As she sleeps, for what seems like the first time in years, she has dreams. There are warm, loving arms around her, holding her. She can hear the sound of a heart beating gently against her, the rhythmic pulse calming her. Pain seems to seep away in this loving warmth as she finds herself standing and aware in her dream. But it doesn't feel like a dream. This feels more real to her than anything she has experienced in… she doesn't know how long.

She looks at her surroundings and realizes that she is back in her room at home. Her room is painted a soft, baby blue with glow in the dark stars along the ceiling and upper parts of the walls. There are two doors, one leading to the hall and the other to a shared bathroom which is linked with her sisters' room. Upon the walls are various posters of inspirational music and poetic quotes:

"When words fail, music speaks." - Hans Christian Anderson.

"It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishment the scroll. I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." - Invictus by William Earnest Henley.

“A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence.” - Leopold Stokowski

“If I cannot fly, let me sing.” - Stephen Sondheim

Her bed is a full-size mattress, the blanket on top is designed with a bright splash of colors, as if it has been splattered with paint. Next to her bed is an old, somewhat distressed nightstand with nothing on it. Across from it is a dresser with wooden drawers seeming to match with the nightstand.

In the corner, to the right of the hallway door, there is a desk that has piles and piles of papers. Immediately, she knows it is sheet music. A satchel hangs from the chair in front of it, clearly filled with heavy books. Finally, in the left corner, next to the door, is a music stand, a chair, and her beloved cello.

She steps closer to it, but pauses. For some reason, she feels a sense of dread. Upon the music stand she knows that there is a copy of Jupiter by Holst. She doesn't have to look, she just knows it's there, but she doesn't know why that is important. She musters some courage and pushes herself to walk to her instrument. She places her hand gently on the music stand and suddenly her surroundings change.

She is the first chair cellist in All-State Band and is sitting in a chair, practicing. She had been playing the legato section of Jupiter, but stops as she feels eyes staring at her from afar. She looks across the stage, but there is no one around aside from the tech crew working on the lights. She feels as though part of this is wrong. Something is missing.

Just then, figures appear in the brightly lit house. Other teenagers like her are sitting and chatting with their friends. Some of them are partaking in a snack break. There is one other person on the stage, sitting right next to her. She doesn't turn to look at the figure, but their smooth tenor voice begins speaking, "This is the tricky measure. The syncopation feels kind of odd, doesn't it?"

She doesn't know the context, but she begins speaking as if the words had already been put there, "Yeah, but in context with the brass and percussion it will sound more correct. That is, assuming the percussionists start actually following the conductor."

The male voice chuckles a bit, "You know that won't happen."

She chuckles back in response, "Well, don't forget that your section has a problem with speeding up instead of listening and moving with the music."

This time his voice is more of a laugh, "I may be first chair, but that doesn't mean my section will follow me."

"Ah, such is the soprano complex of the violin section," she sighs in a somewhat dramatic manner. Finally, she turns to look at him. Her vision becomes blurry, but she can just barely make out his eyes. Flecks of golds, browns, and greens shimmer, dancing in his eyes. Her heart skips a beat and she begins to talk when they suddenly disappear.

She is back in her room again, her hand still on the music stand. She whispers to herself, "What the hell was that about?"

Another voice calls out to her then, a warm, familiar feminine voice. At first, she thought it wasn't real. It can't be real. The voice calls out again, "Cassandra, dinner is ready! And no, you cannot eat in your room." Her mother's voice is strong and commanding, but still retains a sweetness to it. The voice calls out one more time, "Grab your sisters too!"

Then she can smell it, the warm aroma of her favorite meal: spaghetti and meat sauce with lots of parsley. She realizes she is hungry, but she needs to get her sisters first. She walks to the shared bathroom, the smell of the food beginning to fade, but she stops when she views herself in the mirror.

She sees her fifteen year old self, with shoulder length, copper red hair and bright green eyes. She is wearing a simple, black v-neck shirt and jeans. She is still somewhat scrawny, her hips narrow and very little chest to speak of. Her mother, who is clearly more endowed, often tells her, "Don't worry, you'll blossom soon." Except, of course, her mother had already been well "blossomed" by the time she was Cassandra's age.

There is a change in the mirror then. The first thing she notices is her eyes, which become a more striking, emerald green. She quickly realizes that she is now staring at an entirely different person. The woman in front of her has bright, scarlet hair that flows all the way to her waist. She is taller, her hips and breasts full. The rest of her seems dexterous, like a dancer. Her skin glistens, beautiful colors dancing across her pale skin. She is wearing a beautiful, yet understated white sundress. Flowers are even woven into her impossibly long, scarlet hair. After a moment, her skin becomes a more translucent gray, the colors gone. Her dress is ripped, dirty, and bloodied. She looks as though she has been through hell.

