The Last Whisperer

6 | Seren~

The girl sat in the darkness.

It felt familiar in a way that she had lived in it for a very long time.

She sat alone in the darkness, doing nothing, looking at nothing, and thinking of nothing.

She felt nothing. She had forgotten everything about herself.

She had forgotten her name or how she looked like, or how she sounded like. She did not know if there were people she particularly loved. She had forgotten how many fingers she had or what foods she enjoyed.

She had forgotten everything, and no matter how hard she tried to grasp it, she could not remember.

All she knew was the color pitch black, the color of oblivion. She knew only of silence and only felt loneliness.

She heard a water drop. Plink.

It was such a tiny sound—almost like a teardrop, but it echoed around in her head. It was the first sound she had heard in such a long time that she started craving for it.

For the first time in two hundred years, she got up.

She was pulled closer and closer to the sound of waterdrops until she spotted a speck of light. The light triggered something in her.

She remembered something—she remembered fireflies.

So she went closer to it—to the firefly—until that small firefly became bigger, until it was large enough to consume her.

She felt a humid breeze as she opened her eyes.

She lay down on a cot. The first thing she saw after waking up was a white ceiling.

She could not move—she had forgotten how to properly function her body. All she could do was breath and stare at the white ceiling all day. She felt extremely weak and cold. She felt like a flower that was on the verge of wilting away.

She had no idea how long it had passed when she finally grew the strength to tilt her head sideways. She was in a room with a singular dresser. On top of that was a complete tea set. Books were stacked beside it, quite messily, too. There was a total number of one window in the entire room. Outside, she saw the leaves of a tree and the orange hue of the afternoon sky.

The afternoon sky reminded her of burning cities. She hated it and looked away.

She mustered the strength to get up. Her bones shook as she lifted herself from the bed. She felt so heavy—her body felt so alien.

Get up.

Get up and move.

She turned herself sideways and fell off the bed.

Thud. She kissed the cold wooden floor.

She winced. My head is about to burst.

She propped herself up with her arms, but it soon gave away and she remained a failure on the floor. Why does my body refuse to listen?!

She breathed hard, closed her eyes, and focused. She tried again.

Her metallic hands clutched on the bed to pull her up and—

Wait...

Metallic hands?

Silence.

What metallic hands?

Very carefully and slowly, her eyes casted downwards.

Her arms were fine—they were wrapped in white gauze, starting from her neck down to her chest and to her arms, but they were all flesh and bone underneath.