Marian only had scattered pieces of what happened next.

Her head hurt from excessive magic. Her throat hurt from excessive screaming. When she tried to stand up, everything hurt. So, she stayed on the floor, nestled between the broken wine casks...

A child was towering high over her. In the child's hands was a blue cloth, which they were using to tie a plank to her right leg. She thought about how sad it was that the cloth would not stay blue for long...

The room was at the correct angle. Something fit snuggly under her cloak under her arm. When she turned to look, the child was there, goading her along...

She was trying awfully hard to open her eyes, but she was having trouble doing so. After straining for a while, she realized that her eyes were already open. But that couldn't have been right. Since they were outside, there should have been some light, even if it was just the moon or some stars...

Someone pushed at her back, forcing her face against perpendicular chilled surfaces. She tried to lift a hand to feel it, but she only had strength enough to make her arm quiver. She stuck her tongue out instead. It tasted like dust and stone...

She was falling. She could see, and she was falling. She felt a lot of things all at once. The sensations were so overwhelming that she couldn't wrap her head around them. It was far easier to let them wash over her...

It was dark again. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel. She wanted to go, but it hurt too much to move there on her own. She waited in the dark for a while, the smell of her blood her only companion...

The child was with her again, walking her along towards the light. Before long, they were out of the dark, and she was awash in colors. Where did she know these colors from...?

The constant downward spiral was making her dizzy. She wanted to sit down until the world righted itself, but the child beneath her arm wouldn't let her...

The air was different in this small town. Cozy, muted, damp. She tried to make out details, but she could only see the falling snow and the crescent moon over the little buildings...

...why were they leaving town? Why weren't they stopping in town? Why did they have to keep walking up the mountain? She tried to ask the child, but the only response she got was, "Have to go home... have to go home... have to go home..."

She was face-down in the mountain road. The snow wasn't so cold, really. It made for a nice blanket as it fell over her. She wished desperately that the child would stop trying to lift her back up. But she knew she'd get no rest so long as the chanting continued: "Have to go... have to go... have to go..."

Even through the snowstorm, she could see the lights in the house at the end of this trail. Surely, they didn't have to go all the way up? Surely they could rest here, and whoever lived there would find them in the morning. Still, the child insisted: "Have to... have to... have to..."

...why were they shouting so much? Couldn't they tell how tired she was? Why wouldn't they let her lie down? Why were they pulling at her cloak? She didn't care how much of it was frozen in her blood...

She felt betrayed. They'd finally let her lay down, but they were still poking and prodding her leg. Why were they so interested in it, anyway? Was there something wrong with it? She couldn't sleep like this...

It was nice of him to make the lights go away as they left...

...Quiet.

---

Marian spent several minutes breathing silently. She could feel her chest rising and falling in a steady cadence. There was a simple tranquility in letting air flow into and out of her mouth. Nothing mattered beyond her capacity to draw in breath.

By and by, she remembered that she had eyes. This revelation was disheartening. Having eyes meant she would eventually have to confront the existence of others. Marian was at peace in her solitary existence; to introduce other things was to introduce chaos to a world of perfect order - for what discord could exist in a world of one inhabitant?

It took some time, but she was able to come to terms with her eyes. She remembered that she liked seeing things. Sight was one of her five favorite senses. She enjoyed using her sight to determine where she was and what was going on around her. For some reason, she wasn't confident about either of those things. Cautiously, she allowed her eyelids to open.

She was in a room that was not quite the right size. The bed she was in was barely long enough for her to lay down; under the covers, she could feel the heel of her left foot dangling over the edge. The pillows were only slightly wider than her head. To her side was a little table that held a ceramic torch and a glass of water the size of a mouse. Little furniture bordered the walls of the room, including a child-sized chair with long feet and a strange box with metal antlers. To her left was a door, while to her right was a window. Directly in front of her was a blurry portrait of two little people, suspended over a dresser. One corner of the dresser's top was occupied by a potted plant, dwarfed by a floppy hat that covered the entire other half of the dresser.

Even in her addled state of mind, Marian knew that hat the moment she saw it. She moved one slow, sluggish arm up to the top of her head and felt nothing but her unkempt hair.

"That's my hat," she remarked. She was surprised at how soft and hoarse her voice was. Thinking about that made her realize how thirsty she was. She worked her other arm over towards the glass, which she was able to clutch after only a couple practice attempts. Lazily, she brought the glass to her lips and managed to get most of the water into her mouth. It was one of the best glasses of water she'd ever had.

She cleared her throat. It was as natural an experience as breathing. She felt she could recite poetry with the strength borne unto her. Calling upon her newfound bardic spirit, she declared, "I want my hat."

Marian shifted her leg to extract herself from the small bed and was laid out flat with a sudden rush of pain.

She must have yelped because she heard footsteps on a staircase a moment later. Even over the thrumming ache in her leg, it wasn't hard to chart the progress of whoever it was as they hustled down the steps, then ran along a wooden floor. She appreciated that they seemed to be hurrying.

The small door flew open, and Tracey appeared in the room. She was wearing baby blue nightwear that stretched from neck to toe and was covered in white stars. Her pink hair, devoid of kerchief, still appeared as a solid helmet attached to her head, only it now had odd spikes indiscriminately clustered near the top; Marian suspected this meant her hair was ruffled. Clear black lines appeared drawn under her large eyes.

