Wretchwren. A land full of creatures and people, some good, some bad, and all speaking strange tongues that don’t mean anything to me or you. This is the world Clementine was revived into. Back on Earth, she had lived a good life, maybe even a great one. She was a poet, someone who could move people with her words.
When she died, Lady Death took her in. Lady Death is the most powerful woman in this world, able to take or give life to whoever she wants. She’s the only one who has control over both Earth and Wretchwren.
After serving her for years, Clementine was given life again in Wretchwren. Lady Death told her she had a second chance, but that it had to mean something. She didn’t bring Clem here just to waste her days. Not when she was in a world where all the things she wrote about were suddenly real.
So Clementine became an explorer. She traveled and wrote down her findings so other people could use them. But no one she traveled with knew the truth: that she wasn’t from Wretchwren at all.
Beatrice, a Fae who once tried to steal her name, noticed something strange. She had never even heard of Clementine before, which was odd since fae usually know almost everyone in the realm.
Setcha, an Elf, noticed too. Her rounded ears, her accent, and the fact that she only spoke English and something called “German.” He had never heard of German before, but Clementine swore it was real.
That brings us to the fire. The group sat around it like they always did, but tonight felt different. Nobody was laughing or joking, nobody was writing or drinking. Just the sound of the fire crackling and crickets in the dark.
Finally, Setcha spoke up. “Clem, I’ve noticed something about you,” he said in his usual flat voice. “And it makes me wonder. If you don’t mind.”
Clementine looked away from the stars and at him, raising an eyebrow. “Go on?” she said, a little wary.
“You don’t belong here,” he said. “Your tongue is foreign. You talk about things no one knows. German. A war. I study maps, languages, history, none of those exist.”
Beatrice cut in, her wings twitching. “And your name has no roots. I tried to take it, but it didn’t stick. It wasn’t your real one. Where are you really from?”
Clementine opened her mouth, then shut it again. She wanted to lie, to say she was from somewhere far away. But their eyes told her they wouldn’t believe it.
“I’m not from Wretchwren,” she finally admitted. Her voice was soft but steady. “I’m from a world called Earth. There are no elves. No fae. No magic. Only cities and machines and people. I lived there, a fine– okay life” she paused after correcting her words; “I died there. And Lady Death brought me here.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Setcha’s jaw clenched. “You mean you’re not even real in this world, you weren't supposed to be brought here.” His tone didn’t change, but his hand slowly drifted toward the knife on his belt.
Beatrice hissed through her teeth. “No wonder your name has no feeling to it. You don’t belong. You’re an outsider, slipped between worlds. What are you really, Clementine? Lady Death’s employee? Is this some sort of test?”
“I’m me,” Clementine snapped. “I didn’t choose this. I died. She chose me.”
“That’s the problem,” Setcha said, narrowing his eyes. “Why you? Why not the rest who rot in the void?”
The fire popped, sparks flying into the night.
Clementine swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I swear I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just want to survive.” she adds, eyes glued to Setcha's hand on his knife, then let out a sigh as she saw his hand let go.
No one replied. The crickets kept chirping, like nothing had changed, but this changes a lot, this changes their view on Clementine and everything she does.
