"AHHHHHHHH!"
A young man shot up with a start, screaming at the top of his voice while both hands pressed tightly against his ears. The screaming continued for quite a while, but with time he began to realize something important—he was no longer in pain.
So why was he still screaming?
"Why am I screaming?" he muttered to himself as the panic slowly faded, giving way to clarity about his actual situation.
"Ugh." A groan escaped his lips as bone-deep pain radiated from his legs. He pressed a hand against his forehead and clenched his teeth until the pain finally subsided, then opened his eyes once more.
"Where the hell am I?"
Full clarity kicked in as he asked the question, and confusion set in when he realized he was now in a rather elegant room that was also unnecessarily extravagant. Not only that, but he was currently seated on a massive bed—one that could easily contain five more people and still have space to roll around. The bed served as the centerpiece of the entire room, taking up about twenty percent of the total space.
The ceiling was VERY tall, so tall that he would need to be able to fly just to touch it. So yeah, he wasn't touching it anytime soon.
Two huge floor-to-ceiling windows stood on the right side of the room, both covered with curtains. A massive chandelier hung at the center of the ceiling, casting dazzling white brilliance throughout the space.
Right across from the bed were two doors. The one on the right looked like the exit based on its design compared to the other—it was made of fine wood, composed of two huge panels that could either be pushed or pulled based on the handles attached to them. The double door was painted white and smoothed to perfection, with golden details worked into the frame.
Far to the left of the exit was another door that appeared transparent, though not completely—more like translucent, since all he could see from where he sat were color smudges through the glass. Probably the entrance to the bathroom.
To the left of the bed stood a huge wardrobe, white in color and smooth to the touch, with golden frames and details like the handles. Adjacent to that was a large box colored dark green with leaf pattern designs covering its surface. It also had hints of gold, though those were minor and confined to the frames and certain areas.
Next to that was a white table with the same golden accents as the wardrobe, along with a matching chair. On the table sat a stack of books with a lamp placed just beside them.
"This room... Why does it—"
He stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of something just before the wardrobe that he shouldn't have missed in the first place. A huge poster hung on the wall, and while the poster itself wasn't the problem, the person on it certainly was—someone he could never forget even if he lived a thousand years.
"Amelia," he muttered in disbelief.
The girl in the poster appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen years old. She wore a dark green shirt, and since the image was zoomed in, that was all he could make out of her clothing. She had deep golden hair that reached about neck-length and light blue eyes that seemed almost crystalline in their clarity. From the angle at which the picture was taken, she seemed to be in a library based on the backdrop showing bookshelves. Her posture suggested she was engrossed in a book and completely unaware of the image being taken.
"If that picture is here, then... That only means—"
BAM
The door flew open and a young girl entered with pure white hair and peach-colored eyes. She wore a light fabric white blouse with short sleeves that stopped just after her shoulder joints, giving a clear view of her flawless, slender arms. At the midsection of the blouse was a lace-up belt that transitioned into an ankle-length black skirt made of equally light fabric. Her white hair was styled to the side of her face with a front braid leading back, and she wore a peach-petaled hairpin that he remembered clearly—one she never took off even once since he'd known her.
"Veronica?"
"Were you expecting anyone else?" she asked, and he gave no response because he simply couldn't process what he was seeing.
This was definitely the Veronica he remembered—his extremely rude and unorthodox maid who sometimes seemed like the master in their relationship. She was disturbingly assertive, far more than what a maid should ever be, and she flouted his commands so often that he sometimes forgot she was supposed to be his servant. Her boldness had grown even more pronounced after he was exiled into this pocket dimension with just her for company, especially coupled with the fact that he was...
'Crippled.'
The thought hit him as he gazed at his unresponsive legs still hidden under the blanket.
'I'm back to being crippled again.'
The realization made him frown deeply because there was no denying it anymore—he had somehow gone back to the very start of everything.
Sigh.
Veronica exhaled and closed the door behind her before turning to face him once more. "You just don't listen, do you, Art? How many times have I warned you not to try moving on your own?" Her voice was stern, and a cold glare fixed on him as she folded her arms across her rather generous chest.
He remained quiet, just staring at her while he let the full severity of the situation sink in.
'Did this happen because I died? No, that can't be it. Those voices I heard—they might have something to do with—'
His train of thought was interrupted when he realized Veronica had leaned forward at the side of the bed, staring right at him with her long white hair draping over her shoulder.
"Look, Art, I get it. You're frustrated about not being able to work—I understand that—but you have to realize there aren't any shortcuts for your recovery. You WILL walk again, you just need time to heal properly. So be patient, okay? Forcing yourself is only doing more harm than good."
He stared at her as memories flooded back. In the past, Veronica had been his most trusted person. As much as she annoyed him with her intrusive behavior and odd overprotectiveness at times, he never actually hated her. She had stuck with him longer than anyone else in his life.
However, when he needed her most, in his greatest moment of desperation... she was nowhere to be found. She had abandoned him just like everyone else had.
"You're oddly quiet today," she said with a tilt of her head, but he gave no response, just continued staring blankly at her.
Sigh.
She sighed again. "Fine, don't talk to me then. Let's just get you cleaned up."
"Get me my wheelchair," he suddenly interjected, and she frowned in response.
"What?"
"Get me my wheelchair. I will take care of my bath myself," he stated clearly, and she stared at him for a moment before replying.
"No."
"GET. ME. MY. WHEELCHAIR, VERONICA. I am not a vegetable—my arms work just fine."
"I can't do that, Master." Her voice took on a professional edge that he recognized all too well. "For the duration during which you remain incapable of self-movement, I am obligated, as your personal and ONLY maid, to take care of all needs related to said bodily function. That includes your meals, movement, baths, and relief needs."
"Don't treat me like an idiot. There is no such rule," he responded firmly.
"You wouldn't know that, Master."
"A master's order stands above every rule. I am ORDERING you, Veronica, to get me my wheelchair and wait outside that door until I call for you."
She stared at him deeply after he gave the order, and minutes passed in silence as it became a sort of staring contest between them. After a while, she finally moved—but not in the way he expected.
She crawled onto the bed, then stopped before him and placed one hand under his knees while the other went behind his back. Before he could protest, she lifted him up with ease.
"I apologize, Master, but I CANNOT comply."