2. Verena
Verena
Once the initial shock has left my system, along with the revolting new contents of my stomach, I grimace up at the beautiful stained glass headstone of the grave I just yakked on.
"Whoops, sorry about that. Go back to resting in peace."
I almost wipe my mouth on the back of my sleeve, only to recoil at more blood there. Thanks to Mr. Nearly-Cut-In-Half, I'm covered in it. Or at least, the body I'm currently occupying is covered in it.
At this point, I'm not entirely sure if I'm even me in this strange place.
What was this evil lady's name again? Queen…Rhinestone? Whatever it is, she might be a ruthless monster who isn't bothered by a little blood, but I am.
I'm practically allergic to gore, so for a second, all I can do is peek through my eyelashes at the morbid scene sprawled around me in this cemetery. I flap my sticky hands uselessly like that will somehow get the red stain off of them.
When I brace my palms on the ground to try to get up, I accidentally touch a pile of guts.
Very real, cooled-off, slippery guts.
That last piece of sensory fuck no drags me further out of shock. More hot tears crowd my eyes, but I take a deep, centering breath and get up off my ass.
"Okay, Vera," I begin, because a therapist once told me that talking to myself out loud might help me process trauma better.
Something about distracting the rational part of my brain, not that I feel like it exists at the moment.
"You're somehow in another world. You're the evil queen.
And you're standing in the most gorgeous cemetery ever with three dead guys that you somehow murdered with your own blood. "
Using the B-word was a big mistake, huge, because it only reminds me of what else I just did.
I guess the silver lining is that I'm no longer dying of thirst.
I start to keel over, gagging again at the thought before I give myself a hard shake.
"No. Get a grip. We have bigger problems, so we're going to pretend that did not just fucking happen. You can curl up in the fetal position and cry later, after you've fled the scene of the crime."
If this isn't the most detailed hallucination ever, and I really am the evil MILF in Snow White's fairy tale, I'm not sure if she would get in trouble for murdering three men, even if it was in self-defense during an assassination attempt.
I'm not sticking around to find out.
Cold and shaken to my core, I trudge over to where the horses are still tied to the wagon.
"I've never ridden a horse before," I tell one of them, just to see if they're witnesses. If this is a Narnia situation with talking animals, I'd rather know now. "What are the odds that I can hop up on your back without dying?"
The horse whinnies, tossing its hair.
That answers that question.
Deciding I'd rather not tackle horseback riding and world-hopping all in one day, I figure out how to untie the three horses and free them. Then I grab the thin blanket from the wagon to wrap myself up against the spring chill.
Ignoring my bare feet, I leave the hauntingly beautiful glass-filled cemetery. I turn right to follow the wide dirt road in the opposite direction the Three Stooges were driving earlier.
Snow-capped mountains loom like sculpted blue waves in the far distance. In front of them, a castle rises from the mists. Even from this far away, it's imposing with its sharp conical roofs and even a couple of bridges connecting some of the towers.
That must be the evil queen's—or, I guess, my—castle.
Maybe the queen has a spare pair of ruby slippers stashed away that I can tap together three times to go home.
I still don't remember what I was doing immediately before waking up in this living hell, but there has to be some way for me to return to my world.
I just have to survive long enough as Queen Rhinestone to find it.
For what feels like an eternity, I follow this road over the hills through mist while humming the random tune that gets stuck in my head so often.
Finally, I startle when the single, low, heavy toll of a bell crests through the air.
Searching for the source of the sound, I spot what looks like the start of a medieval town further down this road.
A few seconds later, the bell tolls again. After another long pause, there's another.
I hurry down the path. Soon, it winds past cottage-like houses with exposed timber frames painted various pastel shades. The further into town I get, the bigger and more beautiful the houses become.
That's when I start to notice all the glass everywhere.
Almost every window is filled with intricate stained glass designs.
Shards clink together in reflective wind chimes hanging beside doorways.
Blown glass ornaments decorate small trees lining the now-cobbled street.
Mirrors of various shapes and sizes are hung on every single door I pass, polished to a shine.
I approach one of the mirrored doors, curious to see what the evil bitch I've apparently possessed in Snow White's fairy tale looks like.
