The second thing was the pounding in your skull. A relentless, rhythmic thump that seemed to sync with your own heartbeat.

The third thing was the smell. Perfume. Cheap, floral perfume, clinging to the pillowcase beneath your cheek.

You collapsed back onto the mattress, breath catching.

That wasn't your arm.

Slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, you looked down at yourself. A stranger's body. A girl's body. Long hair spilled over your shoulders. A thin camisole clung to curves you'd never had. Your hands—delicate, with painted nails—trembled as you held them up to your face.

You opened your mouth to scream. No sound came out.