7 in 3

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An awful migraine takes my sleep from me, forcing my eyes open. I’m laying on my back, gazing at a ceiling with glowing lights set into it. I attempt to sit up and slam my head into something hard. Clutchingmy head, I squirm away from the cursed hard object. The asshole to blame is a wooden chair, neatly pushed under a table. Damn chair.

As I stand up I see that I’m in a massive library, and that the dress I’m in is much too large for my frame. I tie it behind me, freeing myself from the fabric tent enough to at least walk. Then I make my way out of the library. Outside it I find a large hallway with doors peppered randomly down either side. I wander through the hall, sometimes trying a door or two, in the hopes of finding…. anything, really. I’ve been aimlessly wandering for about ten minutes when a woman turns a corner and sees me. 

I wave at the woman and I smile. She’s wearing a maid costume, it looks nice on her. Meeting her eyes, I see fear. Before I get a chance to think about that, she beckons for me to follow her and hurries off. Not wanting to be left behind, I shuffle as quickly as I can after the maid cosplayer. 

I’m gasping for breath by the time the woman guiding me finally stops speed-walking. She knocks on a set of massive, dark, wooden doors. Some kind of metal is inlaid on the surface. Does that help the door not break? The maid waves me over and ushers me in.

A slam behind me tells me that I’ll be on my own in here. Glancing around, I see the typical stuff you’d find in an office. Behind the desk at the back of the room sits a fat, dark-skinned guy with bright, clashing clothes. He makes a strange sound without looking up from his paperwork. I awkwardly stand in front of his desk, not sure what he wants. After making some more noises, he looks up from his papers. His eyes become saucers, and he makes a louder sound this time. 

I tilt my head, unsure why he’s making weird sounds at me. 

He’s speaking to you, dolt. 

I jump as a male voice permeates my brainspace. I look around the room, trying to see where the perpetrator is. Maybe it was this man. 

No, it was me. He’s also still trying to talk to you.

Talk? Oh… oh, yeah! Talk, with words, out loud. I can’t do that. Looking at the large man again, I try listening to his sounds for words. 

“Man, she really can’t understand me, huh? I don’t have a damn clue what to do here." He runs his hand through his sparse hair. “Damn it, not even a day and something difficult happens," he chides himself with a chuckle. “That’s having kids, I guess." 

I tap on the man’s desk, causing him to look at me again. I point at the pen he was writing with and then at myself. 

“You want to write?” He holds up the pen. I nod and gesture for him to give it to me. He laughs but hands it over, and then pulls some blank pages of paper out of his desk. “Here, write on this." 

Quickly scribbling out the words, I write out, “Who are you?” He takes the paper I offer. 

“I am Count Cleave Holdings, this is my estate." He flashes a smile at me. “Who are you, little miss?” I write out my name. “Pim, huh? Nice to meet you, Pim." 

I quickly write out another question, asking where I am and why I can’t remember anything. He sighs before answering, “Like I said, this is my estate. You also live here, starting today." Count Holdings explains the whole situation to me. That I’m sharing a body, that I have a sibling that has two bodies, and that he’s adopting us to help us out. My initial shock quickly turns to doubt, and I eye the guy with suspicion. 

Immediately noticing my look, he smiles. “Look, lass, I can prove that you’re not like most people." I continue to stare at him, unconvinced. “Why can’t you talk?” 

Without thinking, I write, “Because I can’t,” 

He smiles patiently. “And why can’t you?” 

“Because I have no mouth.” Startled by the words I just wrote, I quickly touch my face. Sure enough, where a nose and mouth should be, I find only a smooth piece of porcelain. I look at the man, somewhat frightened, and ask for help with my eyes. 

“Lass, how are you breathing?” His words hit me like a strike of lightning. How am I breathing? Now that I think about it, I notice that I’m actually not breathing. 

“I’m not," I jot down on the paper. 

The Count’s eyes widen. “You aren’t? Can’t say I expected that… How are you alive, then?” Looking me up and down, he seems to be searching for the secret. This answer I know, however, so I write it down. 

“I don’t have to, it’s the deal." I pause, as the words I just wrote sink in. Deal? What deal? What do I mean, how do I know that? 

I’m starting to panic when I feel a large hand on mine. I look up to see the man’s warm smile. “Don’t worry, lass, it’ll be alright." He stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s go find the middle child combo." 

Reaching up, I take his hand. 

】〓〓〓〓【

Pim

】〓〓〓〓【

After a stop by my room to change, the Count leads me to an open area on the second floor. The large room has a polished wooden floor, the only furniture being some weapon racks and training equipment. At the far end of the training ground a woman stands, crouched slightly with her fists raised. Facing a large cloth figure as tall as her, she unleashes a volley of punches. The sandbag takes the first two hits with little difficulty, the third impact pushes it back, the fourth causing sand to blast out of the opposite side. The sound of sand pouring out of the wound is cut off by loud applause from Holdings. 

“Excellent! How did you manage that?” Beaming at the girl, he jogs over to her. 

Startled, the girl looks around before seeing the Count. Her eyes run over me momentarily.  “Count, all I did was hit the bag. Why did it break so easily?” Her voice is flat, almost monotone, and rouses a laugh from the Count. 

“Girl, that bag is made with monster hide and arachne silk. It shouldn’t have been broken by your fist!” Glancing back at me, he coughs. “By the way, Pim, this is Zenith. Zenith, this is Pim." 

Zenith locks eyes with me, a small smile appearing. “Nice mask Pim," Confused, I tilt my head at the woman. Seeing my movements, she gestures to her mouth. Oh! She means the plate! I nod as I look behind her, watching the sand continue to pour onto the ground. 

The Count watches the sand as well, and then pulls a small stone out of his pocket. “Alright, I’ll call someone to come take care of this." The Count presses on the stone, and nothing happens. Frowning, he tries again, with no success. “Strange… My communication stone isn’t working." After sliding the stone back into his pocket, he focuses on the two of us and an excited smile spreads over his face. “Anyways, we have a trip to make!”