CHAPTER 1 From the ball to the hospital

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I can hardly remember anything from yesterday. Images are flashing before my eyes, vaguely resembling human figures, moving like lightning. My vision is narrowing and I feel it won't be long until I'll fall again in the deep slumber that's been keeping me in this hospital bed.

I...I have to remember...my name...my age...-who are my parents...

I am...No, no, that's not right...My name is Alison Phoenix. I am sixteen years old, born on the 3rd of May. From what I can recall, my eyes are Lapis blue, making them look almost purple. My hair is a somehow messy shade of dark amber, almost brown. From my bed, I catch a glimpse of my reflection: I am full of bleeding wounds, sprinkling a beautifully morbid crimson onto the snow-white bed sheets, like a slow dying rose in the everlasting winter. My hair is somehow messy, like I've been dragged through a hedge by wild horses, tied by my ankle.

The door opens and, in the room, enters a blonde boy, wearing a delicate pair of glasses and an orange T-shirt, a stark contrast to the bleach white walls, tattered with yellow by the passage of time. His eyes are the only thing that's alive in this room of bleach: a vivid brown, like the fleeting pelt of a deer. I tried to stand, but a sudden wave of pain stabs me in the spine, making my attempt impossible. I can only watch helplessly as the boy comes next to my bed and sits down.

"You are finally awake, huh." He speaks. He can't help but grin a little. "How did you sleep? Did you have any dreams?"

"Huh?"

I try to lift myself a little, the pain kicks in yet again; this time I clench my teeth to withstand it.

"Sleep?" I ask confused, rubbing my hand in the back of my neck. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Three days, Alison." The boy replies calmly, whipping his glasses. "It's been three days since you've arrived in the infirmary."

"H-HOW?!"

I jolt in disbelief, completely forgetting about my wounds, the sorry state of my body and mind, the surge of pain that kicked me in the back two times; the latter coming back to haunt me shortly after. Now some things make sense to me: the injuries, the messy hair, the blank hospital room. But that's only one of the millions of questions that need answering.

"Wh-What happened three days ago?"

"I don't know," the boy replies putting his glasses on and carefully resting them on his nose. "You were brought here and I was told to tend your wounds. I learned that you had been in a fight with some sort of a hellish creature and you made quite a show there. So good, in fact, that you passed out."

"And how do you know my name?" I ask squinting my eyes.

"The bracelet on your right wrist."

He gently lifts my right arm. I could see it now clearly: the faint glow of sliver, spelling "Alison".

The boy smiles and gets up from the chair as I slowly lower my wounded arm.

"Lemme fetch you the medicine you need." He says preparing to leave the room. "You need to recover; we need you here."

As I watch him leave, I can finally take a look at my surroundings. It's a fairly comfortable hospital room, with five beds wrapped in white. On my bedside, there is a glass of water and a handful of red and blue pills. Outside starts to rain, I listen to the raindrops beating furiously against the window; the landscape outside seems odd. I struggle to remember what I did three days ago, what caused my wounds and exhaustion. I try to remember what hellish beast dragged me through countless of hedges and thorns and brought me in this hospital, beaten and scarred, shocked and with no recollection of the past.

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