For the first time, Marian noticed that Tracey had no distinct fingers. Her hands resembled fleshy mittens without articulatable digits besides her thumbs. Marian couldn't help but stare as the little girl bounded over to the bed.

"You're awake."

Tracey's voice eased Marian back to reality. She stared at the little girl, trying to recall what it was she had been so worked up about.

Finally, she remembered. "I wanted my hat."

Tracey glanced at the dresser. She shuffled over to it and picked up the floppy old hat, which the witch could now see had been resting over her glasses and spellbook. Tracey brought the hat back to Marian, who immediately put it on. Lying flat on her back, the only way Marian could accomplish this was to place it over her face.

Tracey sighed, then repositioned Marian so she could sit up in bed. Marian let out an undignified grunt as the ache briefly consumed her leg once again.

"Still hurts?"

"Little bit," Marian wheezed as the pain receded.

"Not surprised. You were shot."

She righted her hat as she tried to remember details from the escape. "They had arrows?"

Tracey shook her head and answered, "Shot by a bullet."

"...a small bull with arrows?"

The pink-haired girl gave her an odd look, then wandered to the dresser. She retrieved a little clay bowl Marian hadn't noticed and brought it over. In the bowl was a large piece of misshapen metal. It appeared to have once been oblong with a cone-like tip, though the tip of the cone had been squashed flat as though it had been struck by a mallet.

Marian stared at the metallic lump for several long seconds, squinting. She mouthed the word, "'Bullet'...?", as though that would tell her some fundamental truth about the object.

Reading her expression, Tracey said, "I'll explain later," then walked the bowl back to the dresser.

Marian took in the room again. She tried to search for any clue as to where they were, but without her stupid glasses on, it was hard to make out any new details. "Where am I?"

Tracey gave her a curious look. "Don't you remember?"

Marian shook her head.

Tracey grunted with unspoken concern. She sighed, then started, "Your name is Marian Harradin. You come from a world called Wyvern Hunter IX. You-"

"I know that. I mean, what happened?"

Tracey walked over to the chair and carried it over to the bed. To Marian's bemusement, when Tracey sat in it, the chair started to rock backwards and forwards. "You brought us to that church with that magic spell."

"'Migrat'," Marian clarified.

"Sure. You ran downstairs and left me outside. Took me a couple minutes to stand up."

"Oh. Yeah, 'Migrat' can be disorienting if you're not used to it."

"I walked into the church after you. Was taking the stairs down when I heard you yelling behind me."

"Must be when I used 'Egress' to escape."

Tracey's eyebrows raised in clear curiosity.

Marian shook her head. "Sorry, I interrupted you. Go on."

Tracey regarded Marian suspiciously but pressed onward. "I bandaged your leg and helped you outside."

"It... was dark outside. I remember that."

Tracey nodded grimly. "Couldn't see anything. Sun was gone. Knew we had to go. Used the church wall to escape."

"How?"

"At an angle."

Marian scratched her cheek. "I still don't know how that works."

Tracey shook her head. "Complicated. Can explain later."

Something from Marian's vague jumble of memories came back to her. "...wasn't there a town we passed through? Why didn't we stop there?"

Tracey shook her head. "Couldn't stop there. Bad idea."

Marian squinted at Tracey. "Why?"

The little girl grimaced. "...too complicated."

That word again, the witch thought. Isn't there someone else I can talk to who can explain this stuff?

But instead of pushing the subject, she asked, "So... what? We left that town, and you brought me to...?"

"My home. Took care of your leg. Claus and Peter helped."

"Claus? Peter?" The names were familiar, for some reason. Marian looked back at the picture, but it only appeared as two vaguely people-shaped smears to her near-sighted eyes.

"Claus is the town doctor. Peter is my husband."

Marian stared at the adorable small child beside her. "You're too little to have a husband."

Tracey let out another quiet little sigh. "You said that already."

"...did I? I don't remember that at all..."

"And I'm not a little girl."

Marian set to massaging her temple. Her memory must have been more fractured than she realized. "Lady above, what a day."

"Week."

"Mm?"

"You've been asleep here for a week."

Marian's eyes bulged. "A week?! I was supposed to be back at the castle days ago!"

"'Castle'?"

"If the Wyvern Hunter and the others get back to Cobblestone Keep before I do, I-!" She tried to stand up again, then let out a cry as the pain in her leg rushed back.

"Stop moving," Tracey instructed. She stood up and reset Marian in the bed.

"I need to go back," Marian repeated, though she made no sudden movements this time.

Tracey gave her a sad look. "Marian, you can't go back."

"I might need some help," Marian acquiesced, "but if you can get me on my feet, I'll-"

Tracey was shaking her head. "No. You can't go back. It's gone."

"Gone? What's gone? The castle? Where-?"

"Marian, everything is gone. Looked for the Portal the day after I brought you here. Couldn't find it." She reached over and put her mitten-like hands on Marian's. Gentle body heat radiated from them as Tracey's voice lowered to a soft, remorseful tone. "Your world is gone. I'm sorry."