Chapter Text
The ceiling lights were cold and piercing, and adding to his discomfort was the very charming warmth of a white mundane ceiling. 'Who would turn on a light like this when it is daytime?' He thought to himself, mentally cursing at his light sensitivity and applauding his still existing ability to be sarcastic.
Though it was indeed the truth: Hospital lights were the worst as they had a nagging blue hue to them. Hospital?
Everything felt weird. He felt weird.
He sensed into his body and let his mind wander through his muscles, but he felt nothing, no warm, tingling feeling. His own body seemed to ignore his brain's request to react. 'Delightful.'
Charles gazed through the room as best as he could. He was alone. Thank God he was alone, the thought of someone else in the room with him made him feel uncomfortable, especially a doctor's company.
A rectangular window with yellow curtains was on the right side of him, the door, and a wooden wardrobe on the left. There was not much decor, which had to be expected. Only a bouquet of sky blue flowers stood out on a small table in front of his bed. A gift, surely.
Myosotis scorpioides - commonly named Forget-Me-Not. If he had been able to, he would've laughed at how ironic the bouquet was: He did not remember how he got here but he could still recall the latin name of a flower.
Charles closed his eyes again, trying to ease the stabbing pain in his eyeballs, wanting to piece together what led to the situation he currently was in. There must be some memory, at least.
No information was ever truly lost in a brain.
Experienced in all things of the mind as a well-trained telepath, he confidently concentrated on getting into his mind palace. It was an imaginary place in which he stored memories, feelings, and everything else of importance. A place to rest and disconnect from the overwhelming world around him.
He couldn't remember when he had constructed the building in his mind, which was so familiar to his childhood home and yet a little different. As he entered it now through the entrance, he realised something strange: It felt distorted.
The projection of the walls and furniture seemed blurry instead of sharp.
Disturbing almost.
Of course the mansion was just a projection of his but it never had looked this strange.
Carefully, Charles wandered through the big hall, which led to the open, two-winged staircase. A soft clunking noise could be heard from the left side of the staircase, and Charles noticed something small and circular shaped rolling down towards him.
Clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk.
'Metal,' Charles observed. To him, it felt like the object moved in slow-motion, and maybe it did, as time was relative in an imaginary place. The telepath patiently waited till the coin stopped rolling just in front of his black leather shoes.
It was a silver coin.
Charles picked it up and noticed it was not embossed. No face, no value, no words. Nothing that could give the object some sort of history. A meaning.
In fact, the silver coin looked just as wrong as his mind palace. The man looked around, puzzled but not distressed. 'Information can never be lost,' he reminded himself.
Yet the question was still unanswered:
What happened to him?