Where am I— who am I? I wondered, staring out at the room I was in. It seemed familiar in a way, like the house of a great-grandparent that you'd only visited once, or, possibly twice. I curled up tighter into my already existing ball, hugging my legs tighter and tighter to my chest until I couldn't anymore, forcing myself to take short, shallow breaths. I lay curled up on a Victorian carpet in the middle of a room. I got up slowly, after surveying the room multiple times, scanning for any evidence of human life besides myself. None, as it seemed. I got up shakily as my knees buckled together multiple times, forcing me to sit down on the old rocking chair to catch my breath. 

     A battered calendar with frayed and ripped edges hung on the wall besides the door on the far wall. A large, quickly drawn red heart encircled yesterday's date- the fourteenth of February- with the number 666 etched on the inside. Strange. Vague memories flashed across my field of view; piercing green eyes. A drink. I had no idea what was going on. Quickly, I sat up and surveyed  the room. Maybe-- Maybe there was some sort of identification around here that could answer my questions. I saw a brown leather wallet sitting on the counter, maybe seven feet ahead from where I was sitting. I rushed over quickly, ignoring the state my head was in, my pressure pulsing. I tore open the pouch quickly, to discover a laminated piece of paper- an ID that read HILDEBRANDT, Lorelei Juliet. A girl that looked about the age of twenty sat in a picture frame, enclosed by the tight square. Fluffy blonde hair that was cropped about half-way down her neck  sat on top of her heart shaped face, and coffee brown eyes sat in the middle. 

     It had to be me-- that would be the only possible explanation to why I was in this apartment, had no other piece of ID on me, and--  I swiveled around and bolted throughout the room, searching madly and practically ripping each door from the frame until I got to the bathroom.

     Why I look identical to them. I thought. The same person stood in front of me, staring back through the mirror. Then-- why didn't I recognize myself? I ran my hand across my face, then down across my arms and down to my legs, feeling every inch of me. Nothing felt familiar. It was like I was someone else in this person's body. But that wasn't possible. I walked slowly from the washroom back out to the living room, inspecting what my so-called living space looked like. It was-- fairly messy, to say the least. It reminded me of an old vintage room, styled after the 50s, or maybe the 60s-- A loud buzzing cut off my inspection, almost making me fall over, splat onto my face. It came from a phone, sitting on my geometric shaped coffee table. I flinched at the noise, as if it almost reminded me of something. Almost. I picked it up, and thankfully, the phone's mind hadn't been erased, for it read my face ID like it would any other day. There was over 50 notifications sitting in the cellular device-- most from Messages, some from socials, but there was one from my calendar app that caught my attention.

     Feb. 14th- 666th date; make a good impression lore <3

     What the hell does that- wait. I stood up and walked over to the calendar that stood beside the exit of the apartment. February 14. Valentines Day. That's why there was a heart. It looked like I didn't have much luck in love. 666 dates? That was mayhem. I must be crazy. I clicked next on the messages, which around ninety percent of the other notifications came from; a girl named Natasha was the proud owner of these record breaking amount of texts in a row. Or, Nat, I guess I called her, kudos to her contact name.

     how was it, lore?

     lore.

     hullo?

     are you ignoring me?

     srsly-

     hun

     hii

     did it not go good? 

     or did it go v well 😏

     lore

     lore

     lore

     lorelei

     loreleiiii

     lorelei

     LORELEI JULIET HILDEBRANDT

     And many more of those messages followed. From teasing death threats to annoyed emojis, it went everywhere. I guess that's what my reminder meant by 'lore'-- my name, or-- nickname, I guess. Short for Lorelei. Maybe in another reality I would have texted them back. Oh hey-- sorry! I fell asleep. But that wasn't the case. I had no freaking idea who this person was. I was clueless. I was about to push the phone off to the side, when a buzz vibrated against my fingertips. She was typing. 

     Shit. I thought, clicking on the notification, to realize that it read read under the old messages. 

     W-what was I supposed to do?  The next thing Nat said was a message containing three simple things; you're avoiding me. To be honest, in the moment, I was kind of trying to. I set the metal rectangle silently on the coffee table, completely ignoring the read text next to the message. As if the day couldn't get interrupted any more, a knock ran through my room. I flinched and walked carefully to the door, making sure I wouldn't set off something like a bomb when I opened the door. Geez, I was skeptical. 

     "Who- who's there?" I called out, my voice croaking like a poor traveler's in a desert, desperate for water. I probably hadn't talked in almost twenty four hours. 

     "Eh- the only person who ever comes to your apartment?" I grumbled. That didn't help. 

     "Are you-- Natasha?" I called out, walking closer to the door and peering out the hole to try and identify the visitor. Not that I'd recognize them. 

     "No? How would I be Nat-- I don't sound like her. And you always go to her flat." I rolled my eyes.

     "Elaborate." 

     "Lore-- geez. It's me. Chris. The Mail Man." I slapped my face.

     "Ooooooh-- pff how did I not realize it was you?" I laughed.

     "No idea," he proclaimed, laughing along with me. "For a second I thought you'd lost your memory or something stupid like that." I slowed my laughing down.

