Amnesia wasn't a route Hadleigh ever expected to take, but it was one she should be grateful for. Afterall, she was supposed to be dead.
For over twenty years, schemes to tear apart the lycanthrope kingdom have been put into place.
For over twenty y...
"Get up." Hadleigh lay still on the cold ground where red shook hands with white. Black spots clouded at her vision, her head growing static with the pain that struck her.
"Get up," the deep voice said again, but all she knew was the searing pain that spread up and into her arms, down to her legs. The pain that hardly let her take half a breath.
"Come on, get -" The voice, growing urgent, begged her to get off the ground, before releasing a panicked, "Shit."
A moment. A pause, where no sound entered Hadleigh's head, even the beating of her own heart seemed to silence as her eyes struggled to focus on the sharp features of the pale-faced man above her. Black eyes were wide with panic, blood coated the hands he held before him, and his even blacker hair fell over his forehead in stark contrast to his complexion. But that moment of silence where Hadleigh's head cleared just enough to take in the person who knelt over her, as his eyes met her own, and he said, "I'm sorry," and the pain in her side grew tenfold as he ripped the small blade that remained in her side from her body.
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Hadleigh shot up from beneath warm covers. For minutes she sat, slowing the heaving of her breath as she rubbed her hand against the small scar on her side, needing to remind herself that the wound was gone.
She scanned her eyes around the room, focusing on the faint beam of light that broke from beneath the curtain, the flies trapped under the lampshade on the ceiling, the black scuffs that were scattered across the white painted walls. Anything to distract her from the sudden memory, the pain so vividly planted in her mind that it was as if a ghost had stabbed her yet again. Anything to distract her from the panicked eyes of her mysterious saviour, his voice, the urgency he spoke with as he pulled the knife from her.
Resting her hands over her eyes and gripping at her hair, Hadleigh dropped down onto her back, head hitting the pillow with a thud. "You're okay," she said to herself with a huff.
But was she okay? She wasn't sure if she was lying to herself by saying those words. She was okay - physically. But mentally? She wasn't sure. Were the emotionless reactions to every piece of information she found out about herself her mind's way of coping with the few traumas she knew? Was the feeling that Dominic was hiding something from her purely built on not knowing anything about herself and the want to understand, to remember, to know who she was and where she came from?
Was her lack of emotion toward learning of her parents' deaths, no matter how long ago they had occurred, due to her mind trying to process the nightmares that plagued her, and the thought that she had a target on her back? Or was it truly because she had already known, and at some point had come to terms about it? No. Surely, even having known in what felt like nothing but a previous life, one should still be upset about discovering the deaths of their family members. But Hadleigh wasn't. She wasn't upset, and she didn't feel empathetic toward Dominic, and the sad look that had overcome him every time he mentioned his brother - the man who had supposedly raised her.
