A/N: Just thought I'd remind you that this book is anime-style (as if the strange eye colors had let you forget) so... weird discriptions abound. 

After a handful of minutes you extract yourself from your covers, but not from the bed. Instead, you lay sprawled out atop the fine material as you roll things over in your mind. Reflecting over what you've learned holds much more appeal than reflecting over what you just saw.

First, as of this moment you know that at least five men live in the house: Touma, Asahi, Itsuki, Kyouya, and Kouta. Well, you know three of them do for sure, as the other two are employees and not family. From what little information your mind has stowed about high-class households, however, you are well aware that it's most likely the Sasaki brothers live there as well-- as servants tend to be provided rooms.

You have yet to see a woman, but that doesn't mean that there aren't any. You hope so, anyways. Living alone with five men doesn't sound pleasant. Especially when two of them seem to dislike you, and you happen to have a strong dislike for one of the three that does seem to enjoy having you around.

The second detail is that your memories aren't disappearing, thankfully. Whatever damage your fall did to you doesn't seem to be ongoing. Whether or not the memories you lost will return... you aren't sure about that yet. Amnesia isn't something the previous you learned about as far as you can tell. You decide to ask Asahi about the matter when you see him. To add to this, while you've yet to asses the entire damage, it would seem that you have several bruises, scratches, and cuts that seem, while faded, to look as if they might have occurred around the time of your fall. Those... you would not be asking him about. You aren't sure why, you just feel that it would not be useful to question such details.

Thirdly, the household is well off. Everything you've seen so far screams wealth, which means it's doubtful that you need to worry about your current situation. The boys like you, so it's unlikely you'll be kicked out, at least not as you currently are.

Fourth... you still have no clue about yourself. You know that previous you seems to have held an interest in music-- and some talent as well?-- given that you chose to major in it. You are also rather certain that you must be from a wealthy family-- women didn't get into college otherwise-- and according to the boys you were childhood friends. This made sense if you were both of the same social status. This would also mean that if something happened and you had to leave, there might be family money out there for you to survive off...

Satisfied with the information you'be gathered, you decide that your next course of action should be to ask Asahi about the amnesia and your surname. You will need answers to both matters if you want to continue moving forward. A ball forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought of having to ask for your own last name. A small bit of irrational panic stirs as well. You're placing your trust in these strangers. Everything you've asked them, everything they've told you... who's to say that it's the truth?

Whatever you learn from them... perhaps it would be best to find evidence to back their words up. You can't help but wonder if the boys would feel offended by this. Perhaps it would be best to keep your distrust to yourself until you're more certain about how they would respond. Asahi... you don't think he would mind. Touma, however, you are certain would feel hurt. Itsuki would probably wonder why you were even speaking to him, let alone have a feeling about your distrust.

You can feel your cheeks heat once more at the thought of Itsuki. Within seconds you've rolled over, burying your face within a handful of blankets. It didn't help that Itsuki was very good looking. You almost wish that the extremely clear view of him that you'd gotten-- once again you can't help but feel thankful he'd had a towel draped across his bottom half-- had been disappointing. At least then you would have a good excuse to beat down your embarrassment. As it is, the image keeps flashing through your mind no matter how many facts you focus on to distract yourself.

You're going to have to apologize to Itsuki, really apologize, at some point.

Before you can decide how long you can put off the apology without being rude a light knock sounds on your door.

"Come in," you say.

The door slips open to reveal Kyouya. Instantly, you shift into a sitting position, ignoring how your head gives slight protest at the sudden change. Kyouya simply purses his lips-- disapproval again?-- before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

"Kyouya-san," you greet.

"Young Master Touma wishes to show you around before dinner," he says, foregoing any formalities. "He will be here, as well as Master Asahi, within the coming hour. The latter wishes that I ensure you are appropriately prepared."

Appropriately prepared?

Your confusion must have shown on your face because Kyouya gives one of those world weary sighs of his and extends one, gloved finger in your direction. "Your attire leaves much to be desired, Young Mistress."

Oh. You glance down at the white nightgown settled over your rather unassuming frame. You feel embarrassment fill you for a few seconds, but it passes quickly. In its place falls a certain amount of excitement-- you will finally get to pick through the fine clothing and pick out something to wear. Within seconds of this realization you have slipped from the bed and started for the the closet. Just as you're about to step around the end of the bed, however, Kyouya puts out an arm to stop you. You, of course, offer him a confused expression in the form of cocking your head to the side.

"I shall select your clothes, Young Mistress," he says. "I am much more familiar with the masters' preferences than yourself. Perhaps you should see to... that?"

He gestures towards the entirety of your form and you only feel even more confused than before. Is he implying you need to fix your entire body? A soft, burning irritation begins to stir in the back of your mind. Not only are not allowed to choose your own clothing, but...

How rude!

Kyouya sighs. "You misunderstand. I am only suggesting that you bathe. Surely a young lady such as yourself understands that it isn't appropriate to walk around as you are? You have been confined to bed for several days, Young Mistress. "

Oh. As the implications dawn on you, you slowly feel your face heat up once again. Oh. You are probably a sight to behold. How had you not considered such a matter before recklessly walking around as you'd done before?

