”Ooooooh,” Violet winced as she felt muscles she’d never encountered before protest violently within her. “I’m too old for this nonsense.” It took her several moments to realize that something was off. The room was too orderly and sanitary to be her bedroom, and the furniture was decent – even stately. She took stock. Her eighteenth birthday and grad had fallen on the same day and she’d spent the night accordingly. Hearing plates clattering and voices downstairs, she got on a bathrobe from the regal-looking wardrobe and wandered for the stairs.
“I thought you’d sleep right through orientation day.” The stranger in the pink Mohawk said in a pleasant voice as Violet came into the kitchen. “Want a pastry?”
“Orientation day?” Violet echoed, trying to clear a stray cobweb from her mind. “The last thing I remember was seeing a rocket flying overhead. Where am I?” she accepted a piping-hot cinnamon pastry. It tasted delicious.
“You said you didn’t want to wait for September for university to start so I called the Profs and there you go.”