Pulses, dull, weakened, of a heart barely beating.
Claws on shorn armor and skin, and then a sensation of moving. She felt her stomach turn, and the urge to vomit at the sudden movement. She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy. She just needs to rest a little bit longer.
She comes to being dropped, roughly on the ground. Her right arm aches, or perhaps the memory of it aches. The shoulder burns with an intense pain. She tries to move, shooting pains in her body tell her not to. She had but one place, one refuge, and attempted to remember what happened.
Nothing. The memories refuse to come. No, there are no memories.
Then why does she hurt? What had happened.
She redoubles her efforts, and visualizes a man, she can’t see his face or his body clearly, but she knows this is a man.
She hates this man.
He places a hand on her head, and mutters words, a spell, a binding.
Even this memory flows through, into nothingness, like attempting to cup water with her hands.
She finds herself alone. No memories come, no matter how she attempts to bring them forth.
She is utterly alone.
But not for long.
She will be welcomed, by a new father.
His endless night will usher her into a new life.
Fear was no longer for her. She would be its source.
Hail, Aclazotz, may your night be forevermore.
And may the blood of the weak flow.