Cassandra backs up before realizing that this person she is staring at is herself. She screams and runs out of the bathroom. But instead of returning to her room, she is surrounded by bushes with large thorns. She is running, but she doesn't know who or what she is running from. She is sobbing and whispering to herself, "Please, let me go home."

A voice calls out to her then, but she doesn't know where it is coming from, "You control your dreams. It can be whatever you want it to be. You can make this go away." As reassuring as the voice sounds, she can't stop. If she stops she will be taken again. That thought confuses her. Taken? Why would she be taken? Who would take her? She stops questioning it and keeps going.

"This is your dream. You can wake up if you want to. All you have to do is try.” The voice is more commanding, but is trying to restrain itself to be more gentle. With the echo the Hedge creates, the voice is androgynous.

Cassandra gasps as she wakes. She realizes her body aches, but not nearly as badly as it felt before she fell asleep. Sleep. That's right. It was just a dream. Her eyes flutter open, then shut again as the exhaustion nearly takes over her body. It's so much easier to just close her eyes.

After a few minutes, she opens her eyes fully and finds she is laying on a cot, staring up at a white ceiling. She turns her head to look at the rest of the room and finds it is nearly empty aside from the cot she is resting on and a small table next to the bed. A paper cup of liquid, most likely water, sits on it.

She tries to sit up a little and manages to do so with moderate ease. The pain isn't too noticeable, but she still feels uneasy all the same. She looks down at herself. She has been cleaned up and is wearing a blue trapeze dress that is perhaps a little too big for her. She runs her fingers through her long, red hair and sighs. She still feels hazy enough that thinking too much is difficult.

She reaches for the cup and brings it to her nose to smell it. She is distrustful at first, dipping her finger into the liquid and tapping the drops against her tongue. No taste and no smell. She brings the cup to her mouth and drinks it in its entirety. She did not realize how thirsty she had been until now. She realizes she is hungry as well. She places the empty cup back down on the table and closes her eyes again.

She must have fallen asleep again because she wakes a while later to the sound of voices nearby. She slowly opens her eyes, just a peek, and carefully moves her head so she can see who is nearby without them noticing. There are three people in the room: Erin, the snake woman; Triss, whose mien she has not yet seen; and someone else. She can't see them too well, so she mainly listens.

"We should tell someone that we have her. She might be well enough soon to speak, maybe even listen to some explanations." The voice belongs to Erin.

Another voice sighs, she thinks it is Triss, "She just got back from whatever hell she experienced there. How much did you want to talk or listen within hours of you coming back? Not to mention the trauma of waking up somewhere unfamiliar with strange people. Clearly, she doesn't remember enough to remember any Changelings from back there.

"She needs time and sleep. She doesn't need a giant group crowding around her." Triss's voice has a sharp tone to it.

The third figure speaks and Cassandra recognizes it as the first woman from the kitchen before she passed out. Though she doesn't quite remember much of what happened and about it makes her dizzy, "She is going to have to be talked to at some point. Though I can agree she needs a little more time. Does this mean you are taking responsibility for her, Triss?"

There is a slight pause before Triss replies, "Yes."

Cassandra closes her eyes and thinks to herself: Did I… did I really make it home? Another voice in the back of her head seems to whisper, Don't be too quick to trust. Trusting is what brought us to him. She feels as if she could or should cry again, but she doesn't have any more left to shed. She closes her eyes once more and tries to fall asleep, as she does so, she wills herself not to dream.

She wakes again as she hears a knock at the door, no one enters, but a voice speaks behind it, "Hey, are you awake in there? I brought some food, though I don't know what you like."

Cassandra's stomach rumbles hard at the mention of food. It's bad enough to make her bend over, holding her stomach. As she sits there, she considers for a moment before finally speaking, praying beforehand that this doesn't backfire on her, "Yes. Food would be… nice." Her voice is soft and still a bit hoarse. She brings her hands up to her chest, her heart pounding with anxiety.

"Would you like me to come in or stay out here? I can slide the food through the door if you'd rather me not come inside." Triss's voice is soothing. It reminds her of her mother.

"Please, don't come near me." Her voice is fearful. She pulls the blanket nearer to her chest. As she does so, the door cracks open. Scared, she shifts in her spot, looking around for an escape. She realizes there are none. The light in the room comes from the glow of a few lights. Somehow they mimic sunlight perfectly. She watches as a tray is slowly pushed into the room. She only sees the smallest bit of an arm before it retracts back and closes the door.

