When Nanashi came to, she had flashes of pain, yelling, dancing, and more. She felt like death decided to come for a visit. Her breath reeked, her body ached, and her head pounded with the thunderous beat of her heart. She was hungover, sore, and thirsty. She swallowed, smacking her lips and wetting them with her tongue. She opened her eyes, and it was like her brain got stabbed with an iron poker as she cried out in pain.

  "Gha, Da Fuck!?" She spoke, and her words pounded through her ears till all she was was a crumpled mess with a horrible hangover.

  So without much self-reflection, she covered her head and hid in the bedsheets, their thin, reedy texture unnoticed compared to the pain thundering through her skull.

  Nanashi whimpered in pain, but fighting through the pain, she slowly opened her eyes to peek through the bed sheet. Her vision was not good at first; everything was painful and blurry.

  All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball, close her eyes, and remain asleep where she didn't feel the pain of a hangover. Though her body seemed to think differently from her mind, a low rumble came from her stomach as hunger rumbled through her. She couldnt keep procrastinating against her pain, so she got up. The light still pained her, but she walked towards where her sink should have been.

  What? Where is it? Nanashi spun around, her discomfort from the light forgotten.

  She was in a stone-and-wood room, the walls made of wood, the light peeking through cracks in the walls. The ground was rough, hughed stone, and the bed wasn't really a bed but a roughly woven mattress made from old, worn cloth. The blanket was woven from multiple rice bags.

  There was a small pot in the corner and a furnace with a clay pot on top on the opposite side of the room.

  "Oh, gods, what is going on?" She was nearly hysterical, her breathing was becoming ragged and painful to the point her lungs burned, and she started coughing.

  She moved back to the bed, sitting down in a stumbling motion and taking deep breaths to calm down.

  Okay, so she went to a party last night and was walking home after separating from her friends. Got into her apartment elevator, and then everything was dark after that. She doesn't remember.

  Was she kidnapped? No, she may be a young woman, but there were no reports of others going missing in her area.

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  Maybe she went to an ancient building replica and fell asleep in it? No, no, that isn't possible; there isn't even one she could remember being in the same city where she lived.

  Her mouth felt dry as she licked her lips once more and sighed. Sitting around won't solve the mystery of where she is. She stood up, and before attempting to step outside, she stopped freezing mid-motion to the sole way out.

  She was wearing clothes made of rough fabric. Her skin had always formed a rash with any rough clothes that weren't properly softened up, due to irritation. Yet her skin wasnt irritated, hell, she barely noticed any discomfort from the clothes on her body.

  Pressing her hands to her clothes, she could tell something else was also wrong as she tilted her head forward. Her hair of indigo fell over her shoulder and draped down like curtains, covering her vision.

  Her mind went to fantastical conclusions this time, because fantasy at that moment made more sense than reality.

  She stepped outside, and she froze. Memories rushed over her like a wave. Hers but not hers remembered and forgotten herself yet not.

  A young woman with no name, with indigo hair and amber eyes, viewed the world with cold clarity. She would steal, rob, fight, and blackmail. She had gotten a haul of alcohol and snuck herself a bottle from a cultivator's stash. She would seduce cruel men and, from the memories, kill and rob them as well. Yet she had no name, just a small shack outside the city and two graves next to her home.

  Nanashi wanted to vomit from the memories of letting strangers touch her in ways she didn't like to sneaking poison in revenge. The memories were hers, yet not.

  Transmigration, this body is no longer her own, and this world was nothing like her old one.

  She didn't care; she needed water, she needed to refresh herself, she needed something to distract herself, and her hangover was the best excuse she had.

  A stream flowed through fog floating on its surface, even with the early morning sunlight. She knelt and splashed her face with the water, its warmth surprising, but its smell was reminiscent of a stream. Fresh with an aftersmell of decaying plants. Sipping some of the water, she sloshed it in her mouth, not swallowing it because of years of learning not to trust fresh water sources or any water source until it is boiled.

  Spitting out the water she used to rinse her mouth, she turned her head to look at the shack that was hers yet not. Memories of two parents, hers but not hers. It was odd.

  She headed back into the shack and closed the rickety door, which would provide more protection from the elements than sleeping in a cave would. Yet it was hers.

  She wanted to pretend it was a dream, act like it wasn't real, but she knew she was in control; she wasn't watching everything through the eyes of a third party, unable to control the narrative. It doesn't help her ability to claim it is a dream, given that she can feel textures. Normally, she could hear the sensations, but the only touch-based sensation she would feel while dreaming would always be pain.

  This was reality, the memories were too real, too fresh.

  From the pain of getting slapped across the face to experiencing hunger. Sensations that she has never felt before are now in her memory.