Alone, and Soul.

For the first time since being here, I felt some connection to my old self. It was welcoming. I had once lost my heart in the life around me. Last night I had found it again, in the Vestibule of Vestiges. I lost my heart, but I got it back. Right? But what does a heart signify? What does it mean? Love.

I remembered the vision of that night with Varan, and looking out the window at the two people. I had inquired about love, for I didn't understand it then. And all my life I hadn't understood it. My heart, which was likely symbolic of love, was gone all my life. And being here, I think I'm supposed to find love. Or maybe I've already found love.

I was alone in my room. I hadn't fallen asleep since I woke up four hours early, leaving Wrael by the hearth. I laid in bed for those silent hours, staring at my dark ceiling. I was thinking the whole time, not tired in the least bit; in fact I felt like I had the best sleep of my life. And since I wasn't falling asleep, my thoughts kept me company. I pondered the Vestibule, and its profound significance. It was a strange realm, but it was important. There were still many doors to be opened, things lost in my life to recover. I would recover them all at any cost, because for once, I felt I had a chance to become something grand. I had love again, so I would love all others.

"Yes! Love!", a voice said to me. I sat up, looking around and very confused. I was alone. Wrael had not come into my room, and I wouldn't have allowed him to regardless. In fact, my door was still closed. I had locked it, but it was still locked. I laid back down. "'Yes'... 'Love'..." I echoed softly to myself. And then I felt something stir within. Deep down inside. Something the man called a soul... 'Yes! Love!' came the voice again. Soul? I asked in my mind. "Yes?", came the reply. I gasped, and froze. I didn't move for what seemed an hour, but in all reality only a few minutes had passed by. Soul, are you really there? 
"Of course!" 
. . . What are you?

The idea of talking to my soul seemed strange, but I remembered that it spoke to me once before, about love. Maybe there was a connection here. I continued talking to Soul. How can I speak to you?
"You only need to listen to your heart."
I never had a heart before, though...
"Haha, silly! You've always had a heart. You only forgot what was important about it. That's all."
How could I forget what's important? I think I know what's important!
"Ama, you've forgotten many things. You almost forgot about me. . ."
'Ama. . .'
"Yes! It was what you used to call yourself. When you knew what you truly wanted. But you lost your way."
How'd I do that?
"You became self-centered. You forgot your love of anything, but yourself. And who can blame you? The world almost ended. But when hope was restored, your love wasn't. You continued to treat yourself to anything you wanted."
. . . 
"It's okay. That's why you've been dreaming. We're trying to restore you."
Where am I?
"I cannot answer that--"
Why not?
"I don't know the answer."
So how can you possibly help me then?
"It doesn't matter where you are on the outside, if you're lost inside. When you find yourself, you'll know where you are."
That's really helpful! I thought sarcastically.

"There's no need to mock me."
I'm just thinking this conversation to myself...
"You just need to love again"
I'm thinking this whole thing up. I must be dreaming still.
"You're not dreaming."
Says who? Me!
"Love again, Ama."
I guess that elf is kind of cute...
"'NO! That's not love. I can feel it deep inside: that isn't love.'" came the echo of the past.
. . . 
"I'm not just another train of thought. You forgot about what I said long before."
I'm sorry.
"You don't need to apologize to me. It's been so long since you last have heard from me. You've forgotten what it's like."
What are you? 
"I'm your soul. You named me Soul, and I once guided you."
Then you're like my conscience?
"Something like that. But I don't tell you right from wrong. I guide you to inquiry of things that are right and wrong. I am the voice that leads you to question things of yourself."
Same difference I suppose. . . Why did you come back?
"Ha, I didn't come back-- You came back! You found your heart in the Vestibule of Vestiges. You came back to your senses, more or less, and found me along with it. Returned is a better word than found though."
You were in my heart the whole time? Why? And you were the one that put me in the hellish nightmare, weren't you?
"No, to both. I've got many connections to the heart, but I'm not a part of it as a whole. And I never sent you there. When someone becomes so bereft of things, they find their way there, in order to restore themselves. I never sent you there, but I guarantee we will return. Together, this time."

I shook my head. I didn't want to go back, and this whole conversation in my head was starting to hurt it. But I felt some relieved. I had my heart back. I remembered brief moments of Soul in my childhood. I smirked; I couldn't help but feel a bit crazy carrying on a conversation in my head, with a voice that wasn't mine. Soul was kind to me. She was simple, direct, and most importantly kind. There were so many things I wanted to ask her. I couldn't gather my thoughts to direct any sort of question though. Not one of any major importance anyway.

Soul, what's going to happen to me?
"You're going to learn your lessons, and become the best Amanalii you could possibly be."
By why here? Why not at home?
"Can this not be your home?"
It can be, but where are we. Where am I? Why am I here?
"It does not matter. You are here; you are alive."
Yeah. . .
". . ."
I'm scared, honestly.
"I know. I'm scared too."
What are you scared of?
"I just have the chance to speak with you again, Ama. There's so much I've wanted to say all these years, and you finally listen. I don't want to lose you again. And I don't know what does happen next. It's up to you. I'm scared, because I don't want you to fail. I believe you in though."
Soul. . . what is love?

If Soul had a face, she would be smiling. I felt her burn within me. It was a comforting warmth, not painful. I could tell she was excited to tell me. But her answer was lacking.

"It is what you want it to be. Love fills you. It completes you. Love can be anything and everything. I love you, for without you I am nothing. Literally nothing. Love can be shared, mutual, and connected. It can be felt by only one. Love makes you happy. Love makes you pink!"
Love makes me pink?
"You'll understand when you love again."
Soul, where will you go when we don't speak?
"Nowhere. I abide in your heart, but I speak through your mind. I can be in either of those places. I am every bit of you. From the crown of your head, to the tip of your toes; I am everywhere you go!"
You are my soul, so that makes sense. 
"Now you are beginning to understand! Though, you've quite changed. . ."
'Changed' how?
"Somehow. I don't know. It's a physical one."
You can't remember everything either, can you?
"I'm afraid I only have some many pieces. I'm your soul, after all."

All these things were coming together. Soul was my soul. If I died somewhere, she died with me in that time. Meaning we have a shared blackout moment. We don't remember our fall. The difference was her perspective. We didn't see the same way, even if we're one. I didn't mind all that though. I felt inspired! I felt hopeful for something more. Suddenly, I was tired again. I curled up in my covers, and hid my head underneath the sheets. It was light out now, and the city was moving more quickly than before. I would just stay here with Soul though. The day didn't need me yet.

Soul?
"Yes?"
. . . Do I love - -

The Vestibule of Vestiges (Pt. II)

A warm blanket wrapped around me. The fireplace in front of me. The night sky finally descended upon the outside world. I'm numb. I'm cold. I'm wet. I'm confused. I remember stepping forward. . . and sitting here. Something happened. Dark blue and streams of light from the sleepy sun refracted across the water's skin illuminated the realm where third dimensional maneuvering was completely possible. And I began to drown. I remember now. I had somehow fallen into the canal. And I couldn't move. Everything was becoming dark. But there was a splash. Someone called my name, and there was a splash.

