Chapter Text
Your eyes blink open, haze clouding your vision for a minute before consciousness reasserts itself and you awaken for real. It takes a moment longer for you to register the roughness of the sheets under your hands and the warmth trapping you as you lie in what must be your bed.
It's sticky and hot and you must have been lying here a long time, so you sit up, sore body punishing you for your choice. A glance around the room tells you little more, with stone and mortar walls, rough-hewn board floors, and a scattering of oil lamps across the mantle, larder, and the small table by your bedside. You find a clay mug of water there and you drain it immediately, suddenly parched.
Where... where are you? Another glance at the room and it hits that there really isn't much beyond this one room. The only door you can see seems to be the one outside and from your bed you spy a small stove and all the various bits and bobs that indicate that this is a space well lived-in, intended for every form of living. A cast off knitting project even peers at you from a bag hanging off your wardrobe, one stocking long since finished, the other halfway there.
Have you truly been living here long? This must be your bed, you wouldn't be sleeping in it if it weren't, but try as you might, you can't recall knowing how to knit, or cooking at the stove, or lighting all the lamps. You pause, breath catching in your throat.
You're not sure you remember your name.
How can this be your house if you don't even know your name? Your hands fist in the rough-spun cotton as you come to terms with your strange awakening, too overwhelmed to peer around further, eyes locked firmly on the floor.
There's a rug there. It's round, grey and white. The patterns look nice, if a bit abstract. You let your focus travel along the swoops and swirls long enough for the tension in your shoulders to ease and with a gusty sigh, you flop backwards, head hitting your lone pillow with a dull thump. The ceiling is about as exciting as your floor and you stare at that instead.
What do you know? Not much. The home you're in isn't yours, you're wearing- a glance down- a long-sleeved gingham nightdress in light green, and everything seems to be a lot older than you feel is appropriate. Oil lamps, really? Something about that just seems... inefficient.
You laugh at yourself for the thought, a little hysterical. Inefficient, really? The entire world is beyond your understanding and you feel that the lighting system is inefficient? What a way to wake up.
A shift and something crunches under your body, startling you into shifting over and pulling the sheets away to get a closer look. The fractured remains of what seems to be a gemstone peer up at you from the space by your waist and you gently collect the fragments, wary of the sharper edges and glittering dust.
Do broken gemstones follow the same rules as broken glass? You aren't sure but keep your sparkling hands well away from your face as you take a closer look.
Altogether, the fragments seem to make up the shape of an oval stone, silver like a diamond with smooth planes on the front and back. Despite knowing logically that you should be able to see your hand through the larger pieces given the stone's clarity, somehow the gem pieces remain totally opaque.
It's as you take up one of the larger pieces to hold it to the light from a nearby window that you hear the door open and your heart leaps into your throat, gaze still fixated on the fragment.
"Ah. So that's how it is."
The light does nothing, the silver sliver remains stubbornly clouded.
"That's a mage stone, in your hand. Given that it's broken, I don't think I'll be seeing the original owner of this place any time soon, so you may as well introduce yourself. You are this cottage's new owner and I'd hate to be rude to my new neighbor."
"I'm sorry, what?"
The man who meets your startled gaze is unlike anyone who you've ever seen before, and it's more than your lacking memory saying that. His eyes are the palest blue you've ever known, more like the gem shards in your hand than any shade found in a human face. Grey hair frames his expression in loose waves and though the cut of his outfit is simple, the white button-down shirt and neat black slacks are pressed and starched into an image of gentility.
A neat mole just to the lower left of his lips completes the look and it tugs up as he notices your ogling, a teasing grin following shortly after.
"Azul. Azul Ashengrotto. And you?"
You blink back to yourself, flushing at your shamelessness. "I- ah. I don't know? I woke up here and I can't remember a thing. You said this place is mine now? Where am I?"
He seems taken aback somehow and something twists in your gut as he looks away, grin morphing into something more bitter. You draw your knees up to your chest as Azul moves to sit at the foot of your bed, his gaze blank as he moves to roll up his sleeves in careful, practiced motions.
"You're my patient, and I, your doctor. I serve the whole town- Little Grove- but you've been in my care for the past month as I live nearby and the work was paid for in advance by your predecessor. I believe you'll be seeing me often in the future, if your words are to be believed."
You huff at the thought of this Azul thinking you a liar and his eyes flicker to you at the noise, crinkling in amusement.
"Yes yes, I know, stop pouting. In any case, your lack of memory may be a boon to you; a fresh start was your predecessor's wish and you can hardly get fresher than wiping your memory entirely."
Your mouth drops open, upset forgotten. "They did what? That's a thing?"
Azul stretches his legs out and leans back on his hands, tilting his head at you with a cool look. "Yes, that was my reaction when they brought it up with me. Magic exacts a price to match, not that it stopped them, and I think my reaction only goaded them on. They were stubborn to a fault and that was the final nail in their coffin; spite is a powerful motivator."
You blink in shock, leaning back against your headboard as you process that. Azul seems caught up in his memories, expression distant despite him looking right at you.
"Your predecessor moved into this cottage in Little Grove about a year or two back, then ignored the world in favor of their research. The money they could've earned anywhere else is double or triple what they earned here, but they persisted. I never asked and they never said, and within the year, they fell ill and could hardly leave the house. By the time I became of aware of the situation, it was too late."
"Then... why are you here?" You can't help but ask.
"Simple," Azul shrugs, the gesture strangely at odds with his starched appearance. "They left a pouch of money on my doorstep with a letter. Enough to care for them in their final weeks of life, instructions on what to do if they recognized me, and lastly, what to do if they... didn't."
Azul bows his head and looks at you from the corner of his eye, critical and bitter. You can't tell if the lingering sharpness is directed at you or himself and you hold your tongue, unsure of what to say. The implications make you feel ill.
"I won't apologize for all this, the fault lies solely with the person who's body you're wearing. I can only promise that I'll be here to help until the year's end, and from there you'll be on your own. For what it's worth, though-"
and Azul's gaze is a blistering, heated thing-
"I have never been one to fail. By the year's end, you'll be able to ensure your own happiness. On my name, I promise."