𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐬 ▻ newt ¹ [o.h.]

chapter one

WARRIOR
chapter one

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Emerald eyes, swirled with kaleidoscopic shadows reflecting from hazy sunshine. Blue waves of the ocean crashing against the bright green of summer grass, blurred with specks of gold. The spheres of a raging hurricane and the amalgamated colors of tree crowns blossoming after being weighed down by gritty snow. Irises lulled by a glossy blanket of fear.

She could almost taste the name where it rested on the tip of her tongue, teasing her to the answers she so desperately sought.

The eyes had haunted her dreams since the day she arrived in the Box. They had lived within her head before she awoke to her new life. They were real. A glimpse of a memory she couldn't quite grasp. She knew it.

With a loud, frustrated groan, Katya stretched her sore limbs. The woolen blanket she'd tucked herself into the night before had fallen off the hard bed, leaving her exposed to the cool air. In spite of the cold, her skin was budded with pearls of sweat, soaking the thin fabric of the rags she wore. The dampness had turned her dark hair into a knot, itching at the back of her neck. She shuddered at the sensation.

She should just cut it all off. The thought came to her as she pushed herself up. It would be more practical. The idea had lingered in her mind for days. But the moment the thought had occurred, so had the voice. The tiny voice in the back of her mind that whispered not to do it because she'd be letting someone down. They always liked her hair long.

Of course, with none of her memories accessible, Katya had no idea who they were. Perhaps they were the owner of the green eyes, or perhaps they were no one at all. Perhaps they were herself. She had no way of knowing.

It was with great pleasure that Katya wiggled her way out of the sweat-soaked shorts and shirt she used for sleeping gear. And it was with significantly less pleasure that she pulled on her working clothes as a replacement. She grimaced as she pulled the plum-red sweater over her head, accidentally catching a whiff of the sour mixture of sweat, dirt and blood that reeked from it.

Supposedly, she would get used to the stench after a while. Until that happened, if it did at all, she was bound to mask her disgust to the best of her ability and swallow her gags.

Katya reached into the case of her lousy pillow, pulling out the tiny dagger she kept hidden there at night. It was no bigger than a butter knife, but sharp enough to be of use if she needed to protect herself. She tucked it into the piece of cloth she'd stolen from the kitchen a few days earlier, and stuffed it into her sock.

She unhooked her jacket from the hook by the doorframe and it twisted it on. The leather material was cold from the night, and sent chills down her spine. She could thank the wife splits in the walls for that. There were many words that could be used to describe the Homestead, but insulated definitely wasn't one of them.