Cassandra waits a long moment before trying to stand. Her knees hurt as she straightens up from sitting and she almost collapses. Her stomach rumbles again and she sighs softly before tiptoeing to the corner where the tray had been set. She picks it up and quickly makes her way back to the cot to sit with it. She views the assorted foods which included various berries in a small cup, some kind of herb chicken, and a small helping of spaghetti with meat sauce. Her heart slows as she stares at the spaghetti. It isn't until she sees the water dripping onto her plate that she realizes she is crying.

"Thank you," Cassandra whispers as she picks up the fork to take in the taste of the spaghetti. Nothing will ever beat her mother's, but she can't remember the last time she truly ate.

Triss speaks again behind the door, "You're welcome." She pauses before speaking again, "What is your name?"

The question causes Cassandra's heart to drop. Triss could be another Keeper for all she knows. True names have power. At least, that is what she had been told as a child when reading mythology texts. She waits a long moment before answering, "Kess." It's close enough to her name without being too suspicious if she slips up and calls herself Cass.

"Nice to meet you, Kess. I'm Triss. I want to tell you a bit about myself, if that is okay?" Cassandra doesn't respond, so Triss takes that as an okay sign until told otherwise, "I am a changeling. I was taken when I was 19 and,” she purses her lips as if trying to formulate what she needs to say, “I was changed to fit the whims of my Keeper. I found a way to escape with a few other Lost I had encountered during my time there. We all got through the Hedge together and found ourselves here, in Baltimore.

"We were scared too when we arrived, even though we were somewhat aware of our condition. A few kind souls took us under their wing and taught us about our new home. Here, we have a Freehold where many of us Lost work together to keep our homes safe from the Others.

"I won't get into it yet, but the Freehold has certain quirks about it. Lots of politics. That can wait-”

Triss is about to go on when Cassandra speaks up, "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Almost 3 days. You took heavy damage from the Hedge. Worse than I've seen in a long time. It will be another day or so until you are well enough to get around. I don't have much Glamour left after healing you these last few days, otherwise I'd heal you further. But, we all heal faster than humans anyway."

"We all heal faster than humans anyway." That sentence echoes in her mind. Being a changeling, assuming this is all true, means she isn't human. She doesn't quite know what that means to her yet, but it is unsettling. She begins thinking about her family then and she quietly asks, "Am I allowed to see my family? Or try to find them?"

There is a long pause before Triss responds, "You might want to hold off on that for a little bit. At least until you understand the full situation. It might be a bit much at the moment. Try to get some sleep. There's a TV in the corner and I left some general books around if you want to read. If you need something, just ask."

She doesn't respond and after a minute, she hears footsteps walking away from the door. She considers running, but she knows she is weak. And where would she go? She can't just show up at her family's place after being missing for… something like eight years. She sighs and looks around for the TV that Triss had talked about. Sure enough, it is in plain sight, right where Triss said.

She looks at the TV and finds it's incredibly odd. The shape is weird. The screen is much flatter and the buttons are on the side, not the front. It doesn't even have a VCR built in. And where is the whole back of it? "Maybe this isn't it?" She thinks to herself. She fiddles with the buttons and looks at the connections on the back. After fiddling with the buttons for a full minute, she finally finds the power button. As the TV turns on, a menu pops up with the names of various channels. She begins looking for some kind of forward or back button. Or enter, at this point, she doesn't care.

She manages to click a button that makes the menu go away and she is left with a local news station. Curiously, she sits on the floor and watches. The definition of color and the clarity of the people on the screen amazes her. I didn't realize I had been living in the dark ages or something growing up.

Eight years may have passed, but news looks nearly the same. Same crime reports, people raging about politics. Apparently it is coming upon a midterm election year. She sighs and is about to change the channel when she notices the date on the television. She stares in disbelief, "twenty… twenty thirteen. This can't be right. This can't…" she looks around, her heart is pounding in her chest. She doesn't know what to do, but she stands up and starts pacing. "I don't understand. How could 22 years have passed? That's nearly the length of my whole life."

She doesn't cry, but her body begins to shake as anxiety starts to overcome her. She moves to sit back down on her cot and then curls up into a ball, trying to relax. The thoughts going through her mind make that task difficult. "I'm supposed to be 40 years old, but I look 23. I can't… they won't recognize me or, or they'll think I'm some alien." The smallest hint of tears finally make their way down her face. "Changeling. I don't know if I can make peace with this. But if I don't, I'll die." Her tears stop as she comes to the revelation that for the first time in years she doesn't want to die.