Changeling (Completed)

Day One

Day One - Twenty-nine Days Left

It is cold as Alaska. In fact, at first, I think that I might be in Alaska. Hopefully not in Siberia... no offense, but that place is colder than hell's titty. If I knew what hell was like, which I don't.

"Too bad the mutt is still alive," I hear a feminine voice sneer.

There is no moment of confusion for me when I enter a body. I know that I am in a new life. I am not disoriented, so, honestly, hearing those ominous words send a chill of foreboding down my spine. Someone wanted me to die. Maybe they had killed my host. Shit.

I try to open my eyes and can't. Not unusual, the body was just dead, like, seconds ago. I also can't move my arms or legs, and everything hurts in a strange, stinging pain. Typically I feel heavy and sluggish, not like this.

Who are you?

Well, damn. I've never had schizophrenia before. This is new. The brain is mine, now, so shouldn't I be... I don't know... sane?

Who are you?

The voice in my head is more adamant now. Still weak though. It sounds a little like those ladies that fainted all the time and spoke two octaves higher than their natural voices. What era was that again? The Victorian age? I snicker in my new head. I was a prostitute in the Victorian age and the lover of a gangster. Fun times.

"When she wakes up make sure she goes to the alpha. He has been asking about her." The male voice sounds anxious.

"It's taken care of, Damien," the girl snaps.

Well, she's a bitch.

What are you?

Better question, voice-in-my-head. I decide, what the heck, might as well roll with this, and respond. "A changeling." My voice is barely audible. Just a dry croak through chapped lips that I feel crack and bleed from the sudden movement. I can barely hear myself, but the voice falls silent.

Silence. I can hear heavy footsteps leave, followed by the clacking of what I assume are high heels. I can't be sure of today's fashions, since... well I have no idea what 'today' is today, but in my last life there were heels.

What is your name?

"You tell me, voice-in-my-head."

You are not Ingrid.

Thank goodness for that. Ingrid? Really? Ugh, it's better than being named Persephone by a greek-obsessed mother in the eighteenth century, but still. I mentally sigh, I do need a name, and I am too tired to think of a good one.

"Call me Innie."

The voice shuts up. I get the vague feeling that it is offended at my blase attitude, but too bad... I'm not enthusiastic about being crazy. I force my eyes open and see darkness. Awesome. I blink, rapidly, wondering where I am. In the last few lives I have awoken to a room that is too bright, but I am straining to make out the details of the ceiling above me. I move my head just a fraction and see the only source of light, a bare bulb with a blackened string dangling from it. I can feel my body regaining strength and force myself to sit up. I can totally do this, It's not my first time making a not-so-dead body move again.

"Ugh, where in the holy hell am I?" I say. I am shocked when I see exactly where I am. I'm in a cell. A weird, empty, gross, damp, dungeon.

My mouth is literally hanging open and I just sit there absorbing this. This sucks. I stand, weaving back and forth a little until I feel steady again. Very slowly I look down. This is part of my routine. I have to adjust my senses to my new body. Or am I just adjusting my senses to being in a lovely dungeon?