[ PROLOGUE: STARTING THE GAME, DAZED ]
[ "What...?" ] Torrin touches his face and couldn't believe the fact that it's still there, because supposedly it should have been blown up to pieces or at least burnt beyond recognition, [ "What's going on here?" ]
Remembering the fire clearly, he couldn't believe the fact that his body which has been enveloped by flames mere seconds ago, now stood unburnt and unscratched by the flames; and is seemingly healthy with no evidence of the fire ever happening, or having touched him.
He remembers writhing, crawling, and turning due to the pain of the flames... And then... And then what? His memories of the event isn't all the best, to be precise, he doesn't have a great memory; but to his dismay, it hasn't gotten to this point of not even remembering a single thing clearly.
He groans into his hand, as he tries to remember what happened incident prior— aside from the fact that his name is Torrin Thorpe, that he is 15 years old, and a boy, then nothing, not even his birthday could he remember. Something which shouldn't be normal.
[ "My memories are shot, damn it...!" ] In trying and failing, he stopped trying to remember, instead scanning the unfamiliar room that he now finds himself in. From the initial impression, he could attest to the room being some sort of a clinic, a medical ward, or something along those lines.
Torin then glanced at the blue curtains hanging by metal besides him, then at the beds with white covers, white pillow, a one-to-one copy of one another; 10 in total, 5 for each side of the room. Then his initial guess was confirmed, causing him to panic. [ "Oh no, shoot, I can't afford these hospital bills! I-I need to go." ]
He was ready to bolt out of the room, even though he doesn't understand why, but his body is telling him to do so. Funnily enough, he doesn't remember any incidents relating to the hospital, but his body is denying anything related to it, even though the hospital looks like it's built inside an ancient castle of that sorts. [ "I'm out...!" ]
[ "Where do you think your going, young mister?" ] But to his dismay, even before he could pull on the covers, a tray rolled into the room and comes inside a lady— in her 30s, or 40s, or 50s perhaps, Torrin is really bad at guessing age, so he rarely does so. The lady judging from her eccentric clothing could possibly be the nurse, or close to that.
[ "The, uhh- comfort room?" ] Without him even knowing it, his mouth started opening up. Started lying without a hint of guilt to the adult of the room. Comfort room? No, ma'am, he's gonna run away far from the building and never look back; so he started building on that said lie even though he doesn't really like lying that much. [ "I, I'm... I-I need to take a piss, ma'am." ]
He doesn't know if those words are enough, but he prays that it might, mainly because if it isn't, then he'll need to pay for whatever the hell this is— and, oh lord, Torrin is broke to the bone. To the point that even his subconscious state is telling him to run away from bills, that should be telling. [ "Pretty please?" ]
For a second he thought his lie didn't work, but he gave a big mouthful, toothy smile, which seems to have done the trick as her features soften somewhat. Then for a second, to his horror, she reached out her hand; instinct tells Torrin to dodge, especially because he doesn't understand where he is, who he is exactly, and who she is. But something tells him he shouldn't, so he didn't.
[ "Hmm, how strange, previously you we're burning with fever. How strange" ] And not dodging seems to be the right choice, as the unnamed, and unknown nurse lady is merely giving an assessment; her work after all.
[ "Alright, Mr. Thorpe, you are officially discharge." ] Her previously seemingly stern, cold, and hostile features turned soft as she pinches the cheek of the still wondering Torrin. From what he heard, he's discharged, then that means... He needs to get out quick.
[ "Does that mean I'm free to go?" ] He asked, confirming his suspicion. Praying silently that she doesn't talk anything about the bill, payment, cash and whatnot— because he doesn't have any. [ "Like right now?" ]
He received a nod, then another. And in seeing that she's not talking about the billing, Torrin silently moved and removed the covers covering his body; which made him notice the clothes that he is wearing— a white shirt, green necktie, and pants— uniform.
He doesn't remember ever owning a white shirt, no, wait, he remembers owning one but it's an hand-me-down from a friendly neighbor. Already old, browning in color, and oversized, not one that perfectly fits around him. Or does he remember owning a necktie, or even pants that isn't littered with holes in it. What exactly is going on?
Torrin wrinkled his brows in seeing the clothes that he was wearing, perhaps seeing this, the unknown lady pointed at something under the bed where he's laying. [ "And, Mr. Torrin, your shoes would be under the bed, plus freshly washed socks. Thought you ought to know." ]
He owns a what...?! Now he knows that there is definitely something wrong. Torrin isn't shocked by the shoe part, the orphanage gave him one years ago, mandatory really, a tradition or something. No, what surprised Torrin is that the fact that his- [ "My socks are freshly what now?" ] Are washed.
[ "Freshly washed." ] The unnamed nurse lady answered, confirming his suspicion, that there may plausibly be something wrong with reality. About to ask more questions, he paused, primarily because he had already asked more than enough questions.
And also because he doesn't want the lady to find out the craziness that is happening inside his thoughts. Who the hell would wash his socks? No one wash one another's socks in the orphanage, where he lives in, even if another gets into a coma. [ "I'm, uhh- I'm gonna go now. Thank you for everything, ma'am, good day." ]
He bowed his head slightly, looking at the floor and not looking at the eyes of the nurse lady. Torrin then scanned for "his" shoes under the bed and found one, which definitely doesn't belong to him— it shines, there's no holes, no malfunction, like it's a freshly bought pair.
Plus the white socks without holes... Perhaps the lady nurse made a mistake and gave him shoes that isn't his by accident, but looking at the fact that he's wearing foreign clothes, in a foreign place, in a foreign surrounding— in a castle, perhps there was really no problem at all. Perhaps the problem is...
[ "Me..." ] A theory is brewing inside his thoughts, and in wanting to confirm that, he then quickly put on his socks, then the black shoes. As he then made his way out of the room, walking, even though he wants to run to the nearest mirror he could find.
For one last time he glanced behind him, at the unknown nurse lady that is sorting stuff from the tray that she bought. Initially he ignored the tray, but in looking closer, he could see herbs, grass, and weird liquids in clear round bottles. Then at the blue brooch at her right chest. [ "Huh, weird." ]
Torrin wanted to wave at her goodbye, saying thank you, but in seeing her already focused on another work, he then decided to continue walking out into the corridors— the thought of whatever she was sorting pending in his head, [ "What we're those?" ] He doesn't know, but for the moment he chugged it up as relating to medical care.
And as confused as he was, he was also busy admiring the surroundings that he finds himself in. Primarily because it has an old castle asthethic, the walls telling stories, the corridor filled with vases, knights in armor, and also paintings. [ "This place is so bloody awesome. How'd I've even got here?" ]
For a moment he paused in front of an knight-in-shining armor, the said thing being silver in color, holding a sword with it being pointed downwards stabbing at the stone. And for a moment, Torrin was able to view his image thanks to the surface of the stationed knight armor. [ "Huh!?!" ]
And instantly he was confused, because the person standing in front of him isn't the image of the Torrin that he has inside his mind, of the one that he controlled for 15 long years going 16. That isn't him.
[ "Who the bloody hell is this faggot?!" ]
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[ FUN FACT: The Hospital Wing is the infirmary at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Located at the first floor, it is run by the matron, Madam Pomfrey, where students and staff receive treatment for illnesses and injuries. It is well-equipped to handled a wide range of magical and mundane mishaps, from broken bones thanks to botched spells to common colds. On the other hand, severe cases are sent to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. ]
[ 10/16/2025 ]
[ 10/17/2025 ]