Transmigrated into a Fantasy World with No Clue What To Do Chapter 2: Chapter 1: My Awakening / What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

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Chapter 1: My Awakening / What Have I Gotten Myself Into? Awareness comes slowly, oozing back into my consciousness like a thick oil. At first, there is only darkness followed by a sensation of touch. Someone is holding my right hand. The hand holding mine is larger, rough, and warm. I am lying on what I presume to be a bed, but it is infinitely more comfortable than any hospital bed I have ever experienced. Something, most likely a blanket of some kind, is draped over me as I lie. It is heavy and warm; unlike the flimsy sheets they give you at the hospital. My mouth is dry, as if I have not had anything to drink for days, and I smell the scent of burning wood. There is another smell nearby, a rich musky scent that is pleasant to my nose. I can tell my breathing is rhythmic and deep, no gasps for air like I would have expected, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to move a muscle. I try to open my eyes, but if they open, I perceive only darkness. How long I lie here in darkness, unable to move, I don’t know, but what I do know is that I am able to somewhat count the passage of time by the sensation of touch upon my skin. The man, for it must be a man due to how much larger the hand is than mine, will get up and leave the room I am in occasionally. When this happens, usually there is another hand that replaces his, smaller and soft, likely my mother. The musky scent also goes away when he leaves the room and the woman, which I assume is my mother, has a light floral scent. I hear no sounds though, nothing to clue me into the activity around me, just the trading of hands and the scents that accompany them. A couple of times, someone comes in and removes the weighty blanket from me. They take my pulse before poking and prodding as if testing my reflexes or feeling for potential internal swelling. Following the doctor, someone comes in, wipes me down with a damp cloth and dribbles a little water into my dry mouth in what I assume is an effort to keep me hydrated, but only serves to make the dryness even more noticeable. Most of the time, though, it is the man or the woman holding my hand that keeps me grounded. The passage of an unknown amount of time, while unable to see, hear, or move, is almost maddening. It is a relief when finally, sound begins to slowly return to me. For the most part, it is quiet, other than the sounds of a crackling fire and the dull murmur of people talking as if in another room. There are none of the expected beeps of machinery, nor the drone of announcements over a PA system. Occasionally, I hear rustling as the hand holding mine shifts slightly, presumably as the person attached to that hand shifts in whatever seat they occupy beside my bed. Once, I thought I heard someone crying over their daughter, and asking if she would ever wake up. I guess I am not alone in this room, which is not surprising, my mother and grandparents do not make enough money to have gotten me a private room, but the thought of a mixed sex room is surprising to me. I speculate on what the girl in the room with me must look like to pass the time in my sightless, motionless prison. She must be lucky, considering the number of visitors she has. One I assume is her mother, another is her father. I base this on the familial tone in their voices. It makes me wish my mother would speak to me, assure me that everything will be ok instead of just sitting and holding my hand while she is there. I still have not figured out who the man is that comes in, I assume it must be a nurse or sitter that is paid to watch me when Mother cannot be around. When I hear her father speaking softly to her, it makes me miss my own father who died in a crash two years ago when a drunk driver hit him. Another set of voices I hear I assume are siblings, a brother and sister, based on how they talk to each other. The brother is clearly older considering the rich baritone of his voice, which is rather soothing. I deduce that this young man must be the g