See the Light Chapter 2 Song for the Souls

CHAPTER 2 Part 1

The Girl Who Sings

Songs for the souls, the escape, and the new beginnings.

This was it—my chance to escape. As I sat on the floor of that dimly lit room, my thoughts raced, forming a plan. The first step was clear: I needed to free my hands. The bindings were strange, made from a material I couldn’t quite identify. It was tough, resilient, and yet, I was confident I could find something in this room to cut through them. I was nothing if not resourceful.

My eyes scanned the small space, searching for anything that could serve as a makeshift blade. The room was sparse, but I wasn’t about to let that deter me. I had to think quickly and creatively. There was no time to waste.

Step two of my plan was to find clean clothes. I couldn’t stay in these rags—not if I wanted to blend in. Out there, among the townsfolk, I’d stick out like a sore thumb. They’d see me as an outsider, a target to be sold for profit or, worse, turned in as a spy. The thought of being mistaken for a spy again made me grimace. The absurdity of it all was almost laughable. Me? A spy? I couldn’t care less about politics, power struggles, or anything of the sort. All I wanted was to live my life in peace, with the simple freedoms that everyone should be entitled to.

I was certain that before all of this—before the memories became shadows and ghosts—I had been someone different. Someone who didn’t fit the mold of the world around them, even in my own time. I didn’t hunger for power or control. I wanted only enough to live comfortably, to be happy, and to spread that happiness to others. Perhaps I had been naive, thinking that was enough. But now, in this strange and perilous place, that innocence felt distant, like a dream slipping through my fingers.

As I sat there, I realized that the old me was still somewhere inside, buried beneath the fear and confusion. Whoever I had been, I was still that person. I just needed to find her again—to reclaim the fragments of my identity that had been lost in this nightmare.

Anyway, next step: clothes. Third step: securing a ride out of here. But how was I going to pay for it?

I refused to steal. Taking money from someone, even in this desperate situation, felt wrong to me. And I certainly wasn’t about to offer my body in exchange for help. That thought alone made my skin crawl. I needed to offer something of value, something that would be useful to these people. But what? I had no idea what these villagers valued, what their currency was, or what might persuade them to assist a stranger like me. I’d have to figure it out on the go, improvising as I had with everything else since this nightmare began.

I glanced around the room, my gaze settling on a small pile of quilts in the corner. Behind them, I noticed a hole in the floor. Splinters jutted out from it, their edges sharp enough to do some damage. The floor wasn’t made of wood, which was peculiar. It was another of the strange materials I had encountered in this world. They were unlike anything I had seen back home. I couldn’t help but wonder what they were made of, but there was no time to ponder such questions now.

Carefully, I picked up a splinter and immediately winced as it sliced into my finger. The pain was sharp but brief, and I quickly pressed the splinter against the fabric binding my hands. I began to saw back and forth, but the material refused to give. I pressed harder, gritting my teeth, but still, nothing happened. Frustration bubbled up inside me, but I forced it down. I had to be more creative. There was always a way out; I just had to find it.

I paused, the splinter still in my hand, and took a moment to reassess. Something about this situation was off. The hole in the floor, its shape so unnatural, the strange materials—they didn’t belong in a world like this. They used fire for light instead of electricity, yet their food had a revitalizing effect on me. I could breathe easier here, and there was a lightness in the air that I couldn’t explain. But the materials they used, the craftsmanship—it was far beyond what I’d expect from the people I had met.

Nothing was adding up. This world operated differently, with its own rules and logic that I couldn’t grasp. The people downstairs, those I had seen and traveled with, didn’t seem to have the knowledge or the means to create such things. What kind of place was this?

I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind for now. I needed to focus on my immediate goal—getting out of here. Reaching into a small, hidden pocket inside my clothes, I felt for something I had almost forgotten. My fingers closed around a very small pair of scissors, a keepsake from…from somewhere. I couldn’t remember exactly where or when I had acquired them, but they were here, in my possession, and they were my ticket to freedom.

With a determined glint in my eye, I pulled the scissors out. They were tiny, barely larger than a thumb, but they were sharp. They had been my secret, tucked away for emergencies, and if this wasn’t an emergency, I didn’t know what was.