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“R…. Rrrrr…” Emmeryn had to test the sound on her tongue before she could know for sure that this was the right name. She had only just been reunited with her family– and while it was a difficult decision, whether she should come with them or not, Emmeryn had insisted, despite her amnesia, to go with her brother and sister– and was still re-learning all these names.
But lingering on the sounds, the first sound, helped. She could trigger her mind to remember the rest of the name if she started slowly under her breath at first.
“Robin?” she finished, adjusting her voice to speak more clearly. Yes, that was right, Robin. Robin was a tactician, a planner. There was the same kind of latent phantom images in the back of her head with Robin, so Emmeryn must not have known the tactician for long before her incident.
“Yes, you are… Robin. I’m sorry, I am… still remembering.”
Baited breath keeps her dreadfully quiet, worry thrumming underneath a pulse even. Emmeryn made her nervous, mostly for fear that she was not real -- that, with some puff of smoke, she would vanish and this one blessing would have all been some great, shared dream. A fear of failure too, of living up to her failure, combines and mixes with the guilt and created some bubbling anxiety that just writhed under Robin’s skin, never settling down.
When the war had ended, they’d called her a genius; a genius should have expected everything, should have anticipated every move from friend and foe. It nags at her, hissing, biting at the back of her heels like forever pursuing rats, ‘you should’ve brought her home.’
❝ P-please, don’t apologize, milady; there is nothing to apologize for. ❞
Earthen toned hands wring together, trying to place her nerves into an action, into something other than her words, for shaking is not what she needs to be; living without memories is hard when the world requires them to survive, when one tries to rack their mind for names that never come, never will come. ❝ If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask. ❞
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