Sybil (Completed)

Sanctuary

Numb, as if my tongue is unable to properly work and serve an importance which many pride themselves on. They pride themselves on their ability to pick up the different flavors, to debate which flavor is the best, and can even act as a way for people to communicate over something so basic. As I taste the food that Fiona has put before me, it tastes of nothing, as if I was eating a dense sponge that offers no sensations to my taste buds. The food has what I would expect to be fruit within the filling of the pastry, crunching as I cut it with my fork, looking to the crimson filling stick a little to the metal of my fork. "Thank you," I add, forgetting what we were taking about before she placed the food before me and I took a bite. The witch looks to me, looking as if she has something to say to me, something she wants to blurt out yet is held back? What force could be holding her back, could it be Zion? 

The moment I told Zion what he wanted to hear, he left, muttering to himself he needed a break as well as a smoke. I could only stare at the wall once he left, wondering what all these months or perhaps even years of my absence could have done to such a helpless man. He was selfish, pulling someone from their eternal slumber only to discover they are a shell of the person that they once were. He referred to me as a shell, as something so delicate and hollow within, as if he gave no concern for what his words would do to me. Fiona mentioned to me the moment he left that I must be hungry, helping me find my way into the small dining room set up with four chairs and a wooden table whose vanish must be redone sometime soon. 

"Why can I not remember the life that I lived?" I ask, knowing what I ask is something I may not enjoy the answer of, for I imagine bringing someone back from the grave never goes the way you always want it to. "Those memories, I know they are there, and I feel like I can find them, but is as if a curtain keeps me from seeing them, just a simple opening of the curtains to do the trick." 

Fiona takes in a steady breath, trying to help herself think of the best way to answer me. With her hair pinned back, eyes sharp, and jaw clenched, Fiona takes a seat beside me, pulling out a leather-bound journal, pages worn and brown, journal struggling to be kept shut, and a black seal upon the front. "I have never brought someone back from the dead, not because I was not powerful enough, but because of the amount of dark magic needed. I lived and breathed this book Zion searched many witch covens for, paying a high price for, and offering to me to keep up my part of our deal." Fiona pauses, as if to check if Zion is anywhere close to hearing our conversation. "Many withes have brought people back from the dead, ranging from humans to the supernatural like the two of us." 

Werewolf. 

I can remember that part of myself, that I am a supernatural being, one who can shift into a wolf whenever I desire. 

"No matter what blood runs through anyone's veins, all those brought back from the dead always had something wrong. Many died within the first day of their revival, some became brain dead as they were stuck within a body, others could remember yet they could not feel emotions, and then many fall into your category of being unable to remember who they were." So I guess I fell into a lucky category for what could have happened. "Some remembered who they were, able to be reunited with their loved ones, but they were the happy endings that many never got." 

"What did many get in the end?" I ask, almost hesitant as I fear what the answer I seek may just be. 

"The dead do not belong among the living, even if it worked out in the end," Fiona states, firm in her belief as I know this should be taken as a warning, for if she believes this, I should as too. "The dead lose so much of themselves in the afterlife when they are brought back, disturbed from slumber as they are forced back into the bodies which would haunt them. Many like yourself went insane, throwing themselves into danger just to try and feel that adrenaline, to feel alive. Not many allowed for death to take them under natural causes, rather throwing themselves from buildings or allowing themselves to fall into a darkness inescapable."