I am Ellie Baker, nineteen years old as of last week, a university student studying English Literature.

　　Though I don`t want to talk about my past, I should say a little bit. I didn`t really have friends in high school. It`s arrogant of me, I know, but I was pretty. My sister is a lot older than me and she wore makeup, so I copied her, and I always put in a lot of effort to make my hair look nice. It`s awkward to say, but I was also one of the first girls in my year who really grew breasts.

　　And it was my fault my best friend`s crush asked me out instead of her. When I talked to boys, apparently I was always flirting, and it was my fault for sending the wrong message. It was always my fault.

　　I don`t want to bring you down, so I won`t say any more. That`s all in the past now.

　　Like I said, I`m at university. I`ve avoided the guys as much as I can, working hard towards making some real girl friends. That`s all I want. It`s been a slow few months, but I talked a little with a lot of the girls on my course and a few in the dorms. I joined a book club sort of thing, which is where I`m going now. The girl that invited me is really nice (if a bit dorky), and I think the other girls are nice too.

　　That said, I`m a little disappointed in their taste in books. The one I read for this meeting, it`s, well, not great. I thought it was maybe supposed to be for younger girls, sort of childish, but the "erotic" scenes put an end to that. I really had to force myself to get through those awfully written parts.

　　Oh, I should say a bit about the story. It`s called "Snowdrop and the Seven Princes" and is, supposedly, a romance story between the sixteen-year-old main character Eleanor (no relation to me) and seven boys over the two years that they attend a "prep school" for the nobility. That`s right—she sleeps with seven guys, and apparently this doesn`t cause any problems whatsoever. Plotwise, she`s collecting the seven hearts of the faerie kings (of course there`s magic), which are being stored inside those boys hearts (for some unexplained reason). This grants her a single wish and she uses it to stop a catastrophe that I`ve already forgotten. Seriously, it comes up on the second-to-last page and she uses her wish the very next line.

　　Anyway, I have properly thought about it, and I`m probably being extra harsh on the story because of what I went through, but I`m still pretty sure it`s a load of rubbish. Escapism for girls who have this fantasy in their head that they`d be so popular with the guys if they just had the chance. I mean, Eleanor can`t do anything but giggle and cry and she "had her flower plucked" by the hottest guys.

　　Oh god, I`m remembering the euphemisms and it`s making me nauseous.

　　Taking a deep breath, I look around, leaving my thoughts behind while I find something to focus on. I`m in town, our book club meeting at a local coffee shop. I haven`t been there before, but the hot chocolate is apparently really good, and there`s usually a cute guy behind the till. That is actually a reason Hatty gave for coming here, followed by a wink. My sense of direction isn`t great. They told me it`s opposite the post office, but I don`t know where that is either. I left early, so it shouldn`t be a problem, I just have to keep looking.

　　With my stomach settled, I end up thinking about the story again. I really hope they picked this book so we can all make fun of it together. If not, I mean, I really do want friends, but I don`t know if I can force myself to read another book like this.

　　Joking to myself, I think that only thing worse would be having to live through it.

　　A barricade in front of me (pavement dug up, builders nowhere to be seen), I step out onto the quiet road, turning my head to look behind me—

　　Oh, I didn`t hear that truck.

　　I guess I won`t make it to the meeting after all.

　　My name was Ellie, now it`s Eleanor. I`m six years old, the second daughter of a duke, and I am currently hiding in a tree.

　　It`s hard to explain. Ever since I can remember, I`ve had memories of being Ellie. Only, I didn`t understand. I drew pictures of my "parents" and talked endlessly about that life. My big sister, Clarice, especially asked to hear all sorts of things.

　　And it`s like I`ve woken up.

　　My little brain finally developed self-awareness. I understand that everyone`s just playing along, thinking me a child with an overactive imagination. I understand that it`s not normal to have memories of another life. But I understand that it is true. I`ve had dreams, I`ve played pretend, and this isn`t like that. How I taught myself to read, how quickly I learned to count—that comes from the memories.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it`s taken without the author`s consent. Report it.

　　I`m not a precocious child. Well, I am, but who I am isn`t just precociousness.

　　As for why I`m in a tree, well, I am exactly six years old. My family is holding a party for me and has invited a few upper-class families with children around my age. It is embarrassing. No, mortifying. After four years of yapping on about my old life, everyone teases me.

　　So I ran away.

　　Lottie and Beth (two of the younger maids) have already walked right underneath while calling for me. I feel a little bad, since they`re nice, but I`ll actually just die if I have one more pudgy old man ask me to tell him what a "car" is again.

