The only thing she remembers is blood, not even her own name.
Waking up in a strange house in a 'far-off' land, Arturia Pendragon cannot remember a single thing of her past life, luckily she is found just in time to be able to keep on living. With...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was a man. He loomed over her, unrecognizable and dark. It was not as if she could see anything concrete past the blindfold but she sensed it by the strong hands that too hold of her and they're built silhouette. He had to be a knight, it would explain why he was able to enter her quarters so easily in to start with. She was certainly not afraid of the man, never had she felt fear for the intentions of other, rather bitterness and hate. It was not as if the man would get away with her capture.
As the days slipped by, she began to have doubts; she lost count of the days she had been far from her father, from Guinevere and from her life. Of course, she still had some lingering hope that the Knights of Camelot would find her wherever she currently was. She had no idea where she could be but she remembered the many carriage rides and bumpy roads, the longs walks and restless days.
The bricked ground made her shiver as the cold seeped into her body. She had begun to hate the darkness that the blindfold would give her, the sense of unfamiliarity.
She awoke to dreaded darkness with a gasp, filling her lungs with much needed air. Her head felt heavy again but it had been aching this time around. Sitting up from the small bed, she let her feet touch the floor, feeling the much detested cold again. There were times when she longed to return to her past and then there were others where she felt it was best to forget. She still had not recalled faces or names—not even her very own.
It was very dark, considering the moon was hiding from humanity. The stars were trying their best to match the brightness of the moon but were clearly failing. She stood from the bed and glanced over at the male, who lay soundly in the bed next to her; she had not mentioned her condition to him and she guessed it best that she should not tell him at all.
Dragging her feet due to her sleepiness, she made it to the kitchen, where she poured herself a goblet of the water Diarmuid had previously prepared. For some reason she had felt afraid of the darkness that surrounded her, as if something lurked within the shadows. She felt a gaze on the back of her neck but she brushed it away when she figured it was her mind playing tricks on her.
Alright, so what did she really know about herself? She asked herself the question as she took a quill pen from a shelf and a cloth. After lighting a candle, she began.
[What I know: ]
She looked at the sentence for a while and crossed it over.
[What I Think I Know: ]
That looked much more accurate. Writing down what she knew in point form, she looked upon it.
