The girl woke up the next morning. The sun had just begun to rise, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear the screeches of birds flying south for the winter. She rubbed her face with her hands, her eyelids still heavy, her eyes gritty and dry from all the crying the day before.

  Yesterday… It already felt so distant.

  With a heavy sigh, she looked around the room—the place that was now supposed to be her new home. “It could’ve been worse, right?” The words looped in her head like a prayer. It could’ve been worse—she could’ve ended up in an orphanage or with a family that would have mistreated her. It could’ve been worse—she might’ve lost her legs in that accident or been paralyzed. It could’ve been worse... A fresh wave of tears pricked her eyes.

  Maybe it could’ve been worse. But it should’ve been better.

  She was only nine years old. A month ago, she’d been the happiest little princess of her beloved parents. She’d dreamed of conquest, of dangerous adventures and handsome men—but they were just fantasies, the kind all children have. Maybe not exactly the same as other girls her age, but so what? She knew it. But now, a new part of her—the part born when the truck’s tire blew out—mocked her in whispers. That new self understood cold truths: some things just had to be accepted. The girl hated that voice. But she couldn’t silence it.

  Her thoughts swirled, dreams blending with reality, desires with memories. On a single bed in a small room sat a girl: an exiled princess, a shaman from a distant land, a forgotten-castle sorceress—a kaleidoscope of selves spun by a grieving child’s mind.

  The door creaked. Through the gap, an older woman glided in, silent as a shadow.

  “Good morning, sweetheart. You’re awake already?” Her voice feathered with concern. “How are you feeling? You look pale.”

  Alicja studied her.

  “Who are you?”

  The woman’s smile stretched tight.

  “I’m your new caretaker. My husband and I will look after you now. You’ll live here, start a new school, make friends…”

  “How long have you been dead?” Alicja interrupted.

  Helena’s breath snagged. The room stilled, save for the clock’s ticking. The girl waited, eyebrows arched.

  “What are you saying, child?” Helena’s voice frayed.

  Alicja turned to the window. Cold autumn light gilded her silhouette, sharpening the ache in her eyes. The clock hammered on.

  “You’re dead. I knew when I walked in. This house hasn’t been alive in years—you can taste the dust of it.”

  Helena recoiled.

  “But—”

  “I’m not afraid. Not of you, not of your husband. I’m the only living thing here.” Alicja shrugged. “Ghosts don’t scare me.”

  “Sweetheart…”

  Alicja tried to smile. It twisted into something else—tears streaked her cheeks, ugly and unscripted. Not like in the movies. How could she be a warrior princess if she couldn’t even cry with grace? The thought clung, a distraction from the paralyzing grief beneath. Helena stepped closer, arms wrapping around her. The hug felt like a betrayal—tenderness couldn’t fix this. Alice shattered into sobs, gasping.

  “Mama… Papa… I’m—”** Air fought tears. Her nose ran, her skull throbbed.

  “In movies… it’s… different!”

  Helena’s whisper feathered against her hair.

  “Life is heavie, my child.”

  “Then I don’t want it!” Alice writhed, fists knotting in Helena’s sweater. “I want my mom! I want ma dad”

  The woman held fast. Some sorrows drown you; others fossilize. After some time exhaustion won. Childe slumped asleep, tear-soaked, to the creak of a lullaby.

  The man edged in—bald crown, flinty eyes, lips pared to a line.

  “The girl?” Walery’s whisper rasped.

  Helena’s fingers tightened on Alicja’s back. “I don’t know if we can do this.”

  “She’s young,” he murmured, brushing the child’s hair. “Their hearts bend where ours would break.”

  “But—”

  “Hush. Grief ages you. Let her stay small a while longer.”

  ***

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She woke swollen-eyed, the pain dulled but persistent. A traitorous part of her was adapting. Alice hated it. Shouldn’t the hurt be louder? Her stomach growled. She blotted her face, studied herself in the vanity mirror. Puffy, but presentable. Good—the Not-a-Doctor couldn’t see her unraveled. Was it survival instinct or a child’s hunger for approval? She didn’t know, so she just buried the thought. Better to believe it was strategy, because admiration was simpler than need. Nothing wrong with that. Every child ached to be seen.

  She stepped out of the room, descending the time-worn stairs, guided by the rich, buttery scent curling from the kitchen. Her heart drummed—not from fear of the kind woman or this strange house, but from the lurking change, the crushing truth that no one would ever again chase away her monsters. If not for the hunger gnawing at her ribs, she might’ve stayed hidden forever.

  Alice ghosted into the kitchen. Helena turned, her smile soft as dawnlight. The girl returned it, then froze—Walery’s gaze pinned her, his gray eyes weathered as old stone, nested in wrinkles. Her throat tightened. A man like that wouldn’t want a child’s in his house, she thought. Yet to her shock, he thumped the chair beside him, grinning.

  "Pretend it’s a visit to grandparents," whispered the girl from her daydream. "You always wanted grandparents."

  Alice’s smile bloomed. Yes—grandparents. Kind and warm, just as she’d imagined. A shame it took so long to meet them.

  "Will you be my grandparents?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

  A beat. Then—

  "We will, child," they answered in unison.

  Walery chuckled, nudging Helena. "And you were worried."

  "Yes," she breathed, relief drenching the word.

