Pain.
It wasn't a dull ache, but a searing agony that nearly made Ivy Sterling bite through her tongue.
She should be dead. A modern highway, blinding headlights, a shattered windshield—goodbye 21st-century medical brilliance. Yet now, her mouth tasted of copper, and damp rock pressed against her bloodied knuckles. She was inside a cavern, wearing ragged silk, her body trembling with fever and severe physical exhaustion. Modern instincts took over instantly: cracked ribs, severe dehydration, internal bruising. She was barely holding together.
A shrill giggle echoed against the stone. "Look at her. So ugly and dumb. Useless trash."
Standing near the cavern mouth was a girl in lavender robes, smirking as she hefted a jagged stone. "Stay down, Ivy. Or should I call you Miss Sterling, the disgrace of the House?"
Foreign memories flooded Ivy’s fever-wracked mind. A scarred face. A timid, abused girl manipulated by her own kin. An orphan noble treated as a punchline.
Ivy forced her shattered body upright. Her legs wobbled, cold sweat dripping down her face, but her eyes locked onto her tormentor.
The girl’s smirk faltered under that gaze. "You—"
"I wouldn’t finish that sentence," Ivy rasped, her voice weak in volume but sharp in intent. "You lack the intellect to insult me effectively, and my head hurts."
The girl backed up, dropping the rock, and fled into the fog outside.
Ivy leaned heavily against the cavern wall, checking her pulse. A ruined face, a broken body, and no allies. She wiped a line of cold sweat from her brow and started assessing her injuries.