Limbo between Kings

Day 16 - Memories

Sunlight burned against Olivia's closed lids, pulling her from the dreamless sleep that imprisoned her for gods knows how long. The crust in her eyes flaked away as she pried them open, she was an ancient book shut away for decades, lost to time.

The brightness of the room forced her orbs to remain partially closed, the world around her was overwhelming, nothing familiar or safe. How was she to adjust, being but a babe just born to the world? Slowly her trembling hand rose to wipe the sweat pouring from her brow, drenching the linen sheets beneath her. Was she sickly? No normal woman should be sweating in such a way.

Where was she, an infirmary? Any memory she had beyond now was faded, gone, withdrawn from her mind like an old dream. She felt lost in her own mind, a foreigner to her very self.

Olivia. Your name is Olivia.

An attempt to rise sent a wave of pain through her unfamiliar body, pulling the breath violently from her lungs. A vision of a body slamming into hers flashing across her mind. The taste and smell of soot, onion, and whiskey filling her senses. She wanted to vomit at the memory, to erase it like all the others.

Not sick, but injured it seemed.

Ignoring the throbbing in her ribcage, Olivia pulled herself to sit, taking in her first real glance around the room. It was no clinic. The dark room lacked any medical equipment or moist smell of the dying, only the faint odor of her sweat lingered.

The room was small, smaller than she would have expected for a chamber. Smaller than she was used to, though she could not recall why. It hurt her head to try to remember, pulsating against her temple like a bad night of drinking.

She could remember a burgundy leather flask. She'd taken too many gulps. Even as the memories slowly trickled in there were still to many pieces of her puzzle missing, discarded from her mind like useless scraps.

Do I want to remember? Perhaps it's best if I don't, she pondered, studying her chamber with curiosity.

The bed beneath her filled most of the space, only large enough to hold one. A floral reading chair took up the remaining area of the room. An extinguished candle resting beside it on the stand, a page-marked book laid upside down with it. Someone had been sitting rather recently, the indentation of their body still held its form against the cushion.

Scattered light filtered through the set of windows above the chair, the ledge of it littered with half empty bowls. How long had she been out? Long enough for whomever accompanied her to collect an assortment of food.

Click. The sound of iron echoed across the stone walls.

The locked bolt of her door released, filling the lingering silence of the room. Holding her breath, Olivia watched as the paneled door squealed against its opening, protesting any movement directed its way. In her condition, fighting wasn't an option, neither was running. She was a prisoner in a small cage, waiting for the executioner to come.

His eyes were focused on the folded book in his hands, memorized by the words within. His dark brows furrowed with whatever words he read, teeth chewing his bottom lip. Olivia was drawn to him, she felt safe in his presence, relieved. A safety that hadn't come with the bare room. He was a man, a guardian, an author, an abductor, her savior, the bane of her existence.

Silas.

All of her memories hit her like a herd of buffalo, ramming into her broken chest with retribution. The flood gate of her mind had broken open, the dam ripped into splinters. She wanted them to remain hidden, wanted them to vanish from whence they came. Just a little while longer, just another moment's peace was all she asked.