I look to my left, and there sits the elf. He is sitting on the chair next to mine, glancing between me and the flames that illuminate the inn's parlor. I turn around and stare at a wall, watching the shadows and streaks of firelight writhe and slither and dance across the surfaces. What is happening?

I shift slightly, and the blanket slips off my left shoulder, exposing my arm and nearly revealing my chest. I realize that I'm naked, but I know why. I pull the blanket up, tightly hugging my otherwise uncovered body. My clothes are hanging up somewhere, drying, and I'm here trying to get warm as fast as possible. Why Wrael is here still remains a mystery to me. What was happening?

I look over to him, and he stares right back into my eyes. I say nothing, but we both know what I am asking. "I'm just making sure you stay safe for now," he answered. The simplicity of the answer agitated me. Why should he really care if I'm safe. We've only met a few times, and for brief moments. The idea of being someones burden, especially a stranger's problem, isn't something that appeals to me. While I could use this to some small advantages, I prefer the option of self-sustaining dignity!

Furthermore. . . "How did I get naked?" I inquire tersely. He turns his gaze to me, his eyes locking onto mine. "You got naked when your clothes were removed," his expression saying nothing to me.
"Smart ass. Who removed it, then?"
"Would it upset you if I said 'I did'?"
"Not really, no."
"Then why should it matter?"
Creep. . . but then I guess it was necessary. And I don't imagine he really cares all that much. I suppose that it would be in both of our interests that I be stripped out of my wet and freezing vesture, than to fall ill to the cold.

I sit back in my chair, once again staring into the fire. I begin to nod off. I don't want to fall asleep here though. I nod off several times. Each time, I look at the clock above the fireplace. I look at my companion beside me, and then at the clock. Two-fifty five exact. My head bobs, and my eyes shut, but I lift my head, and my eyes shoot open. The fire is gone. The sky is red and purple and dark, it's eeriness intensified since last I was here. The clouds in the sky almost seem to make faces that stare at me, wide eyed and jaws drooping open. The vestibule stands before me.

I look around me. Wrael is asleep. He lies on the ground next to me, perfectly still. His chest doesn't move. I arise, the blanket falling around my feet. I lay my head on his chest, and hear a heart beat. I push him to wake up, but he remains still. I wander through the hall once again. I reach the end, to the same door. Once more, as I turn around, I am boxed in. But when I turn to the door, a brass key hangs on a peg in the wooden surface. It doesn't fit this lock. I open the door to the beginning, with my new key clutched tightly in my hand.

Once more, I venture through the halls. There are no locks until the end again. I don't have my pick to awaken myself. I start over. I search through my blanket on the floor, hoping to find something. There is nothing here for me. I go to Wrael, and shake him. First it's gently, but I gradually rock him harder and harder, until I am pounding on his chest with a loud thud thud thud. I kneel beside him, hanging my head. I look at his hand. It is clenched into a fist. I open it, but it is empty. His other fist is clenched too. I open it.

A crumpled piece of paper is in his hand. I unfold it carefully to find a picture of a lock, and a circle drawn around it. I look at the key in my hand and the paper in the other. The wind in the sky shifts, and blows down on me, swiftly picking up strength. I run into the hall, as the blanket and Wrael are blown away with the wind. I follow the path through the hall again. The torches dim and the doors creak as I pass each one, carefully observing me as I observe each handle.

 I find multiple door handles that are round, and put the parchment up to each one to see if the circle fits it. The archaic words through the hall seem to be written mockeries for me. My eyes are sore and tired. The disturbed air tickles my naked flesh. I am reaching the end.

A door on the left side of the hall stands patiently awaiting his turn to see if he is the match to the penned lock and brass key I possess. It matches, and I pull away the paper to see if it magically inscribed itself on the handle. There is nothing. "I can't just stick a key through paper, and expect it to work. . . or can I?" I place the paper against the handle and move away. It stays on its own. I move the key to it, and it goes through. I pull out, and move my head to see if the hole is there now.

The picture remains a picture; there are no holes in it, and it appears the same as before. I stick the key into the drawing, and it sinks into the fabric of the paper. The wind is stronger outside, and it screams and wails for me to fail and walk out to be swept away myself. I twist the key. The lock sounds, and the door opens slightly, dust floating out into the air. The wind ceases. I push the door open.

The still, rotted, cold air chills me to the bone. I see my breath like fog in the air. I walk through the gray room. A beat can be heard. Thump, thump, thump, thump. . . At the end of the square room is a chest. As I approach, the thumping gets louder, and I hear a heart beating in it. I open the chest, and a light glows out of it. I reach in and pull out. . . light? No. A strange sensation engulfs me like a flame burning in my chest. Red garments wrap around my body. What is this?

It is soft, but firm and solid. The thing holds no shape, and I can't even make out anything from the intense light it radiates. It makes me feel something. A sign above the chest reads: Vestige of the Heart. The thumping gets louder. I feel a presence standing behind me as the light intensifies, along with the beating. No one is here. The paranoia doesn't go away, but I feel safe enough.

I try to make sense of this, but I can't place my finger on it. The light is blazing brighter. The beat is so very loud. I think, and read the sign again. Vestige. . . and it makes sense. Something gone from me. Tears roll down my face, and the light is blinding, but I don't close my eyes. I am deafened by the rhythm of my own heart. I don't care. The tears stream as I silently cry, with a smile spread across my face, joyous and lament...

I am in the chair next to Wrael. He is asleep. I see the clock above the fire. Three o' clock exact. I stand with the blanket around me, the red garments gone. The key is gone, the paper gone, the beating gone, and the only light is the fire. I walk to Wrael, and kiss him on the forehead. "Thank you. Thank you for saving me," and I return to my room alone.

Alone.

The Vestibule of Vestiges

If not knowing where I am is bad, not knowing who I am, or what I was, is worse. I find myself in the hall of recollections, at the entrance of vestiges of memories from days past. The dream I had, killing seven men, had left me wondering if I was here beyond reasons of me dying. Perhaps this is where we all go when we die, and for some reason I am the only one who realizes it, or tries to be open about the fact that we are all dead. Are we all dead?

These strange and pointless thoughts circle my head. I feel there was some deeper meaning to that particular dream, but by the same point in that theory, then everything has a deeper meaning. And if everything has a deeper meaning, how deep is it really? A pointless loop in my head goes round and round and round. Nothing is making sense.

I stand at the entrance of somethings gone or forgotten. A dim place, but it feels so bright. Clarity lights the candles, and their somber glow invites me down the corridors of this mansion of things bereft. Myriad doors labeled in some illegible and archaic words and marks plasters each door. As I pass each door, I feel their eyes watching me, but when I turn back, it's just a door. The thought of being watched tickles my paranoia.

