The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and sterile cotton.
Soyeon's eyes fluttered open, her vision swimming with harsh fluorescent lights. White ceiling tiles. The steady beep of monitors. The distant sound of a television playing a drama in another room.
Modern. Everything was jarringly modern.
"—really strange case," a voice was saying. From the deepness of the voice, she gathered that it was a male. Professional. "The arrow was authentic. Hand-forged iron, not something you could buy at a costume shop. And those robes, silk, hand-embroidered, probably worth thousands. Is she some kind of historical reenactor? Cosplayer?"
"The friend who called it in said she just appeared like that," another voice answered. "No explanation. She just saw her bleeding with an arrow in her arm."
"Well, whoever she is, she's lucky. Another inch to the left and it would have hit the brachial artery. She would have bled out before the ambulance arrived."
Soyeon's eyes snapped fully open.