"I... I understand," you squeak.

And with that, you hurry for the bathroom.

"I will lay your clothing out on your bed, Young Mistress," Kyouya calls just as you reach the door. "In the case you find yourself in need of anything, I will be standing ready the hall."

You simply offer him a nod and slip in so you can put the foggy glass between the two of you. Inside, you are happy to discover yet another mirror. Perhaps this means you could resume the task you got distracted form upon exploring the closet-- taking in the full extent of your injuries.

So, after you've tested the bath water and ensure it's running luke-warm, you strip down so you can examine yourself in the mirror. This also gives you your first, clear look at your appearance. Sure, you'd glanced at the mirror in your closet, but you'd been much more interested in the shoes.

Your hair is an eye-catching, mossy shade of green, the strands hanging to just below your mid-back. Curiosity fluttering through you, you raise a hand to finger the silky locks. You'd been handling them easy enough until this point, but now that you can see exactly how long it is you wonder if you should put it up after your shower. Well, that's a detail for then. You shake your head, focusing your attention on the mirror once again as you drop your fingers. Your eyes are just a bit darker than your hair.

You only spend a moment marveling over this before you move onto more important matters-- the state of your body.

It is only now, with you critically examining yourself, that you take notice of faint, almost healed scratches dotting your palms. They're painless, so you suppose you shouldn't find it strange that you hadn't had a reason to notice them earlier. Beyond that minor detail, most of what the mirror provides you with is relief. The scratches and bruises don't extend much farther than your legs-- the most prominent on them being two, dark ones that cover your kneecaps. When you brush your fingers over the ugly skin you realize that while they look horrible, the pain is gone for the most part. It's only when you press down that you can feel a faint ache come from them.

Those are fine. It's your arm that sends a chill down your spin.

Covering the your arm, just below your left shoulder, is a distinct, hand-shaped bruise. Or, more accurately, there are four, fading lines that curl around the limb, a fifth, even fainter one visible when you lift it to get a better look.

For a moment, you simply stare. How did you not notice this before? It looks like it hurts. When you touch the skin, however, you realize that like the bruises on your knees it's old enough that the pain barely registers. That means... it's from either before, or around the time of your fall... at least, that's what you imagine.

Was it really... was the fall an accident?

You take a deep breath and look away from the mirror. It takes everything you have to keep from panicking.

Another deep breath.

In.

Out.

Okay.

You raise your hands to pull the bandage from your head. As soon as you have the gauze pulled away you pile it upon the counter. Unfortunately for your curiosity-- but perhaps fortunate for your damaged nerves-- your thick hair makes it impossible to get a good look at the wound on the back of your head. You might have felt it out, but you were well aware that unlike the bruises, that wound would probably scream it's protest if you dared to try it out.

So, you turn about and focus on your bath. Sadly, baths give too much time for one to reflect on unsettling details.

Those bruises...

You shove this thought to the deepest part of your mind. It would do no good to dwell on this now-- not right before you're about to escorted around the premises by two people who claim to know you well, perhaps well enough to read your uneasy emotions. You would think on it later.

Besides... perhaps it's from one of them attempting to catch you? Or, maybe when they pulled you from the ground. They could have been panicking and used too much force. There are numerous reasons for a... hand-shaped bruise to be on your arm. Most of them normal.

There is no reason to panic.

It takes far too long for you to finish, but soon enough you are finished and peering around your glass door, a towel wrapped around your small form. Upon discovering that Kyouya had indeed excused himself to the hall, you slip out of your room and approach the items he's laid out on your bed. You recall him saying that he was choosing clothing that would match one of your escort's preferences. You can't help but wonder if this particular outfit leans towards Touma or Asahi.

The underskirt is a dark, coal black, overlaid by the main fabric which is a deep, ruby red. The upper part of it returns to the black, with a sewn in, matching red-corset laid over the material. The sleeves themselves appear to be two part, as when you hold it up you can see a strap of fabric to lay over your shoulders, then yet another to lay over your upper arm.

You take note that the second part will cover the bruises.

Discarding such dark thoughts, you quickly dress, making sure not to put any runs in the black tights that accompany the outfit. Soon enough all that is left is lacing up the back and drying your hair so that you can place the accompanying, black ribbon over your locks. Unfortunately, this task requires more hands than your own. So, with deep reluctance, you call out for Kyouya.

Within a second he's opened the door and given you a scrutinizing glance. He doesn't bother to ask what the trouble is, instead steps over and gestures for you to turn about so he can tie the back. Your body protests, but none of it leaves your lips as you draw in a deep breath to accompany the tight laces. Upon finishing, Kyouya seizes a brush from your vanity.

"Sit," he instructs.

Certain that arguing would do no good, you allow him to finish working you over. You aren't certain where he retrieves it from--perhaps the tray that laid at the end of your bed?-- but Kyouya replaces the bandage around your head, then uses the black ribbon to cover it. Just as he's finished, leaving you staring in awe at the vanity mirror as he'd really done some work on you in such a short time-- a knock sounds at the door.

"That will be the masters."

A chill races down your spine, but you smile as he moves to open the door.

Whatever happened, you instinctively know better than to show these two any fear.