hera’s eyes since her reflection was distorted in there. But one thing’s for sure. Whoever owned this room was fortunate enough to be born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

Hera found the mirror, a small, oblong one, standing beside the umbrella-shaped lamp. They were both placed on a luxurious bedside table with its corners punctured by three-layer cabinets, descending in a manner quite the same to a stair but more elegant-looking.

With her brows raised, she sat on the swivel chair in front of the desk. She took a moment to stare at her face, feeling perfectly dumb for unblinkingly peering at the reflection who didn’t look like her at all. However, her insides did some backflip once she realized that she was staring right at the woman she was annoyed at that night.

Her eyes looking bigger than that of an owl, its irises having been colored with a toxic tint of green, seemed to have been made to make her big lips feel belonged. It wasn’t at all the feature she wanted to end up even though she’s kind of desperate to escape from the fate she’s been born with.

From that moment, everything was already too much. She has had enough. Before she could even tell herself to, her fist was already connected to the mirror. There was a breaking sound as cracks danced their way to its surface.

“Damn!” She gulped as a pricking pain embraced her knuckles, blood trickling from it. “What have I done?”