Nothing from the Dreamlands would bother with a bathroom either, which meant someone else had interfered while I was unconscious.
Someone who either had no idea what I was capable of, or knew exactly what I was and still thought tying me up in a bathtub was necessary and strangely appropriate.
That's what I would've thought and acted rashly upon, if not for my precious mind chiming in at the last moment, reminding me of my unusual, potentially harmful, and worryingly useful habit of overthinking.
With the kind of phobia I carried, this was practically inevitable and disturbingly familiar.
Still, overthinking wasn't inherently bad, it was simply inefficient, a waste of time and fragile clarity.
Even now, my mind had already pieced together a theory, stitched in details to fill the gaps, and painted a scenario so vivid it bordered on horrifying and grotesque.
Truly terrifying, what the human mind could manufacture when left unchecked and dangerously imaginative.
One could probably destroy the world if they learned to harness this ability perfectly, though, of course, only within their own head.
And honestly? That was about as far as most would ever get with it, not gonna lie.
Though I still had no clear idea why I'd been tied up here, a vague suspicion hovered at the back of my mind, indistinct to pin down in the moment and strangely persistent.
Shaking it off, I turned the water knob and held my hands beneath the cold stream, watching as diluted crimson spiralled away, red dissolving into clear as it vanished down the drain.
The sting lessened, replaced by a dull throb and faint warmth.
I cupped some water and splashed it onto my face, the chill biting into my skin and dragging me further back into reality, then let my fingers slide through my hair, pushing it back as I tilted my head up slightly, meeting my own reflection in the mirror.
Damp silver-grey strands clung to my temples, framing a face that wasn't mine, or rather, one that felt foreign yet unsettlingly flawless and eerily serene.
High cheekbones, a clean jawline, skin far too unblemished to belong to someone who had just been brutalised by existence itself.
My light blue eyes stared back at me from the mirror, pale and sharp, holding a quiet intensity that made the reflection look almost unreal, almost sculpted by careful design.
I tilted my head slightly, watching how the unfamiliar features caught the light, how effortlessly handsome this body was, and an odd unease settled in my chest as I tried to reconcile this immaculate form with the chaos I knew I was.
I lingered there for a moment longer, grounding myself in that reflection even if nothing about it truly felt like it belonged to me, before turning and exiting the bathroom in one swift motion.
A clear objective had already formed in my mind the second my feet touched the floor.
Rael's precious girlfriend.
Whether fortunately or unfortunately, she had become a problem of mine.
I needed to find her, because the situation was painfully simple.
She was the one who had lowered me into the bathtub, and I had to confirm whether she was also the one who had bound me with that rope.
If she truly was responsible, I wasn't about to let such an intrusion into my 'vulnerability' go unquestioned and lightly excused.
Anyone who dared to encroach upon a moment of my 'fragility' had already stepped far too close for comfort, even if done unknowingly, and must be harmed proportionally and decisively.
Putting that aside, the moment I stepped out of the bathroom, the illusion I had made up for myself shattered completely and unceremoniously.
The corridor stretched ahead in quiet simplicity, its cream-coloured walls clean yet slightly dulled, as if time had gently worn away their former brightness and subtle charm.
The wooden floor beneath my feet let out the faintest creak, not from neglect but from age, bearing the subtle marks of daily life and ordinary footsteps.
A soft ceiling light illuminated the space evenly, functional and unpretentious, revealing a home that was by no means poor or unpleasant, just simple, familiar, and painfully average.
And that was what unsettled me deeply.
There was nothing wrong with this place, yet it paled miserably in comparison to the bathroom behind me with its polished elegance, and unmistakable touch of luxury.
It felt misplaced, as if grandeur had briefly intruded upon a life that had always known modesty.
Heck, it was comparable to the apartment I used to live in back in my previous life, cramped, forgettable, and quietly ordinary.
Stealing glances at the odd paintings that hung along the corridor's walls, I made my way forward, guided by the faint voice I had heard even from within the bathroom, though at the time I had not bothered to pay it much attention.
The frames were slightly crooked, their subjects peculiar and vaguely unsettling, as if they did not truly belong here, yet had remained out of stubborn taste or aesthetic choice.
Through that narrow gap, a wash of bright light spilled outward, seeping into the corridor and softly illuminating the worn walls and floor beneath my feet in warm contrast.
'Who is it now…?'
I thought to myself, a trace of dry amusement settling in as the overlapping voices drifted through the half-open door, reminding me that this place was not as abandoned as I had mistakenly assumed otherwise.
I could make out a silhouette leaned against the door in a casual manner, and as I drew closer, continuing to observe in silence, that barely-visible outline slowly came into form just in time for her to slam the door hard against the face of what appeared to be some wretched old man.
The kind that reeked of authority from an organisation I had no desire to learn about or acknowledge.
His muffled protest was cut short as she scoffed, voice sharp and irritated.
"These shit people and their constant threats. Always the same damn nonsense, barking about dues and late payments like we owe our soul to their filthy little ledger and pathetic system."
It was then, that she turned around, my eyes meeting hers for the very first time again, with a strange twist of recognition.