The Lost Heiress Of Hyperion

Chapter 2 - The Stranger

 The man continued grinning, and stood up as tall as he could, the top of his head brushing the ceiling. He straightened his trench coat and reached into one of the pockets for something. I tense, expecting him to pull out a knife, or a gun, but he pulls out a letter.

 "This should explain almost everything. I'm sorry, but you asked me to follow you once you knew who you were, or at least that you weren't an UnCount, that your memory is restored." 

He reaches out, the letter in hand, pressing it into my hand. The envelope is rough as if the owner wanted to make it seem like it was meant for an Outcast, not for a fancy Hypersoul. 

The ripping sound of the envelope is almost satisfying. The paper, the one inside, was a pearly white, with hieroglyphics embroidered on the edge. The calligraphy was neat, every line straight across the page, not a letter too big, or too small. 

Dear Myself,
It has probably been so long since you had your memory, the true one. The reason we chose to wipe our memories and embrace a new identity was for self-preservation. I know this may sound selfish, but it was for the good of the kingdom. If we had stayed, we would've ended up six feet under the ground in a solid wood box just like our parents, except with our body. Mavis, the Animagus, can reawaken your powers and return your memories, but getting to Hyperion will be your job. If the princess, you, return on her own, without help, it will show a lot of strength. Now, I must go, so I may not get the same fate as my parents.
Yours sincerely,
 Princess Cypress Elizabeth Ashley Hanlon

Mavis straightened his hair, jet black and just barely long enough to cover his ears. His eyes were hazel and were staring at me. 

"So you read it? Would you like your powers awakened and your memories returned?"

"No, Mavis. I will return to Hyperion and allow the Council to test my innocence without the nagging of new memories and powers. That will be for the best of all people." 

He bowed, not staring up at my plain brown eyes. When he lifted his head, his body started shrinking, a few snaps to show that his bones were breaking and closing the fissure to shape a different animal. A black coyote, eyes as black as night just like Nightmares. It barked once, then trotted up the hole. 

Bast looked around, clearly not surprised by Mavis. "So. . . When do you plan on leaving?" Her fingers fidgeted, twisting. 

I brush back my frizzy blond hair behind my ears, but it pops back up with enthusiastic energy.

I scowl, stiffening as Bast links her fingers, exposing fang‐like teeth, and brushing her hand over my hair, flattening most of it. Her golden eyes are piercing, probably as hard as her soul. 

She walked over to me and bent over to pick up my backpack, which I had dropped when she had put the knife to my throat.

She dumped the contents on the floor, mostly clothes, and sorted through them. "No. . . No. . . not." She muttered. "Didn't Lora get you anything other than clothes that are pink, orange, or yellow? If you wear these, you'll be a target. That jacket, however, is probably the only thing that you can keep."

She pointed to my leather jacket, which I had stolen from Grammy's closet. She had buried it deep in the back, and I had found it when I dug through her stuff for new jeans. 

She piled my clothes in a pot and set the pistol on the counter after emptying it. She lugged it over to the stove, which turned on as soon as she turned the knob. 

She pulled a plastic container out, and when she twisted the cap open, the sour smell of vinegar leaked out. We wrinkled our noses in sync, obviously hating the smell of it. Soon she added some water, and her intentions became clear.