I wander further through this place, and ultimately arrive at a door in front of me. I turn around, but everything is gone; walls on either side of me, and one that keeps me from returning, boxing me in. I turn back, and open the door. Blinding light blasts my eyes. I shield my eyes, squinting as I push the door open and step forward. I step out, but I have returned to the vestibule. I look around confused, and head back down the path I just ventured.

I retrace my steps perfectly, but with greater haste. I arrive at the door again, and again I am boxed in with only this door. I open it to only be blinded again, and return to the beginning. A third time I try this, sprinting. No change. A fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth time I try. I must be insane to try this over and over again only to hope for something new. No change.

What is this place? I arrive at the beginning, and look around more carefully. A sign near the hallway catches my eye. This too is covered in the archaic runes of nonsense. It is covered in dust, and as I wipe away dust with my palm, I notice the letters rearrange under my hand. I rub more vigorously. The answer to my question lies in front of me:

The Vestibule of Vestiges

I was just thinking of these words separately. I look behind me, towards the outside, and I see a sky colored with a purple and orange sunset, and red fields of weeds that stretches forever. No place like this exists. I am in my mind. Somehow, I am physically in my mind. This place feels all too much like a dream, or rather a nightmare, that contains no horror except for the lost feeling of being in an unknown place where there is no escape. 

I walk down the hallway again, but this time I try each door. All of them are locked, but none of them have a lock to be opened. I look at my hands, which are gloved in the armor I once wore in my previous world. If they are here, then I must have my lock pick. I reach in the inside of my left hand to pull out the tool. I try to open each door, and carefully search for a lock on each door. When I finally reach the end, I see the last and mysterious door is the only one with a lock.

"But I won't need these. . . it is already unlocked," and to be sure, I try the handle. It turns, but I don't open it. "But what would happen if I unlock what is already unlocked?" I insert the pick, and with perfect practice, I unlock the door with an audible click. I look at the door puzzled, because that ordinarily shouldn't work. I open the door, and once again, I am blinded. I step out into the light. . .

. . . And open my eyes to be back in that park on the stone bench I sat at once earlier this week. I look around so confused, and notice the sun is setting again, but I notice that the sunset isn't the same one that enthralled me before. It seems so plain. Not sadness, no storm, no misery, no joy, no peace, nothing. I shudder. What is going on? I stand up, and dizziness stuns me. I need to return to the inn.

I stagger back towards the inn, slowly. I cannot shake this feeling in my head, and the sun is setting faster, and the night's blackness begins to consume everything, shadows cast from the set sun and risen moon. My eyes won't adjust to this night, and I curse them for betraying me. This dizzy sensation intensifies the closer I get to home. I stumble onto the bridge between districts; almost home. 

Whatever is happening is becoming severely worse. What's happening? The strange place in my mind, the Vestibule, holds me prisoner for what felt like eternity, and now I'm feeling so sick. I'm halfway across the bridge as I trip and fall on my hands and knees. I stand up to see a pair of amber eyes glowing at me. I step forward a bit, squinting and trying to see who is staring at me. 

Dark skinned face, deep blue hair, and amber eyes. "Wrael!" I call out weakly. I step forward as he runs towards me. Suddenly, the world blurs and tilts on it's side. I hear a splash, and cold water consumes me, and his eyes shine through the water, distorted by the ripples, as bubbles rise out of my mouth and the world gets darker and darker as I sink deeper in the canal. My eyes close as a voice calls out my name, and splash sounds on the water. 

What's happening? What's happening. . .

Red Hands of the Past

"Amanalii, I'm sure you've heard that monsters, rather demons, have attacked the towns to the south."
"Yes sir."
"And that means a lot of them will come this way, both man and demon."
"Yes. . . sir." I answered shakily.
"Normally, I might look at this with an eye for business, but if they are sending the army from the north, then I think we might be in trouble. The waves hit places no more than five days south of here."
"Sir?" I interrupted him. 
"What?" 
"Why do you tell me this?"
"Because you are priceless to me. I've watched you for thirteen years, and whether I've been right for you or not has never crossed my mind until now." The large man seemed so different to me. He seemed worried. I had been suspicious if he actually cared for me, but now I knew. Something wasn't right. It was true: there was talk of demons slaughtering the towns and cities south of here. I even heard that Deserta prison to the north had been re-purposed for supposed ex-demons as a city. Something was wrong.

"What's going on?" I inquired. He turned and opened a chest, digging through scrolls and books and papers, candles and pens and bottles, even some armor. I had never really seen the inside of this chest. "What are you looking for?"
"This," he held a sword. "I had been a soldier for sometime when I was younger. I left service and moved here to work. After several years, I found you."
My eyes narrowed. I never knew where I came from, and he never told me. I suppose he was like a father to me, but he never called himself my father. 
"Wh-- where did you find me?"
"You were by the roadside. Alone. I ignored you for most of the day, but you were still there much later. I took you in. I've taken in many, and they worked for me. You were always different. . . "
"How? Why do you tell me this? What is going on?!"
"I can't explain right no--"
"And you couldn't before?! You can't later?!"
"Amanalii, look--"
"No! What is happening? You haven't answered me. Something is wrong! What?"
"I--" He sighed.

I left, frustrated. I did this more often now. I always thought of running away, and never coming back. I didn't think I would come back until tomorrow, maybe. Steal some food, maybe a cake, and come back tomorrow. I was walking down the street, upset, my hair burning fiery red.
"Hey pretty! What'cha doing?" A group of men across the street were calling out at me.
"Hey, babe where ya goin'? 
"C'mon over here. Yeah, c'mon, right now."
"Yeah, you look stressed. Perhaps we could. . . relieve you of that!"
Obscene gestures and laughs. I quickened my pace, but they followed. I suspected they were drunk.
"Hey wait! Get back here." 
I started to run, but they followed, and they were faster. One stepped in front of me, and I collided into him, but only I staggered back. Another quickly came up behind, grabbing me, and I couldn't move. They circled in on me like vultures. I tried to scream out, but before I could I was gagged. 

"Where do you think you're going?"
"When we tell you to come, you come." He slapped me hard. I began crying, and struggling for my life. These were the kind of men that raped and killed. My arm slipped out of his crushing hold on my body, but I couldn't strike him anywhere before another grabbed my arm. One licked me on the face, and I turned my head. I struggled harder. The one in front of me pulled out a dagger, and I knew that I would soon die. As he came close, I kicked him in the face. His lip bled, as did his nose.

"Stupid little bitch! I'm gonna kill you!" The other grabbed my legs and I could only twist in place. He eyed me up and down, and just as he was about to gouge out the artery in my leg, someone tackled him to the ground. The man holding my legs dropped me, and I stood. The large man turned as the other stabbed him in the stomach. 

