The agonizing white light fractured.
The sterile walls of the operating room dissolved, replaced by a massive, glowing projection hovering above the console. The machine was tearing the past straight from my synapses, broadcasting my raw memories for my family to judge.
A dense, vibrant forest materialized on the screens.
"There are bigger, prettier mushrooms in the distant forest," a soft, faceless voice cooed through the room’s audio speakers.
On the monitor, my younger self stared up at a cloaked figure crouching in the dirt.
"Really?" my childhood voice echoed.
"You just have to step past the castle's barrier to find them," the stranger urged, extending a pale hand. "Come along."
I watched my tiny fingers reach out. I grasped the stranger's hand. I watched myself nod, completely oblivious, and walk away from the safety of the estate.
"See?" I gasped on the metal table, fighting the leather straps. "I was lured away! I didn't run from you!"
The projection violently warped. The machine ripped another year from my hippocampus, fast-forwarding through my captivity.
Rain lashed across the screens. Mud splattered against heavy iron-studded oak doors. I was older, dressed in filthy rags, my bare feet bleeding on the cobblestones.
"Let me in! Please!" I pounded my bruised fists against the castle gates. "I live here! I am Cecilia!"
"Get lost, beggar," a guard sneered from the parapet above. "The Duke has no rat-faced daughters."
"I am the Duke's daughter! Tell my father I am alive!"
The heavy gates groaned open. Not for me, but for a royal carriage returning from the city.
"Kick her into the moat," another guard barked, marching toward my shivering form.
"Stop." A booming voice cut through the storm.
Duke Edward stepped out of the carriage. He ignored the pouring rain and stared down at my dirt-streaked face.
"Father?" I whimpered in the memory.
He dropped to his knees in the mud, uncaring about his pristine coat. "Cecilia? By the gods."
He pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around my frail shoulders.
"You will once again be the only princess here," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion, echoing loudly in the operating room. "No one can ever look down on you again."
On the metal table, a bitter laugh scraped my throat. An empty promise. A lie broadcast for everyone to see.
The memory shifted again, bright and warm. The grand parlor of the manor.
"Cecilia, darling," Duchess Margaret smiled on the screen, gesturing to a timid girl in a lavish pink gown. "This is Rosalind. We adopted her after we lost you. She has been a great comfort to us."
I smiled at the girl. "Thank you for taking care of my parents."
"And now that you have returned," Margaret continued, placing a hand on my shoulder, "your rightful place is restored. Including your engagement."
Alexander stepped into the frame. He looked so young, so full of warmth. He took my scarred, rough hands in his smooth ones.
"I will make up for everything you lost," Alexander promised, kissing my knuckles. "You will be a true princess again, Cecilia. My princess."
I beamed on the screen. I was so blindly happy.
Then, the memory angle shifted slightly. The visual data captured something I hadn't consciously processed at the time.
Just over Alexander's shoulder, Rosalind's sweet facade vanished. Her lips curled into a vicious sneer. Pure, venomous hatred flashed in her eyes—a silent, absolute promise to destroy me.
The machine whined loudly in the real world.
"Look at the screen, Alexander!" I choked out through the blinding pain in my skull. "Look at her face!"
I forced my eyes open, peering through the harsh glare of the operating room.
Alexander stood completely still. His gaze was locked on the monitor. The absolute certainty in his rigid posture wavered. A flicker of hesitation crossed his features, his jaw unclenching as he stared at the undeniable malice in Rosalind's expression.
"Did you see it?" I gasped, the leather straps cutting deeper into my wrists as I strained toward him. "She hated me from the start! She faked the trauma!"
"Keep the voltage steady," Alexander commanded, though his voice lacked its previous iron edge. He refused to look away from the frozen image of Rosalind on the screen.
"The system is failing!" the doctor shouted.
Sparks showered from the console.
My heart slammed against my ribs in a frantic, irregular rhythm. The pain reached a deafening crescendo, tearing my consciousness to shreds. My spine arched off the table as a fresh wave of agony flooded my nervous system.
"Her vitals are crashing!" the doctor yelled, his hands flying across the control panel. "The neural strain is too high!"
"Extract the next memory!" my father demanded, stepping forward. "We must see the abuse! We must find the root of Rosalind's condition!"
"If I push the probe deeper, she dies right now!" the doctor shot back, ripping a wire from the main terminal. "The extraction must stop."
The blinding light snapped off.
My head slumped against the metal table. The roaring in my ears faded into a dull, heavy hum. I couldn't move my fingers. I couldn't feel my legs.
Darkness clawed at the edges of my vision.
"Alexander..." I whispered, the word tasting like copper and defeat.
Silence stretched across the sterile room. I waited for him to apologize. I waited for him to step forward and unbuckle the straps, having finally seen the truth of my innocence and Rosalind's deception.
Instead, his boots scraped against the floor tiles as he turned away from the monitors.
"Lock her in the dungeon," Alexander ordered, his tone instantly freezing over again.
"But my lord, her mind is severely damaged," the doctor pleaded. "She needs medical attention."
"I said lock her up," Alexander snapped, glaring at the physician. "Wait until she recovers. Then we continue the extraction."
"Alexander, no," I mumbled, my eyelids fluttering shut.
The assistant grabbed the heavy buckles on my wrists.
I slipped into the black void, taking one final, terrifying realization with me. Even with the truth staring them in the face, they were never going to let me go.
