The world spun violently before it went still. Your ears rang, your head pounded, and the earthy smell of damp soil filled your nose. When you opened your eyes, you weren’t lying on asphalt or carpet but on uneven ground—grass, mud, and scattered twigs pressing into your skin.

Above you, the sky stretched gray and heavy, clouds rolling thick as if a storm had just passed. You sat up, brushing dirt from your jeans, but your heart sank when you realized the jeans were torn, streaked with mud, and your sneakers looked completely out of place here.

And then you heard it—hooves clopping over dirt, wooden wheels creaking, a man’s sharp voice shouting at oxen. When you turned, you froze. A cart pulled by a pair of oxen trundled past the edge of the trees, piled high with rough sacks. The driver wasn’t dressed in polyester or denim but in a coarse tunic, belted with rope. His boots were caked in mud. Behind him, a woman balanced a wicker basket on her hip, her hair hidden under a kerchief.

The village came into view when you staggered forward: narrow wooden huts with thatched roofs, smoke curling from holes in the top. Chickens scattered across the road, a dog barked somewhere, and children ran barefoot in the muck. The entire scene felt like a living tapestry ripped from a textbook image.

“God’s mercy—look at her!” a voice gasped.

Two women in woolen dresses stopped mid-step, staring at you. Their eyes swept over your clothes, your strange shoes, the metal zipper of your hoodie glinting in the weak daylight. One of them crossed herself hurriedly.

Before you could speak, a man with a staff approached, his beard streaked gray. He wore a heavy cloak and a wooden cross hung from his neck. His gaze narrowed as he studied you.

“You,” he said in a deep, commanding voice. “What village claims you? Speak quickly, girl.”

Your mouth went dry. You could feel the weight of half a dozen stares now—the villagers gathering, murmuring. Some curious, some fearful.

You swallowed hard, your 21st-century words tangled in your throat. The wrong thing might make you sound mad—or worse.