My eyes bulged, and with impossible strength I ripped myself free. I ran to him, tears streaming down my face. I pulled the gag out, but before I could reach him, the man from behind grabbed me by the hair and pulled, slamming me on the ground. I lay there, dazed by the sudden impact of my head to the ground. I sit up, and all the men are kicking him on the ground. "No!" I scream out. They stop and two turn to me. The rest continue beating him. They approach me slowly. I see a dagger on the closest one's hip. If only I could distract him, even seduce him. Anything to stop or slow or distract!

I close my eyes and focus on stopping him. I open my eyes, and I slowly feel something inside of me awaken, or possible be born. My hair that hangs in front of my face turns from red to pink, and the look on the faces of my enemies turn from sinister and malefic, to desperate and wild, like hungry animals. They begin calling out, strange, insensible things. Even the others, including my rescuer turn to me with the same look. What have I done? The man reaches out, but I grab his dagger and cut off his hand. 

He screams, and my hair goes blood-red again, as well as my clothes. I remember my own dagger, and it lies several feet behind me. At this point, all the remaining men, six in total, turn towards me. As I try to stand, the one handed man stomps on the back of my leg. I cry out, falling flat on the ground. I turn and slash his stomach, and he reels back in further pain, absolute hatred ingrained on his face. I crawl as fast as I can to my dagger. I turn, a dagger in either hand, as one grabs my face, a knife raised high to stab me. I act faster and stab him in both sides.

As he falls back, I use the daggers stuck in him to pull me up and forward. I rip my weapons out, stepping off him into the next target. Something within begins to burn as I look past all my attackers and see the body of my protector. After all these years, he kept me out of the way of creeps like these, and now he lay there lifeless. No I would protect-- no. I would avenge him, dead or alive! The next man approached, and stabs me in the side. I stand my ground and stab him in the chest, twisting the blade.

As he falls dead, I step backwards, looking at my wound. Nothing fatal. . . yet. The man behind me stands and pulls my hair, forcing my head back as he brings his knife across my throat. It cuts in a bit, but I jump back, losing balance for the both of us. I quickly turn on to my knees as he begins to sit up. Before he can focus I stab him. He wheezes and coughs blood on me. I don't care. I need to protect him. The man who lost his hand to me is holding a club. He swings at me, but I dodge and cut his throat.

Four left. They don't run, but pull out weapons and come at me together. Before, it was a one on one brawl. Now I was outnumbered, and soon to be overpowered. I had little energy left. I tried what I did before. Somehow, my hair turned pink, and they had been suppressed, or rather seduced. I needed that, now! I began to focus, but it came so easily and naturally that I was shocked. They approached me, letting their guard down. Quickly, I dispatched them all by stabbing them in the back, severing their spines. They all dropped to the ground, one on top of the other.

All my energy spent, I dropped the daggers, my hair turning back to normal. I collapsed next to the large man. I drag myself to his side, and turn him over. He is alive, but he has bruises and cuts all over, and he is still bleeding out from the stomach. I tear some fabric from the bottom of my shirt and fold it into a pad, and push it down on the wound. He groans.

His eyes open, and he looks at me and the seven men behind me, and the audience I collected in the melee. Several guards rush over to me, grabbing me by both arms and hauling me off. He laughs a bit, before he passes out. I am covered in the blood of eight men and myself. The ground is red, and everyone is speechless. I guess I'm going to prison. Damn. . . I wanted to avoid more people like those rapists and murderers. Once word gets around in prison that I killed seven men alone, then I suppose I won't have any trouble. 

"Varan. . . I'm sorry." I whisper quietly to myself.

I awaken, sitting up. I touch my neck where the scar is. It's not there. I had one from my stab wound. I lift my shirt enough to see it, but it too is not present. Varan. He must be the large man in all my memories. I lie down again. I remember something more than what I just dreamt. Assassinations. Deaths at my hand. I was older, about the same age I am now. Something about me that seemed to explain why I like the dark. I could meld with the shadows, move as silent as still air. I could execute with clean precision.

Oh, the things I remember. . . perhaps I could do something that didn't involve killing here. Here in this new world with a new body. No scars, no evidence of past events. I began to drift back into sleep. Something I didn't have before would soon be a part of my life; I could feel it in my bones.

Twilit Day

Daylight broke through the thin slits between each blind on the window. I sat on my bed, rocking back and forth. I had stared into the mirror many more times to believe what I had seen, but nothing happened. Maybe I was just seeing things that weren't really there at all. I couldn't shake the terrible feeling that I was forced to watch something that had been a blur before, only now in bitter detail. It was intense, frightening; at least I was able to sleep a bit.

I left the inn, and walked around the city. I went to the house, but nothing about it seemed to comfort me like it had before. Walking back through the strange, door-less structure I saw the man who sold me the mirror. I wanted to approach him about the mirror, but for some odd reason, I felt it would be best to not mention anything about it. In fact, I probably shouldn't really talk to him right now at all. It might avoid the potential to have any conversation about the mirror.

As I was walking back to the inn, I saw the Night Elf again. Wrael. He was speaking with someone, and didn't see me, or at least I was certain he didn't notice me. For the briefest of moments, I did think he glanced over at me, but I wasn't sure. Since I was near the market, I purchased some food, and a bottle of medicine, to help my upset stomach after last night.

I was unsure of what to do with my day. After all, being stuck in my room wasn't a very appealing idea, and the day outside was very pleasant. I wandered the city, after consuming some food and medicine in my room, and decided to search for a quiet peaceful place. My walk lead me to a new area of the city. Everything here was green and peaceful; it was everything I was hoping for.

I sat on a stone bench, sitting in solitude and bliss. I let my body soak the sun in, and a smile spread across my face. This was so much better than my room. But in the midst of grand afternoon, I felt a pair of eyes watching me, first from afar, but coming closer. I opened my eyes and saw the elf approaching me. I was confused. Why would he be coming towards me? What did he want? And then I looked at what he held.

"The man at the apothecary was calling for you. You had left your coin purse at his table. I volunteered to return it to you." He held out his hand for me to accept my purse.
"Thank you," I did wonder why he volunteered, "why did you decide to come for me?"
"Because I knew what you looked like. I did have the chance to meet you, after all. And I do believe you never told me your name." He explained. He did have a point; he was probably the only person who knew what I looked like that was near that shop.
I took the purse. "Amanalii", I said, "that is my name."
He smiled. "A beautiful name," he said, "my name is --"
"Wrael." I finished his sentence. "Yes, I couldn't forget it. Thank you so much for your help."
He nodded. "Of course."

I sat in silence for less than a minute, between staring at the pouch in my hand and the space in front of me. I looked over to where Wrael was, but he had left without a word. I suppose his goodbye was 'Of course.', but I almost wished he had stayed. Something about him made me feel a bit more comforted here. I had been here for a little over a week now, and he was probably the first person I really got to meet. Of course there was Gerald who sold me the mirror, that damned thing, but he wasn't really someone I just encountered much, or even someone I wanted to encounter.