  A few minutes later steam rose from her plate: fluffy eggs, crusty bread, milk swirled with honey. She devoured it all, her mind skipping ahead—just for a moment—past the grief. Outside, the world glowed. Crisp air, chickens scratching earth, the distant low of cows. It reminded her of her friends’ summer stories—haylofts and adventure. Was there a stable here? Would the hay be soft? Would it itch?

  A plate clinked before her: butter cookies, golden and sugar-dusted. Her mother had never baked like this.

  "More milk, please?" She pushed her mug forward, grinning.

  A perfect moment, the kind that lodges in the heart forever.

  The rest of the day passed almost as carefree as that late morning. Walery led her through the manor’s embrace—past clucking ducks, the barn’s shadowy belly, a scruffy mutt peering from its doghouse. A wild cat blinked at her from the fence, unimpressed.

  For lunch she had cabbage soup, pierogi stuffed with cottage cheese and potatoes. She helped pluck them from the boiling water, lining them up like little moons on plates.

  Afternoon tea brought chocolate cake—dense, sinful, better than any baker, and for supper she devoured apple pancakes, their edges crisp, slathered with summer’s cherry jam.

  Before bed, she was given a steaming mug of delicious cocoa. In her room waited pajamas soft as dandelion fluff, and—impossibly—her lost teddy bear, perched on the pillow like it had never left. She fell asleep with a sigh, lips still curled at the edges.

  “She looks like an angel,” Helena murmured, smoothing the blanket over Alice’s shoulders.

  Walery flicked off the light.

  “She earned this peace.”

  “But how will she—”

  “Children bend; they don’t break. She’ll forget just enough to keep breathing.”

  The door snicked shut.

  Alicja dreamed of sunlit haylofts—until the warmth dissolved and darkness swallowed the edges of her mind. She struggled awake, but to no avail.

  Footsteps.

  “Hello, Alice.” The Not-a-Doctor materialized, lips split in a grin. “You look… tolerable. For a child.” His laughter shredded the silence.

  The dream melted, replaced by a meadow—too green, too bright, the breeze tuned to perfection.

  “Where are we?” she demanded.

  “My courtesy. Black voids are passé.” He lounged on the grass, all sharp elbows and sharper smiles.

  Alice’s fists clenched.

  “Is this in your head?”

  “No.”

  Silence. The kind that prickles.

  “Sir… who are you?” she tried again.

  “No one apparently.” His eyes glinted, pinning her in place. “I don’t exist in your world.”

  The girl puffed out her cheeks in frustration, but she had no intention of giving up.

  “But are you human?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “Not ‘sir’ anymore?” The man tilted his head slightly and looked Alice straight in the eye.

  She felt an unpleasant chill, but somewhere deep inside, a flicker of pride appeared. She was afraid — but she put on her fiercest expression, raised her chin high, and replied:

  “If you’re not human, you don’t get titles.”

  “Touché.”

  He examined her like a bug in a jar, then dismissed her victory with a glance at the sky. She was afraid of him, but the growing anger inside her pushed her to keep fighting.

  “Then what are you?”

  “Persistent little thing.” He flicked a blade of grass. “I’m your guardian. The only one who’ll keep you alive.”

  Talking to this man was impossible. His words squirmed, dodging meaning. Yet against all sense, her pulse slowed near him and she felt safe. She leaned her head against his arm. At first he didn’t say a word, but after a minute he stood up saving:

  “Lift your head and focus. Sentiment wastes time. I’m watching over you, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends. Attachment is a luxury you can’t afford.” The Not-a-Doctor loomed over her, his voice sharp and cold. “I’m not your knight, your nursemaid, or your family. Every time I step into your world, we both dance with death. Understood?”

  Alice’s mouth hung slack.

  “Close your mouth and listen. Helena and Walery will train you—but newsflash, princess, they’ve been dead since before your mother was born. You’ll have to adapt to the modern world, which means starting tomorrow, you’ll go to the local elementary school. Be a ghost. No friends. No stories about your parents. You live with ‘eccentric grandparents’ who hate visitors.” His breath frosted the air between them. “Teachers won’t question you—I’ll scrape their minds clean. Study. Train. Stay fit. Grow up fast and grow efficiently. We don’t have time to screw around with your childhood, and I couldn’t care less about your precious adolescence.”

  Alicja flinched as he yanked her chin up.

  “Tomorrow, find the bunker behind the house. Open a suitcase. Convince the ghost inside to be your driver—or enjoy your ten-kilometer hike to school.” He released her and then straightened up slowly . “Welcome to the real world, Alice.”

  She jolted upright, a scream strangled in her throat. Sweat glued her nightgown to her skin; her heart hammered like a trapped bird. Dawn’s gray fingers crept through the window.

  Just a nightmare. She clutched the blanket. Worthless. Fake.

  Then—a crack. Not from outside. The vanity mirror. Frost spiderwebbed across the glass. Alice staggered closer, her breath clouding in the suddenly chilled air. She reached—

  Words burned through the ice:

  THIS ISN’T A DREAM, YOU IDIOT.

  The frost vanished. The message lingered in her skull.

  No. Her knees buckled. No no no—

  The Not-a-Doctor wasn’t her fairytale prince.

  He wasn’t kind and he wasn’t joking.

  Her childhood lay in shards at her feet as her hope for a happy ending of this story.

  She suddenly realized that she had fallen into a bizarre world full of madness — a world that was neither kind nor fair. Until the sunlight illuminated the room, she didn't dare close her eyes.