Page 3 of Touch of Death
Expansive plains stretch out far into the distance, a long, twisting river leads away from the foot of the mountain, splitting the land in two. The entire realm, at least as far as I can see, looks like it's been coated in a wash of sepia, from the trees and rocks to the very color of my skin.
Skin.
I glance down at my body, almost surprised to find that I still seem to have one. Holding my hands up in front of me, I frown as I turn them over and tentatively rub my fingertips together.
I can feel, but the sensation is odd, like a whisper of something I once knew intimately but is now nearly forgotten. There's a bitterness to the feeling, though even that seems to be dulled.
These thoughts, theseemotions, are little more than words that carry but a distant memory of what they once meant to me.
Something is missing, though I do not know what that something is. It’s as if every aspect of my being is disjointed, struggling to get to me from some far-off place.
Frombefore.
Yet, the more I try to remember what that was and how I got here, the more my head screams at me to stop.
To give up.
To move forward.
To let go.
These thoughts have me clutching my chest again as pain stabs my heart, radiating through my body in such a way that I’m forced to curl in on myself to wait it out. When it finally subsides, I take several steadying breaths in an attempt to regain my composure as I push myself back up.
One thing is becoming increasingly obvious to me, my mind and heart are at odds with one another. My head swims, ordering me to forget, while my heart begs me to hold on … to remember.
So far, it would seem my mind is winning, but I refuse to give up so easily. Not when what my heart remembers still feels so important.
Looking out over the plains, my eyes follow the winding river into the distance. The dark waters glow softly as they cut a stark path through the monotony of the barren landscape, though in warning or invitation, I do not know.
The haze and gloom of the scene seep into my vision, further clouding my mind and thoughts. It’s as if a growing somberness has settled over everything, from the furthest blades of grass on the horizon to the innermost parts of my soul.
Another gust of wind suddenly kicks up around the mountaintop, whipping strands of hair around my face just as I hear the crunch of footsteps behind me.
“Why, hello there,” comes a soft voice, and I look over my shoulder to find a strange man crouched beside the ledge, eyeing me curiously. “What are you doing up here?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, blinking up at him as his head tilts slightly to one side. “I just woke up here.”
“Here, let me help you down from there,” he says, offering his hand to me.
My mind blanks as I stare at it for a long moment before finally reaching out to accept it. Almost as soon as his fingers close over my hand, I’m pulled off the rocky ledge and onto my feet.
The stranger drops my hand with a sharp intake of air, and for a split second a rush of nausea overwhelms me. The world spins, and I’m forced to close my eyes as I struggle to remain upright, as if my soul and body are connected by nothing but a thread.
Though I suppose they shouldn’t be connected at all.
Cautiously, I open my eyes to find the stranger staring down at his hand with a furrowed brow.
“How did you get here?” the man asks, his gaze shifting to me. “Who brought you here?”
“I-I don’t remember,” I answer.
He raises an eyebrow at this, stepping back to get a better look at me, and I take my chance to do the same to him.
The stranger is at least a foot taller than me, thick golden curls falling heavily around an angelic face to frame piercingly blue eyes and a full set of lips. His expression is open and friendly, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and yet, there’s a dark intensity to the way he looks at me.
Almost as if he knows something that I don’t.
He allows me another minute to stare at him, but my mind is too foggy to piece anything more useful together.
