I heard his voice. It was like nails on a chalkboard, like iron and velvet and the silky, disgusting grime that lies between gears, the sound that the smell of a rotting carcass could produce, if it could speak. It commanded me, gripped my soul and dragged everything out of me that I had cherished. All my memories, of Trevaine sitting to listen to my singing and helping sneak me training leathers behind my parents back. Of Verimar and the moment he brought Ourelia home for the first time, or when he described to a wide eyed teenager the wonders of working with the Light. Or my nephew, newborn and so beautiful. Or my parents, laughing together on the veranda as the sun set slowly over the forest.
It took love, kindness, sweetness and soured them. He destroyed me so he could rebuild me.
I am a jigsaw puzzle made of pain, emptiness and the vague sensation that I am forgetting something… what am I forgetting? Who am I?
