The light was the first thing I noticed. It wasn't the bright, modern light of a hotel room, but a soft, warm glow that flickered against the jagged gray stones of the ceiling. I blinked slowly, my vision blurry and my head feeling like it was filled with heavy lead. I wasn't in Russia anymore—the hotel was gone.
"You're finally awake," a soft voice said.
The tone was filled with such relief that it made my chest tighten. I tried to sit up, but my muscles felt like jelly, completely drained of strength. I could only manage to tilt my head to the side.
A woman was sitting on a low wooden stool next to my cot. For a split second, my heart jumped—I thought I saw Mia's face. But as the fog of the fever cleared, I realized it was just my mind playing tricks on me. This woman was young, perhaps only a year or two younger than me, but her face looked tired, and her hands were roughened by hard work. She wasn't Mia. I was still trapped in the past.
"Where... where am I?" I whispered. My voice was raspy and thin, like I hadn't used it in years.
The woman leaned forward, brushing a damp cloth across my forehead. "You likely do not remember what happened to you, do you?"
I closed my eyes, trying to pull the pieces of my memory together. "No..." I struggled to find the words. "I remember the alley. I was so hungry. I thought... I thought I was going to die right there in the dirt."
"I am not surprised," she said gently. She picked up an apple from a small, rough wooden table and began to peel it with a small knife. "Vanya found you collapsed in the street while we were out gathering supplies. You looked like a ghost."
She looked at me with deep concern in her eyes. "You have been without your senses for five days. Your fever was so high you were shaking, and you kept shouting words I did not understand. You kept calling for someone named 'Mia.' Is she your Sestra or your Podruga?"
I blinked, the strange words sounding heavy in the small stone room. "Sestra? Podruga? I don't know what those mean."
The woman smiled, a small, patient look. "Ah, I forget you are a stranger to our tongue. Sestra is what we call a sister. Podruga... that is a close female friend."
"Oh... I see," I muttered, the fog in my head starting to clear. "Mia is my podruga. My best friend."
The woman nodded and sliced a piece of the apple. She reached out and helped me sit up, placing a thin, stuffed sack behind my back to prop me up against the cold stone wall. It was hard to move, but her touch was steady.
"Eat this," she said, handing me the slice.
"You must eat the fruit. The juice will help you. Your body is dry, and you need the strength if you wish to survive."
"Thank you," I said. I took a small bite. The sweetness was incredible—the juice coated my dry throat, and for the first time in days, I felt a spark of life.
As I chewed, I noticed something moving near the heavy wooden door. Two small heads were peeking out from behind the frame, eyes wide with curiosity. The woman noticed my gaze and turned around.
"Vanya, Dasha! Come here. Do not hide in the shadows like little mice," she called out with a warm laugh.
The two children slowly stepped into the light. They looked thin and their clothes were tattered, but their eyes were full of life.
"Go on, introduce yourselves," the woman encouraged.
The boy took a step forward but kept his head down, nervously twisting his shirt. "Hello, Ma'am. My name is Ivan... but everyone calls me Vanya. You can call me that, too."
The little girl was much more energetic. She hopped over to the side of my bed, her face lit up with a big smile. "Hello, Sestra! I am Darya, but they call me Dasha. I am so happy you are awake! We thought you were going to be a ghost!"
I couldn't help but smile back at them. "Hi, Vanya. Hi, Dasha. I'm Mary Ann. It's... it's really good to meet you both."
The woman put the knife down. "And I am Maria. But among us, you may call me Manya."
Dasha reached out and gently grabbed my hand. "Are you better now, Sestra? Is the bad fever gone? You won't go back to the scary alley, will you?"
Before I could answer, Vanya walked closer. He looked me straight in the eyes, his expression serious.
"I wanted to say thank you, Miss Mary Ann," he whispered. "For the apples. The ones you gave us at the market when the lady yelled at us. We were so hungry that day... and you gave us your food." He paused, his voice trembling slightly. "That is why I told Manya we had to save you. I told her you were the kind lady who helped us."
Tears pricked my eyes as I looked at the three of them—this young woman and these two children who had saved me when I had absolutely nothing left.
"You saved me, Vanya," I whispered. "Thank you for bringing me here."
Manya handed me another slice of apple, her eyes watching me closely as I chewed. Now that the fog of the fever was gone, the silence in the small stone room felt heavy with questions. She sat back on her stool, wiping the juice from her fingers onto her apron.
"I have been wondering since the moment Vanya brought you through that door," Manya began, her voice quiet so as not to startle the children. "Your garments... I have never seen such a weave. The blue fabric of your trousers is as tough as a sail, and those shoes..." She gestured toward my worn-out sneakers resting in the corner. "They are made of materials I do not know."
I looked down at my tattered jeans, then back at her. How could I explain a century she hadn't lived yet?
"Where is your home, Mary Ann?" Manya asked, her head tilted slightly. "You do not speak like the people of our province, and you certainly do not dress like them. Which land do you hail from?"
I swallowed hard, my throat still tight. "I'm... I'm from a place very far away," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "A place called the Philippines. I was traveling in Russia with my friend when... something happened. I don't really know how I ended up here."
Manya's brow furrowed. "The Philippines? I have never heard of such a kingdom. Is it across the great oceans?"
"Yes," I nodded. "Very far across the sea."
"And why are you here, in our small town?" Manya leaned in, her gaze searching my face. "A young woman traveling alone in such strange clothes... it is dangerous. Did your family cast you out? Or are you fleeing from something?"
