THE SHADOW'S BLADE

Prologue

I FELL.  

That was the last and only thing I remembered before I succumbed to blessed oblivion. Just when I thought that I was perfectly trapped in permanent bliss, I was beginning to feel something else.  

It was strange that I could only feel two things - the chill from this oblivion and the mild warmth. It would have been relatively easy to ignore the warmth. But to my great discomfort, it was slowly blazing. 

Warm. Warmer. Hot. Too hot.  

It was burning me inside out. 

I desperately wanted my oblivion back. The chill was so much better. The worst that it could do was numb all of my senses. Yet I couldn't go back, this fire was too much.  

Could something - anything put out this flame?  

There was something creeping from within me... radiating to every single inch of my existence.  

Bloody, bloody hell! I would have gladly burn myself to ashes a hundred times just to escape this ripping feeling. It was like being ripped to shreds by red-hot blades. Piercing, ripping, radiating at the same time. 

Oh, please, please, make it stop... 

"I believe there is nothing left that I could possibly do." Somewhere far away, I heard a voice. An elderly voice that, even if can only hear it faintly, it clearly had the warmth of a long-forgotten corpse. "Even if the fever breaks down and the wounds begin to heal, which is impossibility, too much blood was lost." 

"What?! You odious -"A woman's voice said perhaps. 

"Mrs. Germaine. That would be enough." Another man interrupted in a voice that was deceptively calm. Yet, there was a hint of anger in it, and perhaps, weariness. But what was evident in the voice was resignation. Was it possible for this stranger's voice to be concerned?  

"If you will excuse me," Oh, it was that cold elderly voice again. Was that a hint of irritation in his voice? The woman was right. The old man was detestable. How dare he become irritated with those two kind voices? "I shall take my leave. Let the girl die. Death would be a gift for her." 

Death? Is that what my oblivion was called? 

The old voice was right though. If everything stopped with death, then I desperately want that kind of relief. 

There was a moment of silence before the woman spoke in a passionate voice. "Ooohh! That cold, arrogant, selfish, horrid, detestable bastard! If he dies, even the devil would not take his soul for fear of freezing the flames of Hell!" There was a sound of faint frantic footsteps. Light ones which continued to pace somewhere near me. "Oh, you poor little girl... we will wait for that gentleman who brought you hear, then we will do everything we can to help you." 

She had a soothing voice. A warm gentle voice that made me want to reach out to it. But I can't, everything feels so heavy. 

Creak.  

Heavy footsteps were approaching. I couldn't hear what they were talking about. But somehow, I felt that Mrs. Germaine was leaving. I heard a soft thud from a distance. Like wood fitting in an open frame. A closing sound. 

I felt a cool wet cloth that was gently wiping my face. Ah, blessed coolness. It was enough to keep the fire at bay, but it was still there. From my face, to my neck, shoulders to my limbs, the fire was kept away. It was so gentle that I couldn't help but think that it was a sin to die without expressing my gratitude to this person. 

Then there was a strange liquid trickling from my lips into my mouth. I couldn't care less what it tasted like, for I was grateful for what little relief it would give to my parched throat. 

In my almost non-existent memory, somehow I knew this was not the first time I felt these kinds of sensations - searing flame, excruciating pain, and the desperate need to quench this thirst. It caught me bewildered at the thought of knowing that somehow I felt this way before, regardless of not remembering anything... other than believing that I fell. 

"Rest child. Everything will be fine." He had such a wonderful voice. Gentle yet it held a dose of authority. If only I could see the face of this voice. All voices had faces. 

With all the strength that I could muster in my pathetic state, I struggled to make some signs. Any gesture that I could make to show even the barest hint of gratitude to him. If only I could do that. If only... 

Was it blue or green?  

I found myself staring at a pair of odd-color eyes. The mere color was enough to remind me of a winter night's wind. Cold. Yet, as I stared deeply into those eyes, I had an odd feeling of feeling safe. Those same cold eyes had the power to melt the frost of winter. 

And then blessed oblivion enveloped me. But this time I knew that when I finally leave this solitude, I was going to open my eyes to a life that I have never experienced. What it might be, I somehow had odd feeling of anticipation and reluctance. But right now, I just want to rest. 

Then, I will wake up.