Chapter Text
In my wildest dreams, I never would have expected to see the light of the world again.
A swirling, sweetish, rotting-smelling prison surrounded me, paired with an uncontrollable rage inside me.
I awoke in a nightmare of death, despair, unbridled fury, and pain. I am actually dead, yet I am alive. How can that be?
I knelt naked and trembling in a mixture of gelatinous purple substance, metallic feathers, and torn skin. It smelled so grotesque that I struggled to get air into my lungs. A fragment of memory of unknown origin. Rage. Uncontrollable destructive fury. An instinct. But not that of a rational being. Animalistic. All of it faded away and disappeared into inner absence and emptiness. At that moment, I felt absolutely nothing.
"Well, would you look at that. The beast has turned into a... princess? I had a different fairy tale in mind," a voice whispered into my ear. It was a man, sounding very amused. "That giant parrot really took some nerve."
I couldn't make sense of what was said, because I was too preoccupied with myself—or rather, I was inwardly apathetic.
Slowly, I looked up, either out of reflex or because of some external force. The trembling grew stronger. I was so cold, but I still didn't fully realize what had happened. I only felt the fresh breezes on my body, covered in the substance. But I made no effort to protect myself from the cold.
My gaze seemed absent-minded, at least someone was wildly waving around in front of my eyes. Probably trying to get my attention. I only saw a man with white hair, his hair falling into his face so that his eyes were barely visible. His unkempt beard gave him a vagabond-like appearance.
"She's in her own world," he said, and another, much younger-sounding male voice chimed in. Also white-haired. At that moment, I might have wondered if they were father and son, but my mind couldn't even ask that. My breathing started to hitch, due to the now more noticeable stench. My mind began to work. Then my body finally reacted and wanted to vomit. Nothing but saliva left my mouth, followed by miserable gagging sounds.
"And what do we do with her? She attacked us, we shouldn't take her," I could hear a response in his voice.
An annoyed snort followed from the white-haired man in the red coat. Then a gentle, calmer voice spoke, soothing me even internally.
"She's a human. And if I'm correct, this giant parrot was her prison. Maybe, I'm not entirely sure," he said thoughtfully. My mind cleared a bit, and I slowly turned my eyes toward him. Suddenly, I had an impulse to say something, but my mouth didn't even move. His black hair covered part of his narrow, delicate face, and his frame was gaunt—almost as if he might collapse with a wrong step.
"We can't leave her here," he added, and suddenly the trembling stopped. I felt something on my body— a blanket.
Instinctively, I wrapped myself in it, just before panic overwhelmed me. I looked down at the ground in front of me and tried to breathe. Was this a consequence of what had happened, but I couldn't remember?
My stomach clenched, but this time not to vomit. Something gently settled on my back, yet I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, on the remnants of my prison.
"Alright, but then you take care of her, V. She's your responsibility, capisce? If she messes up, it's your fault," the oldest of them admitted defeat. "But she should take a shower first, urgently!" He turned away, just like the younger version of himself. It seemed they were still talking, before their voices gradually faded into the distance.
The dark-haired man sighed softly and knelt down beside me. His hand was still in the same place. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him leaning on his cane, which still radiated a calming presence.
After a short while, I dared to look at him. My eyes met his very dark ones. I think I saw a brief flinch on his part. I believed he was trying to scare me, so I moved to the side, which relieved the pressure on my back. He smiled faintly and reached out his hand to me.
"Can you stand up?" he asked politely, now supporting himself with his cane. I bit my lower lip, started to think, and nodded hesitantly. I hesitated to take his delicate hand, especially since he was a man. But in the end, I did, and he helped me to my wobbly legs. I stood there unsteadily, pressing my hand against the blanket, while my other hand reached out for support on his shoulder. My knees buckled. I felt so utterly weak and lost—like a creature without memory, helpless in a seemingly foreign world.
"Careful..." said the stranger, supporting me. He was cautious and almost protective. My bare feet searched for grip on the slippery floor before we left the terrible scene, mindful not to step on the metallic feathers.
"Do you have a name?" he asked, noticing that I was thinking. "It's okay. Amnesia isn't a nice thing," he added with an encouraging smile. To me, it was a kind smile.