　　Besides, it`s nice having some quiet time to think. A lot of things sort of clicked into place, so I feel more "human" now, like, I dunno, I can do things. Like I can think further than what`s in front of me, and make plans, and stuff like that.

　　Except someone`s crying and it`s very distracting.

　　Pouting, I look around. One of the kids probably fell over or something. I`m far from the party, that being held on a sort of patio at the back of the manor since the weather is unseasonably warm, while this tree is at the side. There`s nothing but empty grass around, a flowerbed running along the edge of the manor, so I should be able to see whoever`s crying.

　　Unless&.

　　I slowly turn, my gaze falling on the hedge maze. It`s quiet when you`re inside, because the hedges muffle the sound, but there`s no hedges above the maze. The crying is almost certainly coming from there. At least, I can`t think of where else.

　　Craig, one of the footmen, rushes past. It doesn`t look like he can hear the crying.

　　Sighing, I give in. I crawl to the end of the large branch, my weight bending it a little, and slide carefully off onto the top of the hedge. It`s springy, but firm enough to hold me as long as I keep crawling. With the crying to guide me, I follow the edge of the maze until I`m close, and then move inwards.

　　I spot the crier soon enough—a young boy. Well, I say young, but he`s probably my age.

　　It`s a little high to jump. However, the hedge isn`t sturdy enough for me to hold on and drop down. There`s no other choice, then. I dangle my feet off the edge, find the sturdiest bit of hedge I can reach, and then push off.

　　I manage to bend my knees as I land, but my momentum tries to carry me over backwards. With a step, I regain my balance. "Phew."

　　"Blue," he mumbles, eyes wide.

　　Confused, I ask, "What?"

　　"N-nothing."

　　I give him a good stare before deciding not to push him for an answer. He has a chubby face (like most of the children here, being spoiled kids and all) with light brown hair, and I can`t quite tell if his eyes are hazel or brown.

　　"Fine," I say, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He tries to pull it away, but I hold tight. "Come on, you won`t get unlost if you stay here and cry," I say.

　　With a tug, I get him moving.

　　"Besides, there`s nothing to worry about—I know this place like the back of my hand," I confidently say as I lead us to a dead end. Putting aside my ego, I clear my throat. "But, if you ever get lost in a maze, you can always find your way out by following the wall," I say, and reach out with my free hand, touching the hedge.

　　He tentatively does the same.

　　So we start walking, naturally taking every left as I run my fingertips along the hedge. I do soon realise where we are, but I keep doing the wall trick, not ready to come up with something else if I mess up again.

　　While he did stop crying pretty much since I jumped down, he`s still sniffling. "What sweets do you like?" I ask him.

　　"W-what?"

　　"Yes, what sweets. You know, cake, or tarts, or candies," I say, listing what comes to mind.

　　I`m a little upset with the sweets here, not the same as the ones from my old life; mostly, they just aren`t as sweet. Try to imagine how disappointing it is to take a bite of cake and it tastes more like bread.

　　He um`s and ah`s, and eventually says, "Cake, I guess."

　　"That`s a good choice," I say. My plan has worked, no more sniffles. "What about breakfast?"

　　For the rest of the maze, I ask him question after question, moving from favourite food to games to animals, at which point I start running out, asking him for his favourite knot (he doesn`t know any, but he can tie his shoes, so he says that knot), and whether he sleeps with one pillow or two. Fortunately, we reach the exit before I have to come up with another question.

　　It`s a short walk around the side of the manor and over to the crowd of people milling about the patio. Considering I don`t know who his mother is, I head straight to mine instead.

　　Politely tugging at her dress, I quietly say, "Mummy."

　　She pauses her conversation with a rather pointy-looking middle-aged woman, and looks down at me. "Oh if it`s isn`t the birthday girl. Now, where have you been hiding?"

　　"I don`t have the time to answer that." Pulling the boy forward, I carefully position him between me and my mother and say, "He got a little bit lost, so you should give him some cake to cheer him up."

　　"What about you? Will you be joining him?" my mother asks.

　　"If I may, I would like to get back to my thinking," I say. For good measure, I do a little curtsey—that always works on my mother.

　　She tilts her head, hand on her heart. "Oh bless. Of course you may," she says.

　　"Thank you, mummy," I say. Turning to the boy, I say, "And you be careful, okay? I don`t want to have to rescue you again."

　　"Yes, miss," he says, a bit mumbly.

　　I think to chide him, but decide against it. "Good boy," I say and, with a goodbye curtsey to my mother and her friend, I leave. It`s difficult to lose the maid that follows me around the corner, but, making use of a thin part of the hedge, I slip into the maze. While she goes to guard the entrance, I find a cosy spot to sit down.

　　Now I just need to think what to do with my life.