Prologue

Do you believe that in losing your memories, there would be a profound terror? Many seem to; Who am I, and where am I? Who are you, get away from me-!! 

The young woman felt no such terror as she sat there, lips and throat dry, yet body soaked with sweat and shivering with cold on a stone bench. Torchlight flickered off of her soaked skin, as she tried to catch her breath- a seemingly impossible task. The world was hazy, blurry and non-focused. There was a great deal of color, sound and noise… pain, she remembered being thrown in here by a group of people she could barely see, let alone count. Even now, her sight having cleared up some, she was able to make out little more than vague, fuzzy shapes, leaning against the wall and gasping slowly for air like a dying fish. 

No, here there was no terror or fear- there was nausea, revulsion and black around the edges of her vision. Instinct told her, though, that to pass out here, now, would be a mistake, and so she kept drawing for air, chest heaving. Not afraid, and not terrified, but warned by something in the back of her mind that she must, stay, awake. 

After a time, of sitting here in this way, mind numb, the young woman began to hear footsteps, jangling metal, drawing closer. They spoke in a language that she could not understand, and so she did not try. She understood enough, anyway, from the cold, tight tone- they were afraid. If that was the case…

Still seeing everything through a haze of fog, she only just saw the three men entering this room- nay, this cell, all things considered. She did, however, manage to differentiate the silver of the axe from the sable color of their garb as two of the three grabbed her arms and shoved her head down.

Do I let them kill me? Is there a point, in fighting back? Or is it better to simply die? What do I have to live for- is there anything? I don't know… these thoughts vaguely circulating, the young woman initially made no move to fight, but as the ax was raised, a deep, ugly instinct reared its head, and, panting as if she'd run a marathon, the woman surged forward, ramming her shoulder into the would-be executioner, and pried the ax from his hands. There was screaming, but she thought little of it, simply clutching the ax and running from the room.

What if I'm a mass murderer? What if, what if I'm a horrible person? What if I deserve to die? The woman faltered, standing in a long stone hallway, confused- still not scared, but disoriented, out of place, in an unknown world of sorts. What, happened to me… but, if I deserve to die, I'd at least like to understand why, first…? I'd like to understand why I'm here, and for that, I can't die just yet, the young woman inwardly reflected, and with that, set off, grabbing a torch from the wall in passing. 

Two hallways to turn into, she went right- it smelled better, this way, cleaner. Somewhere behind her, there was screaming, but as she passed cells of people clinging to the bars and pleading in foreign tongue, she had only one thought; I won't die here. Not like this. Vision becoming slowly clearer, still fuzzy around the edges, this nude prisoner kept moving, smooth stone flooring rough against her feet. Torch in one hand, a relatively short, weighty axe in the other, through hall after hall, following her nose. There was sea salt, this way, and soon, she could hear the wind. 

Still, screaming behind her, but perhaps this prison was complex, and she was moving quickly enough to stay ahead of any sort of pursuit? She didn't know, but, throat dry, chest heaving- she had to breathe, and an ax to the next was not very productive toward that end.

She started, jumping, yelping as somebody stepped in front of her, and tried to dodge around him, but there were hands at her neck, and, she- 

I didn't mean to. 

"I didn't mean to-" She stammered, and kept running, gone before the corpse had fully settled on the ground, leaving a trail of red behind her, dripping from the rounded blade of the ax. 

A wooden door with a small sign. She couldn't read the words, be it because of a language barrier or the fact that her eyesight still felt blurred, head swimming. However, she was able to understand the depiction of a trash can well enough, and shoved the door- it was unlocked, and outside, a small stone balcony built into a low cliff. Nothing to climb, but she could see the sky from here.

If she was confused, then the sky screamed for her, bleeding with a brilliant multitude of reds, oranges and pinks as the sun either set or rose, she wasn't sure. Upward, there was only a cliff face too sheer to climb, and downward, only the sea- she was naked, alone, and barely armed for a fight in this condition, but the shouting was getting closer… knowing what came next, the prisoner tossed her ax and torch to the ground, vaulting. A rush of wind, and then impact, rocking her world and destroying any semblance of orientation or clarity.