I sat on the bench, lost in thought for a very long time. No one came over here. I sat in peace and quiet, only moving when I noticed the sun was starting to set. I wish the world would be suspended in this twilight. It was warm and tranquil, and everything was illuminated by the red and pink and orange of the sky and soft clouds. I liked these colors. They were very familiar to me. Very me, I almost thought. I felt that I belonged in the time were everything was red, between daylight and nighttime. Besides having the golden eyes and blood-red hair, I couldn't figure out what else it was about this time that seemed so familiar; color was only a part of it.

I returned to the inn. . .

What I've Seen. . .

"Are you alright?" A voice asked. I didn't know who it was. Such an obvious observation, but just after seeing myself, and then falling back into some man's chest left me alert and defensive inside.
"I'm fine," I turn around and look at the man who stopped my fall. He was tall, at least a foot and a quarter taller than I. He had a beard that went down to his collar, that was surprisingly dark blue. And his eyes had a slight glow; amber-like eyes that glowed softly. And his skin was dark. Very dark. No, wait. . . was it. . . purple?!
"I'm just tired, that's all."
"Well, let me help you with that mirror then."

I wasn't sure who, or what, he was. I really didn't see anything other than myself and some people bumbling around in some strange building. Still, I was struggling with the mirror, and quite honestly he could probably handle it better than I. "Alright, here you go." I handed the mirror over to him, and I was right about the purple-like skin and the ability to easily handle the mirror. He turned his head to the left, looking down the path I was headed on. He had elf ears. Long and pointed, with the same dark blue hair that went down to his shoulders. He must be a Dark Elf or something like that.

"So stranger, what's your name?" I asked. He didn't look at me, just followed while looking ahead.
"Wrael." He replied. I was expecting some super long and tongue-twisting name. I won't complain to know someone with a short name. I really was tired. My thoughts made no sense. Why in the world would I care to observe someone's name?
"What are you?" I ask bluntly. He looks at me with a puzzled look.
"You don't know what I am? How could you not know?" He was now even looking more puzzled, his eyes scanning me. I just looked at him, telling him with my gaze to answer the question.
"A Night Elf," he tells me, "haven't you ever met one?"
"No." I wasn't sure what I would tell him. The question never came. He never asked how I didn't know what one was.

The rest of the walk was in silence. I would glance at him occasionally, but he never seemed to look at me. I honestly didn't care. I just met him on the street, and he offered to help carry a mirror. When we arrived at the inn, I took the mirror and thanked him. We parted, and I went to my room. I put the mirror up above the table like I had planned. It looked good. While the surroundings seemed pretty bland, this contrast of elegant and ornate beauty on the wall seemed to make it work somehow. Somehow.

I sat at the table and stared into the mirror for a long time. The candles on the table began to flicker. My eyelids began to droop. The air went cold and still. The edges of the mirror started to frost over, slow creeping towards the center. My eyes opened enough to see that it surrounded where my face was. In the frost I saw a face. Someone I recognized all to well, but I could not put a name to the face for the life of me. And my life it was.

I wanted to jump to my feet and put my dagger to its throat, but I was paralyzed completely. The image faded, and I fell back off my chair, and darkness consumed my vision. I then saw it all over again.

I held in my hand a sword. A relic, a legendary item of immense powers. The two figures in front of me were still shrouded in black, and I couldn't make them out at all. But one approached me, and swiftly. I dodged a swing from what might be a scythe, but before I could react, it pivoted over itself, and planted itself in front of me. A foot connected with my stomach, and I was launched backwards. 

I reached desperately as I fell off the edge. But it was no use. I fell, and this time I saw it all. Every last second of it. I smashed onto rocks, bones snapping and cracking. I had no control. The armor I wore ripped and tore, flying off into the infinite mist that surrounded me. My skin was no longer protected, and the bullets of water stung as it struck me. Everything happened so fast. I hit rock after rock, jagged, and bloodied by me. And then came the final stop. I wouldn't bounce off and fall ever into the infinite descent. No, I would just hit, and whatever's left would be beyond dead.

I shot awake, my stomach heaving. I wept and trembled. I felt so alone, and only my reflection was here. What did I just see. I spat into the garbage can, quaking, feeling so numb and afraid. I curled upon my bed. I wish I had someone here right now. Even that elf. Wrael. I eventually fell asleep, unable to cry or throw up anymore. I guess I really did die. I guess I really am dead. "I'm not dead. I'm not dead. . ."

Reflections and Him

The brick I had taken offered something unique. Something that didn't belong in the room was now offering itself as a great holder for light. Perhaps I would be the same. I did not belong here, for all I knew. For all I that I know, I could only come up with simply strange and silly excuses as to why I am here. Still, the fall. But how and why it is here, and what, where and when about the fall. Memories seemed to come less and less lately.

I returned to the house, pondering what light my existence here could provide. I felt some sort of tie to this place. I couldn't understand it. Another thing I couldn't understand. It hit me then that I didn't understand a lot of things. Obviously I'm not omniscient, but this started to make me feel rather insecure to a point I couldn't bear. What was really going on? Really. . .

"It offers . . . powers." "You'll die! What if. . . he will not hesitate."

My surroundings surged towards me, and in the same instant they backed away. It happens again, again, again, again. I drop to the ground. In my mind, I hear a faded and distant conversation. It's missing pieces, words, and context. I don't understand it at all. I crawl to the side of the house and sit down. The sun was slowly setting behind the vast ocean ahead of me. I could not see it, but I knew it was going to be night soon because of the chromatic sky. I close my eyes.

I slept there on the ground, leaning against the house. It was peaceful, full of solace and very quiet. But I awoke when my arm gave out from supporting me. I slowly slid over to my left, waking up in time to catch myself. I got up, and began to return to the inn. I walked through the open-ended building, which surprisingly still had many people awake and going about whatever it was they did. It must have been about two o'clock.

As I was walking through, one of the men in the room called for every bodies attention. I stopped to listen.
"I have found the legendary. . . Mirror of the Lich Queen!" He grinned, awaiting everyone's response, which was surprisingly a bunch of boos. He laughed a nervous laugh.
"How many times are you going to go on about some Lich Queen!? You-- there is no evidence there is one."
"Yeah, give it up. There are some better things to pursue in the desert."
"Oh ho ho! When will you learn Gerald? There is no such thing as legendaries!"

Really, they were all just joking, but in that manner only good friends can do and appreciate. Although it was all just fun and games, per se, he seemed rather upset. The mirror was rather beautiful, and I began to believe I understood his disappointment. Such a nice piece, whether it held a historic value or not, was hard to appreciate in their eyes.