Maybe she's hideous. Or maybe she's gorgeous but terrifying, or she's plain and unassuming, or—
"What the fuck?" I sputter, gawking at the glass as the low bell continues to sound.
My own bloodstained reflection gawks back at me.
As in, I look exactly the same as I do in my world, down to the little beauty spot above the corner of my upper lip. Same dark blue eyes, same face, same height, same age.
The only obvious difference is my missing neck tattoos. My dark red hair is also longer than I usually prefer it, latticed around my head in a braid that's matted with mud and more dried blood.
At this point, I feel like the universe is gaslighting me.
Have I lost my mind? Is this really real, or is it just a nightmare after all? What are the odds that I'd look almost exactly like myself in a completely different identity in another world?
Perplexed, I continue to stare as the bell tolls on. At the thirteenth toll, it cuts off for a while, and it abruptly strikes me how quiet it is on this street of the village. No one else is walking along this cobbled path.
"What in the Twilight Zone is happening?" I grumble, knocking on the door in front of me.
There's no answer.
A moment later, the tolling starts again. I move toward it, determined to find someone who can help me. Maybe I'll stumble across a kindly fairytale witch who can magic me back to my world or wake me up or whatever the fuck needs to happen.
Turning onto the next street, I stop just in time to narrowly avoid crashing into Idris Elba and some other guy.
Sadly, he's not actually Idris Elba. But this dapper man is a damn good lookalike, albeit a little older.
He freezes in his tracks, eyes widening on me in what can only be described as pure, horrified recognition.
Both men are dressed in pattern-embroidered surcoats over long-sleeved tunics, with trousers tucked into polished boots.
"Crones! No matter how exceptional your face may be under all that blood, you will still earn Ayna's ire by racing about in such a disgusting state," the other man scolds, wrinkling his nose at the filth covering me.
"What, have you been drunkenly butchering a herd of cattle?
What a wretched sight you are! Have you no fucking pride, woman? "
"Arnold," Idris Elba's lookalike warns quickly, splitting a worried look between the man beside him and me.
He seems mildly worried I'll be offended, but majorly worried that I might rip the other man's bald head off.
I'm guessing that's exactly what the real Queen Rhinestone would do.
He gestures for the man to continue in the direction they were headed. Although Arnold gives me another appalled once-over, he's soon out of earshot as he strolls alone down the cobbled road.
I wonder why that guy didn't recognize me as the evil queen, but Fake Idris is already turning back to me and bowing deeply.
"Your Majesty. May I ask why you are alone in Isenhold in such a state, and without your veil?"
"Veil?" I repeat. I glance down at the hideous, bloodstained purple gown. "Oh, balls. This thing is a wedding dress? Is the queen supposed to be getting married today? I guess that does explain the bells."
The man straightens to examine me with a slowly deepening frown, like he's trying to make any sense out of what I just said.
"No, no, the bells are…forgive me, Your Majesty, but is something amiss? Have you forgotten Isenmere's tradition of veiling our widowed queens to honor our departed kings?"
Now I'm the one trying to make any sense out of that.
But since I'm still foggy on most things, and since I know firsthand how frighteningly common it is to not be believed as a woman in general—never mind trying to explain that I just woke up in another world by mistake—I decide to go for the easiest solution here.
"Actually, I've forgotten everything," I claim with a shrug. "I have no memories at all. Have we met before? Do you know who I am?"
He clearly does know who I am, but this is the best way to test whether I can trust Idris Elba's doppelganger.
If he thinks the queen has lost her memories and tries to use that to hurt her, I'll make a break for it. But if he helps me instead, maybe I can get him to point me to the nearest witch's cottage.
Surprise crosses the kindly man's face before he becomes thoughtful.
"Oh, dear. This is most dangerous for you. You see, you are Queen Reinhilde, who has ruled Isenmere for ten years in the wake of the late King Leland."
A tiny bit of the tension I've carried since waking up in this world leaves my shoulders at his honesty and the obvious concern in his expression. Those three murderers made it sound like everyone and their dog wants the evil queen dead—but at least one person isn't actively trying to kill me.