I looked at my hands, shaking my head. "No, nothing like that. I didn't choose to come here. One minute I was in a museum, and the next... I was in that alleyway. I've been trying to find a way back home ever since I arrived, but no one would help me. They just looked at me like I was a freak."
Manya reached out and placed a hand on my arm. Her skin was warm and rough, a sharp contrast to the cold stone walls. "The people in this town can be cruel to what they do not understand. They see your clothes and they hear your strange words, and they grow afraid. Fear makes people heartless."
She sighed, looking toward the small, flickering oil lamp. "But Vanya told me how you shared your last food with them. A person with such a heart is no threat to us. Whatever brought you to this place, you are safe within these walls for now."
"Thank you, Manya," I whispered, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I didn't think anyone would ever be kind to me here."
"We know what it is like to be looked down upon," Manya said simply. "Now, eat. You need your strength, for tomorrow we must find a way to hide those strange clothes of yours before the neighbors begin to gossip."
After Manya left the room, the exhaustion from the fever returned, and I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. For the first time since arriving in this century, I felt safe.
The next morning, the soft light of dawn filtered through the small, high window of the stone house. I opened my eyes and felt much lighter. The heavy weight in my limbs had faded, and my head no longer throbbed.
Slowly, I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the side of the wooden bed. My feet touched the cold dirt floor, and I stood up. I was a bit shaky, but I could finally walk.
I looked toward the corner and saw Vanya and Dasha sitting on a small wooden crate. They were watching me with wide, unblinking eyes, like two little guards.
"You're standing!" Dasha whispered, her eyes sparkling. She jumped up and ran to my side, but then she stopped and looked shy, as if she was afraid she might knock me over.
"I am," I said with a small smile, leaning against the stone wall for support. "I feel much better today thanks to you guys."
Vanya stood up more slowly, his expression serious. "Manya said you must stay inside. She said your clothes are... 'strange' and the neighbors might ask questions we cannot answer."
I looked down at my tattered jeans and sneakers. He was right. In this world of long skirts and heavy wool, I looked like an alien. "I know, Vanya. I'll stay hidden. I don't want to cause any trouble for your family."
Dasha reached out and touched the denim of my jeans with one finger. "Is this magic cloth, Sestra? It is so blue, like the deep lake, and so very thick. I have never seen anything like it."
I laughed softly, reaching down to pat her head. "No, Dasha, it's not magic. It's just... from very far away. Where I come from, everyone wears clothes like this."
"Even the queens?" she asked, her eyes going wide.
"Well, maybe not the queens," I teased. "But almost everyone else."
Vanya stepped closer, his curiosity finally winning over his shyness. "Mary Ann... why were you all alone in the alley? Did you lose your family in the great war? Or did the hunger take them?"
The bluntness of his question caught me off guard. It reminded me how harsh life was in the 1800s. Children here knew too much about death.
"No, Vanya," I said, my voice softening. "My family is... they are just very, very far away. I got lost, and I didn't know how to get back to them. I had no money and no food, and I didn't know anyone in this town until I met you two."
Dasha grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. "You know us now! You are our Sestra now. Manya says we must always help those who are kind."
"She's right," Vanya added, nodding firmly. "We will watch the door for you. If anyone comes near, we will tell you to hide."
I looked at these two brave little kids. They had so little—just a stone house and some stale bread—yet they were willing to risk everything to protect a stranger like me.
"Thank you, both of you," I said, my heart feeling full for the first time in a long time. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"You would have been a ghost," Dasha said matter-of-factly. "And ghosts can't eat apples!"
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and Manya stepped inside. She looked tired, her hands tucked into her apron. She saw me standing and let out a long sigh of relief.
"It is good to see life in your limbs, Mary Ann," she said. She looked at my clothes and bit her lip, looking worried. "I have no other garments to give you. We have so little here. You must wear what you have, but keep your head down."
"Where are we going?" I asked, feeling nervous.
"To the Eldress," Manya replied. "She is the mistress of this house. She is the oldest among us and the one who decides if a stranger may stay. She will want to see the girl who speaks in strange tongues and wears the blue cloth."
Manya led me out of the small room. I expected a tiny shack, but my breath caught as we entered the main part of the house. It was a massive, old stone building, echoing and cold.
As I walked down the long hallway, I saw them. Children. Everywhere.
Some were sitting on the floor mending old nets, others were carrying buckets of water. There were dozens of them, ranging from toddlers to teenagers. They all stopped what they were doing to stare at me. The room went silent. They looked at my sneakers, my hair, and my blue jeans with a mix of fear and wonder.
"Why are there so many?" I whispered to Manya.
"This is a house for the forgotten," Manya whispered back. "Those who have no mothers or fathers find their way here."
As we passed a large stone hearth, I noticed a group of older boys stacking heavy logs. One of them, a tall guy who looked about my age, stopped what he was doing. He had dark, messy hair and a face that looked like it was carved from granite.
He didn't look curious like the younger kids. He looked suspicious. He stood perfectly still, his eyes locked onto mine as I walked past. He watched my every move, his gaze cold and serious, as if he were waiting for me to do something wrong.
"Who is he?" I asked softly, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
"That is Mikhail," Manya said, not looking back. "He was found in the woods years ago. He does not trust easily, especially not someone who looks like you."
Mikhail didn't look away even when we reached the end of the hall. I could feel his eyes on my back until Manya knocked on a thick, dark door.
"Enter," a voice croaked from inside. It sounded like the rustle of dry leaves.
Manya pushed the door open, and I stepped inside to meet the woman who would decide my fate.