I approached the man, Gerald. He looked up at me, a small bit of sorrow in his eyes. I smelled alcohol. Perhaps they all thought he was drunk.
"It's really the Mirror," he tried to explain, "it's something special. . . I wish they would know." I felt bad. I looked into the mirror, and for the first time since I've arrived here I saw my own reflection.

My hair was as red as blood. My eyes reflected the candle light nearby, giving my eyes a glow that made them appear more yellow than their normal gold color. My ears were slightly pointed, but nothing like an elf ear. My lips were colored like my hair, and my cheeks had red color in it, though not as much. All the angles of my face: cheek, nose, chin, everything, was sharp and smooth and strong, yet it captured the beauty of any noble woman. My skin was clear, and ever so slightly tanned, and I looked young. All the curves of my body were well defined. In essence, I looked perfect.

Yet I wasn't perfect. Who was I? Was I noble, or famous? Something about my appearance seemed more taunting and rude, rather than being complimentary to who I was. I felt that because I missed so much in what I am, I didn't deserve such looks. Like a thief who stole the beautiful jewels of any grand being, I must have stolen the beauty of another living person.

Quickly, I dismissed those thoughts. I knew that I didn't want anything from any other life, and those thoughts only brought me to that level.
"How much?" I asked, smiling. He looked shocked, and didn't know if he heard me right.
"What?" he asked, his ears twitched.
"How much for the mirror?" I repeated myself. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing, examining me, trying to decide if I was really serious. I was. It would like nice above that table, or maybe even somewhere in that brick house.

"I suppose. . . a thousand gold coins. No wait! A pretty, young lady like yourself deserves this mirror for, say, two-hundred coins. Sound good?" I blushed a bit, although I knew it was something other than flattery that made me blush. And it was not love.
"Well, I don't know if I can really afford something so nice as that." I said innocently. He looked a bit stressed.

"If 'ems don't like it, or believe it, I guess I can let it go. How 'bout. . . one hundred and fifty." His eyes met mine. "Er... one hundred?" I laughed softly.
"One hundred-fifty is fine! But you're so sweet for making such a nice deal for me." I pulled out my coin purse, which quickly captured his attention.
"What a nice purse, there! It must have been expensive. Where did you get it? How much? What kinda job do you have? It looks like it's from far away."

"I--. . ." Counting coins, I began to wonder where I got this? I hadn't thought about where my money came from. I never thought of what to tell someone these kind of questions, and now I started to panic inside. Keep calm. And where I got my clothes and equipment. Keep calm! My past. . .
"It's, uh. . . I work. . . in. . . foreign. . . affairs." He smiled. It worked. My past tells me I'm a foreigner, and so I wasn't lying, not that I cared if I did.

"So are you from across the ocean?" I didn't know what was out there, but I went with my story.
"Yeah, I just travel a lot. No real home for me. I can't even remember my home. Been on the road for so long, you know?" He nodded in agreement. "Well, here's your money."

I walked out with the mirror. It was large, and heavier than I thought. It wouldn't have been too much for me to handle, but its size made the weight awkward. I struggled to carry it. As I was walking, I stumbled and began to lose balance. I fell backwards, hoping I could try to save the mirror, but my fall was stopped. . .

A Strange Sensation, A Stranger Discovery

I lay in bed, arms and legs spread out, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly, I sit up, looking around the room, and finally take in my surroundings. A chair and a desk, which has three drawers. Simple, cheap wood, with several candle sticks. The door, made with the very same wood, with only one lock, my window to the right of the bed, and the bed itself. Pictures everywhere, but they are all provided by me. Really, this rooms is bland, tasteless to the eye. The only color comes from my hair and the variety of pictures. Honestly this mundane atmosphere wouldn't help me in my thinking at all.

I left the inn, inhaling to clear my head. It was late afternoon, or early evening, and the business in the trade district was heavy, and so amid the people and noise I wouldn't be able to think without some sort of distraction. I walked into the Residential District, past the now familiar houses, past the crayon man, who smiled and waved. I waved back, and carried on. I was looking for love now, and childhood had been found here.

Another canal over water lead to a new district of the city. The air was smoky, hot, and strangely charming. While the air wasn't the greatest thing to breathe, it offered a sense of liveliness, as if there was something to always do here, and do more than just buy and sell things. More than living space. I felt as if I was inside a living city. A strange sensation, and a strange thing to think. I couldn't explain what it was about this place that left me feeling good.

I walked in to see some construction equipment: a crane operated by levers and pulleys, some crates and work men. They didn't pay me any attention and talked among themselves. Further ahead was a forge, and many people shared plans, examined each others crafts, and talked about metals, and wars, and praised some for their experience and skill. I walked further on.

After turning a corner, the air seemed to become cleaner, and the sensation left. As I walked, I could see more houses with unknown purposes, although some housed professional miners and blacksmiths and engineers. Further on was an arch leading out to the outer street, a pathway that circled the entire district. I turned to the left, and noticed a building that had no doors, simply a frame.

Several people inside talked of adventures, treasures, achievements, and songs. They made no sense, but it was amusing to hear them speak of their random and curious tales. I stopped to listen for a while, but they continued speaking. Honestly, I didn't care to be noticed, and unnoticed I went. The rear end of the building had no door like unto the front. I went through, trying to understand what kind of purpose that building served. It looked like a store on the inside, but it wasn't.

I arrived at the other end. To my left was the back of many houses, leading to a dead end. To my right was a house. It stood out. It wasn't like any other house. It was there, alone, unused, and unique. No other houses stood out towards this hidden street, only the neighboring backs. It was made of something no other house was: bricks. A brick house, alone and alienated by its architectural peers. I hadn't seen any other house made of brick.

I went to the door, and knocked once, only for the door to open. It hadn't been shut, nor was it locked. Inside was a rug, a few chairs, a table, and a bookshelf, with a simple wooden chandelier. I went upstairs, and saw a bedroom. The bed was large, large enough for four of me to sleep comfortably.

I went outside. It was a nice house. Nobody lived there. Why the door was open is a mystery to me, but there was no sign of any life entering the house. A good amount of dust covered the inside. The bricks made me smile; people must not appreciate the kind of material this house is made of. A pile of bricks laid fifteen feet away from the side of the house. No doubt these were left over from construction. I picked on up and put it in my bag.

The brick would represent something, an emotion, or a feeling. It was sturdy, unique, and patiently waiting for someone to live inside. My search for love today lead me to find something important, and not through a memory. The present time importance of this brick would remind me to be patient, waiting for something, someone to live within my heart. It reminded me of how unique I was. It would be there to remind me to be strong enough to endure the weather, even the weather of life.

This brick is important. Strange thing to think. But if it taught me something, it's important enough to listen to, just like Soul. Maybe this brick is Soul. I went home, and set my brick on my table. I put three candles through the holes, and began to draw with my stubby crayons. . .

