The words etched themselves into Jacob's brain like nails scraping across chalkboard. The light of the unblinking moon, the scraping of the nails in his brain, the almost indiscernible sound of the flesh on his throat stitching itself together, the face reflected in the mirror.
Horror stacked upon horror, and terror merged with the darkness in the small room to turn it ever so oppressive, forming a furnace that bore down on him. Flashes of visions in front of his eyes, voices whispering in his ears, the pounding of a heart that wasn't his, emotions he had never felt. Memories he knew, people he cared for, a life once life.
The furnace cooked it all, reduced it all to ash and pressed the scattered remains together into a single whole. Visions of Jacob, murmurings of Aldric, hopes that had died, and despair that had found freedom. All became one in the heat of the furnace and the terror of the night, the fire crystallizing the ash until Jacob became Aldric, and what remained of Aldric became Jacob.
Thus, Jacob was inundated with memories, the disjointed fragments that had assaulted him forming a single seamless picture. The normal life of a poor student, the life of a man with two sisters, the life of a man doing his best to advance in life. Piece by piece it merged with him, until all that was once Aldric became clear to Jacob.
"Aldric Alain…"
The name escaped his lips, the vibrations momentarily scraping against his stitching throat. It was uncomfortable, but at least he was finally making sound.
Aldric Alain, an unfamiliar name. Yet, it now carried with it a sense of familiarity, if a bit of a discomforting one. He knew of Aldric's life, he could even feel some of his feelings as if they had been his own. But there was always the knowledge that they were not his own, there was a dissonance between them, as if he had read them in a book.
"The curse…"
He was now in the body of Aldric, but the mind and soul were still Jacob, so it couldn't be helped that his own habits made their presence known. Muttering his own thoughts, or inwardly lampooning and getting distracted by it had always been one of his poorer habits. It had even led to a running joke, one that started with his father and then slowly spread to his friends. His last name as Jacob was Mudar, but his father would call him Jacob Mutter instead, a little gag his friends were more than happy to take for themselves.
As for the reason he muttered at this moment, it was because even with the memories of Aldric forcing themselves to become part of him, he had no idea what sort of curse Aldric spoke of in his writings, nor the hell he spoke of. It was as if there was a blank in the memories, a portion of the soul carved out of existence. Or perhaps those portions were just what had to be removed to make space for this new occupant.
His gaze rose to the window again, to the gargantuan moon that was looking down at him with its gentle light. The more he looked at it, the more its light merged with the scraping of the nails that bore themselves into his brain. A slow realization, a dawning horror, a sinking sensation that threatened to swallow him whole.
The pocket watch in his grasp clapped shut as his fingers unconsciously tensed, forcing his mind back to the present, back to the reality he was forced to accept. He was nauseous, his insides churning violently, as if the viscous lump of blood that forced itself down his throat was thrashing around within his intestines.
He heaved for a second and then staggered around. The desk in front of him took up half of the nook he was in, when you added in the chair there was really only about half a step of space left before you got to the door so he didn't even have to step forward to reach the handle with his left hand. He was just about to yank the door open when his actions slowed, a touch of his lingering clarity preventing him from causing a great scene.
His right hand fiddled with the watch he held, the case clicking open to once again reveal the clock and the small mirror.
04:12.
Just barely past four, and it clearly wasn't four in the afternoon. That meant that in the room just beyond this door, Aldric's two sisters would currently be sleeping, one resting up before school and the other getting ready for an early shift at the fish processing factory. If he made a loud ruckus now and woke them, how would he interact with them? Would they realize that their brother had changed? Would they report him to one of the churches?
From the memories he gained from Aldric, he knew that there were three different churches in this city of Eldham. The Mother of Justice had a church, the Warden of Death had a church, and the Goddess of Combat and Victory, the Laurel of Glory as she was called, had a church. If it was in his own world, or life, or whatever this was, it wouldn't be such a big deal. But according to Aldric's memories, people here were very religious. And it was for a very simple reason, the gods here actually existed. They responded to prayers, they gave revelations, they performed tangible acts to prove their existence.
What would an organization like that do if they got their hands on him? Would they have a way of discovering that he wasn't Aldric? He didn't know, he truly didn't know.
He sucked in a deep breath, the slight chill that lingered in the night air brushing against the last few lumps of flesh that were stitching themselves together on his throat. A brief flash of pain, a discomfort that tugged at his mind, grounding him in reality.
Slowly and quietly, he lowered the handle of the door and pushed it open, allowing the stale and stuffy air of the adjacent room to come flooding in, bringing with it the scent of dust, sweat, and soft hints of smoke. The room that greeted him beyond the door wasn't much better than the small nook that served as his study.
About ten steps long and about 7 steps wide, calling it minuscule would not be wrong. Most of the right side of the room was taken up by the old and rickety bunk bed, the top bunk currently occupied by the two soundly sleeping females. At the foot of the bed, taking up the rest of the right side of the room, was a tall and wide dresser. The three siblings did not own too many clothes, so this one dresser was enough for all of them. The window that was on the wall adjacent to the bed did not provide any proper light or view, it only displayed the bricks of the house next to them.
The left side of the room was mostly barren, save for a make-shift desk formed from six small shipping crates that the older sister had snuck home from work. In the evening, it served as their dining table, and once they had finished supper it would be re-purposed by the younger sister, serving as a desk where she could do her studies and memorize what they had gone over at the public class she went to.
And that was everything in the apartment, save for the door on the left. The kitchen, and by extension the plates and cutlery, were located on floor down and had to be shared with six other apartments. The toilet and shower were luckily located on this floor, but it was still one they had to share with three other apartments so a line would often form in the morning and in the evening.
The three siblings had each other, scraping by on the scholarship Aldric had gotten for the public university, as well as his older sister's job, which earned her 3 Quarter-Rand and 10 Pence per week. Based on Aldric's memories, this place had a rather odd currency system. The lowest denominator was the Quarter-Pence, of which 4 became a Pence, 10 Pence would become 1 Quarter-Rand, and 4 Quarter-Rand became a single Silver Rand. 30 Silver Rand could be exchanged for a Gold Franc, but the three siblings had not seen a Franc for many years, not since the youngest sister was born and their mother died in childbirth, leaving them to fend for themselves.
As such, this was it. They had each other, but that was about it. Each month was tight, but the older sister insisted on splurging a little and renting this apartment for 1 Quarter-Rand and 3 Pence per week. The reason was exceedingly simple, both the public class the younger sister attended and the public university that Aldric attended could be reached if they just walked for around an hour.
If they wanted a cheaper apartment then they would have to leave this Iron Cross Street and head down to the Silvero District, which was closer to the docks and thus had a nigh-on constant influx of boats. It was the second cheapest district, just above the Easton District, which was for all intents and purposes a slum situated around the factories, inundated by their smoke and waste. But the problem with the Silvero District was that it was a good four or so hours away from the public class and public university, it was not feasible for the two of them to make that trek twice a day.
He drew in another deep breath, slowly and quietly, the stale air filling his lungs and tickling his throat. The watch in his right hand snapped shut again as his fingers twitched and flexed. The nausea only got stronger as he stood there so he kept walking, his steps staggering slightly, as if he hadn't walked for many days. He pushed open the door to the apartment and made his way into the dark hallway outside, the homeowner was too frugal to install the pipes needed for the newer gas lamps so he could only move on instinct and follow the memories he had to navigate the darkness. His left hand rose to his face, clutching it lightly as he moved through the dark, the nausea only getting worse as the dark slowly swallowed him.