     "Well then, what do I owe this visit to?" Chris stopped laughing as well.

     "Lore-- back to my point. I'm a freaking mailman. What do you expect me to be doing on a Tuesday morning." I stared at him, trying to play dumb.

     "Uhm--"

     "D..." he started, acting as if I was a child in need of teaching. I practically did, considering the state I was in.

     "De..." I continued, repeating after him.

     "Deliver..."

     "Deliver...ing...?" 

     "For God's sake, Lore. Delivering mail." I knew that. 

     "Oh--then I suppose you have... mail for me?" The now very obviously annoyed mailman stared at me."

     "What the fuck do you suppose I'm doing, delivering ostrich eggs?" I shrugged as he rolled his eyes.

     "It's completely possible," I admitted. He groaned.

     "Fine. Yeah. Sure. I have mail for you. Sketchy mail, to say the least. Goodbye. Get a therapist, Lore." Before speed-walking down the hallway, he thrust a burnt envelope into my hands; it looked like a fantasy script, with burnt edges, and what looked like someone had purposely drenched the poor piece of paper in coffee. Untying the twine and peeling off the wax seal, dread pulled itself over me, as if I knew there was something about this letter. Well I could tell there was something off from my new perspective; who the hell sends letters? I assumed it was all digital by now. Besides bills. And taxes. Y'know, the bad stuff everyone avoids. I slowly opened the mouth of the envelope, sneaking a look at the rigid parchment that sat enclosed in it's cage. 

      It looked like the letter it's self had stepped into a time machine, coming back from the seventeen, maybe eighteen hundreds. It was as if someone had marinated the monograph in coffee, the edges just a shade darker than the entirety than the paper. I got a giddy feeling in my stomach. I wasn't sure if I was excited or terrified to open the mysterious letter, haunting me. 

     The back was blank, which must have meant it was a decently short letter. Nothing big. And as I flipped it around-- 

     Nothing. It was blank. Not even the faint mark of pencil that had been erased, or a scratch from nib pen that had no ink. 

     "Wh-what?" I said aloud, maybe a little too loud. I flipped the page over, over and over again until I collapsed onto the wooden floorboards of the room. So much for sketchy mail. This was just-- it must be a joke. Maybe it was an accident? Why would someone just send a piece of-- parchment?! I brought the paper closer and closer to my eyes, thinking maybe there was something I was missing-- 

     "Sh-" My finger slider across the rough edge of the page, exposing the inner layers of my skin. Crimson blood ran from my pointer finger, running in an odd wave down the page. It spread like there was ten times the amount, covering the entire page. Slowly, the liquid coiled up on itself, exposing more of the paper. It coiled into letters, revealing that there truly was a message on the parchment. 

     Lorelei Hilidebrandt,

     It is with my deepest regards that I send you this letter. As you informed me earlier, I was your 666th date, correct? Well maybe things would have been different if you hadn't rejected me. You probably think I'm crazy. Think to yourself, then. What's the last thing you remember about your life? See, exactly. Nothing. You're lousy, Lorelei. Don't judge a book by it's cover. I could have been more. Yet you rejected me at the first sight of a flaw.

     Change yourself, Lorelei Hildebrandt. At least now you have to. 

     Kindest regards, 

     Your 666th date

     I didn't know how to react. This seemed ridiculous. As if I was living in a mystery novel or something. I looked at the cut on my hand and glared at my hand. 

     How did I get myself into this.

     Tears immediately started pouring down my face, obscuring my field of view. I screamed at the person who sent me the letter. I screamed at every object in my room, the letter-- and myself. I screamed at myself. I laughed as the tears momentarily stopped. This seemed like such an unruly thing to cry about. Childish. I wiped my face, clearing away the salty water. I stood up and looked around. Before I could contain myself, I ran around the room, and hit everything in my path. I yanked glass cups from shelves, ripped at pictures, and once I was done, everything lay motionless on the floor. Maybe this mysterious individual was right. Maybe I did have to change myself. Maybe I did have to start over. 

     I ran back to the table and rummaged through the wreck, and grabbed the wallet with my ID, and ran out the apartment door. I lunged down the stairs, winding down and down, until I saw the main entrance. I pulled my hood over my head, best that no one saw me. I walked onto the bustling sidewalk, people crashing into me from all ways. Quickly running to the even busier road, I signaled for the nearest taxi. 

     "To the nearest airport," I muttered, as the driver gave me a slight nod of the head. The ride was deadly silent for the most part, except for a casual 'how was your day', to which I replied 'fine'. I think he could tell that was a lie. 

     The ride was also fairly short. Fifteen minutes. As I got out, the driver looked at me funny. 

     "You got luggage?" he asked me.

     "No need," I replied, slamming the car door. I pulled my hood over my head even further, tucking my hair behind my ears. I sat down on a bench once I entered the aerodrome, pulling out my phone. Quickly entering via my face ID, I opened messages. Nat. She hadn't texted me at all since the whole 'you're avoiding me' fiasco, but it would be better that way. I typed my message to her with one stroke; goodbye.

Read.