What I Was Missing All Along

Pictures were scattered all around my room. The walls, the floor, the table, everywhere! What remained of my crayons were several stubs from a fifth box, and every predecessor was rubbed thin across my room. I felt almost infinitely better, but. . .

A room that is cold and hard, and I am young. The huge man lay in a room of his own across the hall. Restless, I arise from what I call a bed. I walk over to a window that is almost a foot taller than I. I push a large box across the ground in front of the window, and hop up on it. Staring out into the night, I wonder why I feel this way, whatever it is that I currently feel. Besides the unpleasant bed and room, I feel I must be missing something. From what that man tells me, I have everything I could ever need: Food, shelter, and a job. I have some friends on the side, but we don't really talk, so I guess it's a bonus to what I need.

I have been here for years, and up until this point, I had been content to some degree with what I have been granted by this man. He was nicer than a lot of people outside this house. Nice compared to people outside this window. I've seen people killed by others, even by friends. Stabbed, broken, beaten to death, and sometimes I just see people disappear. However it happened, it never got to me. I would carry on from day to day. The next day was what I lived for. 

I just couldn't imagine why I so suddenly wished for something more. I had been recently granted a dagger for my own use. It wasn't anything spectacular. It was sharp, sturdy, and no longer than my adolescent arm, from elbow to wrist. It wasn't concealable, but it did seem to keep the more shady of shady figures away from me, who happened to stare at me, whispering their wretched secrets, while pointing at me. Boys and girls my age did seem to disappear, and occasionally reappear somewhere, dead and naked, otherwise to never be seen again.

I felt sad when that sort of thing happened. Once, I never understood why. Now I know, and it saddened me to see that there was that. Occasionally I would follow these things, and what I saw was. . . inexplicable. I never got caught, but I stopped the first time. It made me feel something deep down inside, what the huge man calls a soul. I thought I didn't have one, since nearly everyone here lacked one, but that made me question something I didn't care to learn about. But I felt my soul that day, and Soul was sad. 

Soul told me that there was something that this was misrepresenting, not only to me, but anyone else who saw. I never knew why Soul knew such things, but Soul was wiser, wiser than me, and so I listened. Tonight I look out the window, and see a women and a man talking on the street, between buildings, before walking away. I smile, but Soul cries, and I am beginning to understand that they lack something in what they do. Souls pats me on the back. Funny, but he never had a hand- 

I jump and shriek, falling off the box, and landing hard on the floor. The large man stands over me, his hand frozen in place, and a puzzled look is stuck to his face. He is no doubt tired, and confused as to why I am awake right now. He blinks, and I pick myself up off the floor. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cry out so loud, and fall," I apologize. He just smiles and moves the box so he can sit down. 
"I didn't mean to scare you. Why are you up? You realize you are useless when you are tired." 

I just stand in silence for a minute, and then I try to explain, "I- My soul wanted to see something." He just stares, blankly and tired. "The man and the women, they were doing something, and Soul- and it doesn't feel right," I touch my heart, "It feels wrong here." He looks out the window, but the people are gone.
"It's a business thing," he tries to explain "And a popular one around here." 

I don't understand why people could like it so much, but I guess it's life. "Do I have to do that someday?" I ask, fearful of my welfare. He just bows his head, a quiet chuckle somehow soothing me. "No, not if you don't want to. It wouldn't benefit me to lose you that. You would probably benefit me more by continuing your current work, than to switch to the love business." Love? What in the world is love? 

I've heard of stories of demons and titans fighting our heroes to the south and west and east, but I've never heard a story of love. "What's love?" I ask innocently. 
"What?" he asks, groggily. 
"What's love!?" He squints, trying to figure if I am joking with him, or am serious. 
"Well, it's. . ." He scratches his head. "Hmm. . . Well, you've seen those people outside, just a whi--" "NO! That's not love. I can feel it deep inside: that isn't love. What is it?" I correct him, trying to get the answer that satisfies me.

"Go to bed, and I will explain when I can think right." He just doesn't understand this, what it means to me to know. I'm not yet satisfied. . .

I'm not yet satisfied. All around, I see pictures of fantastic things: buildings, people, strange creatures, and past events that tickled my fancy to be recorded by my wax art. Some were just letters, poetry of both heroic and thieving deeds. And here it was, right in front of me. The answer to what I was missing. I curse myself for remembering a past life I wanted no part of. This is my life now, but something tells me I am in need of what happened before now.

Soul. I forgot about Soul, but I know better than to think that a soul could be a person or thing that speaks to me. I listen to what Soul has to say anyways . . .  Love! Love. Love is nowhere on any paper. I search frantically for anything. I've seen love before. I know I have! Where is it?! . . . Nothing. Nowhere. No love. I sit on the bed, and then I lay down, suddenly exhausted. "This is. . . what I was missing all along." Somewhere, love is waiting for me, but for now I rest. I know that finding love will tire me out. However, I will find what I was missing all along.

The Next Day

I awoke early the next morning, feeling no amount of rest from the previous night. I had stayed up some time crying to myself. Once again I felt weak, useless, and much like dead weight. I don't know if I had suppressed those memories in my mystery life, but seeing it now did not help me at all. I knew what I had to do, even if all this that I see is a lie, or even if what I look back on and call 'memories' are lies. One world was always what existed. Now there was a slight twist to that. One world exists, and it's called me and my life.

I left the inn a bit shaky, not sure how or where to accomplish my goal. I wasn't even sure if I could achieve what I desired here, but I had to try. What I recollected, and what my mind fantasized, left me devoted to reclaim what had been stolen from me. Whether it was my fault or not, I need to go back in time. "Turn it back; just turn it around," I tell myself "I need to do this. Besides, I need something to do now that I'm. . . here." I still don't know where 'here' is, but it doesn't matter to me. Not yet anyhow.

I walk out into the Trading District, looking around. Already people are starting to run errands and purchase items they want. Some people wear armor and carry weapons that appear to be rather powerful, running from auctions to banks, and then flying away on different kinds of mounts. Others, in elegant or plain dress, walk to flower stores or jewelcrafters, looking for items of beauty, seeking the praise and attention of others. Some look for breakfast at bread stores or fruit stands. General stores offer a steady flow of customers and merchants selling and buying goods.

I look around me, trying to absorb it all, but mostly looking for something to stand out. I wander around the city, still unsure what will aid me. A bridge crosses over a canal of water, leading to a different district. The Trading District held nothing, but what could these other ones offer? I walk around a more residential area, admiring the architectural finesse, but no matter where I look nothing offers the slightest hope off emotional reprieve. The large man, who would probably stand a foot taller than me now, was right about one thing. Left alone, I would cry myself to death with no help. People pass by, and I have no way to tell them I am alone and dying.

