In my wildest dreams, I never expected to see the light of day again. A swirling prison, reeking sweetly of decay, had enveloped me, paired with an unbridled rage within. I awoke into a nightmare of death, despair, raw anger, and pain. I am supposed to be dead, and yet I live. How can that be?
May 10th – 8:32 AM - Vision: ???
I knelt, naked and shivering, in a mixture of gelatinous purple substance, metallic feathers, and scraps of skin. The stench was so grotesque that I struggled to even get air into my lungs. A fragment of a memory of unknown origin. Rage. Unbridled destructive fury. An instinct. But not that of a rational being. Animalistic. All of it ebbed away, vanishing into internal absence and emptiness. In that moment, I felt absolutely nothing.
"Well, look at that. The beast turned into a… princess? I remember the fairy tale being a bit different," drifted into my ear. A man’s voice, sounding very amused. "That giant parrot cost me quite a bit of nerves."
I couldn't make sense of what was being said, for I was too occupied with myself—or better described, internally apathetic. Slowly, I looked up, whether out of reflex or steered by an outside power. The shivering grew stronger. I was so cold, but I still hadn't quite realized what had happened. I merely felt the fresh breezes on my body, which was coated in the substance. But any attempt to protect myself from the cold failed to manifest.
My gaze must have seemed absent; at any rate, someone was snapping their fingers wildly in front of my eyes. Likely wanting my attention. I saw only a white-haired man whose hair fell into his face so that his eyes were barely visible. Unkempt stubble gave him a sort of vagabond appearance.
"She’s in her own world," the guy said, sounding slightly amused. My breath began to hitch because of the stench, which was now becoming distinct. My mind began to work. Then my body finally reacted and wanted to vomit. Nothing but saliva left my mouth, followed by wretched retching sounds.
"And what do we do with you? You attacked us," a note of revulsion could be heard in his voice. An annoyed clicking of the tongue followed from the white-haired man in the red coat. Then a gentle, calmer voice sounded; it even soothed me internally.
"She is a human. And if I conclude correctly, this 'giant parrot' was her prison. Possibly; I am not certain," he said levelly. My head allowed me to think more clearly, and I slowly moved my eyes in his direction. Suddenly, I had an impulse to say something, but my mouth didn't even move. His black hair covered part of his thin, delicate face; his stature was gaunt, almost as if he would collapse with one wrong step.
"We can't leave her here," the white-haired one added. Suddenly, the shivering stopped, and I felt something on my body. A blanket. Instinctively, I wrapped myself in it before a feeling of panic overcame me. I turned my gaze to the floor in front of me and tried to breathe. A consequence of what had happened, which I couldn't remember? My stomach cramped, but this time not to vomit. Something was placed gently on my back, yet my gaze remained fixed on the floor with the remains of my prison.
"Fine, but then you take care of her, V. She’s your responsibility, capisce? If she screws up, it’s on you," the older of the two conceded. "But first, she needs a shower, urgently!" He turned away. They seemed to still be talking before their voices were lost more and more in the distance.
The black-haired man sighed softly and knelt beside me. His hand was still in the same spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him leaning on his cane; this man still radiated something calming. After a short while, I dared to look at him. My eyes met his very dark eyes. I thought I observed a brief flinch on his part. I believed I was frightening him, so I moved to the side, causing the pressure on my back to give way. He gave a thin smile and reached out his hand to me.
"Can you stand?" he inquired politely, now supporting himself on his cane. I bit my lower lip, began to think, and nodded hesitantly. I also hesitated to take his hand—delicate for a man. Finally, I did it anyway, and he helped me onto my shaky legs. I stood there swaying, one hand pressing the blanket to me and the other seeking support on his shoulder. My knees gave way. I felt so wretchedly weak and lost. A being without memory, helpless in a seemingly foreign world.
"Careful…" the stranger said and supported me. He was cautious and almost protective. My bare feet sought purchase on the slippery floor before we left the terrible scene, careful not to step on the metallic feathers.
"Do you have a name?" he wanted to know, and he likely saw that I was thinking. "It’s all right. Amnesia is not a pleasant thing." He smiled encouragingly.
To me, it was a beautiful smile.
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