"It's Leith," I said as I reached into my pocket again to grab the suicide note. "Is this yours?"

“What?” The young woman cringed. She rose to her feet and snatched the paper from my hand, all the while looking at the words as if they were a disgrace. “I don’t even know what this is!”

It occurred to me that something was strange about her. She seemed just as disoriented as I, and much too calm for someone who’d walked out of the pond and witnessed another point a gun at her figure. It was like she had no true sense of self, like nothing was frightening since it didn’t feel like we existed—of course, that was assuming her situation was the same.

“What color are your eyes?” I found myself blurting before even giving it a bout of consideration. Because nobody would forget that, especially not with the gaze that she had.

When I saw she wasn’t answering, I said, “Why don’t you want to tell me that, too? It’s not like your name. I can know just by taking a glance at you.”

“Then why are you asking me?” she snapped, and I knew it—I just knew I had struck a nerve. “Why don’t you tell me the color of your eyes if you think this is funny?”

I smirked, and cocked my head to the side. “I can’t, actually,” I said. “I don’t remember what color they are. I don’t remember anything. And it’s the same for you, isn’t it?”

The young woman froze. Startled, she lost her footing and fell into the pond again.

The side of her arm hit the edges made of stone. Her skin—

A) Her skin peeled off, revealing a metallic structure, a spark of blue electricity, hidden beneath what I’d initially expected was going to be bone.

B) Her skin hardened—she appeared just as stunned as me when it happened, for we both stared at her arm in silent disbelief.

C) Her skin bled. As a cut formed against places now bruised, I cringed. “Are you all right?” I asked her. But the young woman slapped my hand away, and dashed past me before I could even blink.