I don't stop searching however. Determination burns inside, but I still don't know what I need to find. A child darts outside his house bumping into me, and calling back "Sorry, lady!" I don't know what has him in a hurry, but I decide to follow him. I walk at first, but slowly increase speed, keeping distance between him and I, not letting him out of my sights. He stops at a stand, that, unlike all others, stands out with the most color, but it feels humble. I approach it slowly, excitedly.

I arrive at the stand, the vendor smiling brightly. "Take a look!" he tells me with enthusiasm that breaks my darkness. I smile and nod. I lean over the small shelf that holds the items he is selling, and there I see it what I have been missing. A solution to my problem. The boy looks up towards me, waves, and runs away holding his prize.

They weren't as I remembered. At home they came in limited color, all sorts of very randomized designated lengths, and came in large crates, so one would have to search for the perfect one to fit their needs, and it may not be there. But here, oh here, they came uniform, each the same length with a defined point and all in a box. Some had six in a box, others had every color the very world and more could offer. I purchased some, a box with twelve colors, with some paper. I never grew up; I was a grown up from the start. Without a sense of purpose now, I'll start to turn back the clock. . .

I sprinted towards the inn, fluidly moving around, over, under and between any person or obstacle in front of me. I ran up to my room, shut the door, and locked it, although I had no reason to. I pulled out the chair and sat down in it with such haste that I fell completely over, letting out a cry of surprise. I picked myself up, and opened my box. I always saw these as a child, but was never permitted to buy them, and I didn't risk stealing them, although I had no objection to stealing anything.

I didn't know where to start, so I started drawing random shapes with different colors and sizes, until I decided on what to draw. It would be my life. At first it started alright. Me as a child, the man, food. But I felt bereft of my joy. These things did not deserve my time nor attention. "Alright then, I will just draw my life again," I said to myself. "I will draw MY life. No more memories, because I'm here now."

That was when I decided to move on. I'm not sure if I held onto that part of my past, but from now on, I will not be weak. I am no longer dead weight, because I'm no longer dead. This is my new world, at least for now. And so for now, this is my new life. This is my new life. This is my new life!

Turn it Back; Just Turn it Around.

The city was amazing! Alive and bright at even the latest hours, people went back and forth with selling goods at an auction, or visiting the bank, or seeing any new papers attached to the call-board. Some people looking for anyone with a particular skill in certain professions, whilst others advertised their own skills to try to make profit in gold coins. The buildings were tall, and very bright for it being so late into the night. I assumed that this was a trading and business district of the city, for there was few houses, most of them being family businesses, and only one inn in the entirety of the district.

"Hmm, an inn sounds good right now. I haven't slept in. . ." I say to myself, pausing when I realize that I have no idea when I last slept, or even if I ever slept. Try as I might, I cannot think back of when I slept-- of when or if I did anything in my life. The fall still taking a toll on my memory, I push myself to remember. I enter into my room I rented out for the night, and sit in a chair, concentrating as hard as I can. Suddenly I see something I wish I didn't see. .

". . . Amanalii! Why did you drop your food?! Do you think that such a meal comes cheap, especially in these parts!" roared a large man. He stood at a height that easily was triple that of mine, and thick enough to be three-hundred fifty pounds. I look away from his ominous, hurtful gaze to where my meal now lay: in a pile of mud and filth, ruined and no longer edible. A boiled potato and a small bit of meat, likely from a cow, now lay ruined by the earth.

My face burns red, my hair matching its color, and tears swell in my eyes as I look into the glare of the man. "I- I- I- I'm s-sorry," I stammer "I-i-it was an acciden--" 
"SILENCE!" He roars, slapping me across the face, sending me flying like a rag doll  spiraling towards the ground. "I don't care if it was an accident or not; You cost me an entire meal, and I don't have money to constantly spend buying you food if you don't bring in enough money yourself! You hardly benefit me as is. You waste food, you don't bring me money, you act so weak, and you take space here in my house. In essence, you're merely dead weight."

I pick myself up off the floor, brushing myself off, preparing for a painful and hungry night. "You know," he continues "You should be thankful that I'm so kind to you. Others might kill you, or even worse." 
"What could be worse?" I ask boldly. 
He only laughs, and then replies "Kick you out into the night to leave you to whatever fate any crook or animal has in mind. Murder would be merciful. Leaving you broken, beaten, and abused on the side of the street where people pass you by, as you cry helplessly, until you die. Or they may just sell you around, to put it softly."

I wasn't sure what to think, but I wasn't happy. My cheek, for instance, was hurting and swollen. A bit of blood trickled out the corner of my mouth. I had nothing to say. Maybe I should be thankful, but how I ended up here-- How did I end up there? What was that? WHERE was that? The memory vanishes.

Questions flooded my mind, but all I could think was that my childhood was built around some sort of job. What a funny word to use, now that I think about it. 'Childhood' repeats in my mind over and over, again and again. Did I really even have one? I look out my window and see some middle aged kids in a group walking down the street, laughing and enjoying the great night that it is, not caring at all about the world around.

A tear rolls down my face. . .
(To be continued)

I'm Here. . . I'm Alive

My eyes open, and I stare into a night sky with a million stars, lighting the blackness with the soft-blue light it offers. Funny, but last I checked, every star in our sky had winked out mysteriously. I look around, and see I am in a wide field. Confused and lost, I stand up. There is no one in sight, nothing at all. All around me is gentle rolling hills covered in knee-high grass and weeds. Everything around me looks the same, and since I have no sense of direction, no land mark or constellation to guide me, I head to the left of where I had laid.

The stars above me give me light, but I feel so dark inside. So much confusion dwells inside me. I try to think, but everything is so fuzzy right now. I concentrate, halting, trying to remember. I see. . . water. . . and mist. Yes, it comes more clearly now. Water up to my shins, flowing gently off the edge of the world, and mist rolling back up and around me. There's a blur. . . No, two blurs. Two people, but they are obscured by fuzzy shadows. I cannot remember them, but they stand motionless, and I see myself becoming agitated, offended, aggressive.

I pull my daggers-- I have only one dagger in hand. Why only one? I always have two daggers. Something else is in my other hand, and, it too, is a blotted out shadow. And then I'm falling, and for a long time, water soaking me to bone, and only feeling fear, denying my inevitable demise. I close my eyes--

--And open them to realize that something happened somewhere. I am not home, and my location remains a mystery. I fell from somewhere, and must have hit the bottom of my graceless descent. I must be dead, and falling to my death is not a proud way to die. How did I fall though? And why am I here? How can I be dead, and still be here? Did I even die? I stop thinking about this; It's hurting my head.

I continue my walking, through a forest, onto a stone path. I walk past a small inn and a forge and continue. The stars have been blocked by the forest's majestic crowns, and diminished by the lights of the city ahead. Built by the ocean and mountains, and in the middle of a forest, I have no clue what lies ahead in such a strangely placed city. But whatever lies ahead, I shall endure. No matter what is in the future only one thing matters: I'm here. . . I'm alive.