The smell of blood is distinctive. Most smells can be mistaken for something else, but that copper sweet scent only ever meant one thing. Though why it was filling my nose as I woke up, my head throbbing painfully and my body weak as I tried to lever it up, I had no clue.

Actually… I had no clue at all. About anything. As I racked my brain for where I was, I came up with… nothing. Sighing, I blamed it on just waking up from what must have been a very long sleep, judging by how sore my body was. Crinkling my nose against the invasive scent of blood, I forced myself up to my hands and knees before wobbling my way to kneeling.

Only then did I dare to open my eyes, when the spinning of my head had died to just a slight disorientation. Though that quickly increased as I took in the sight around me. My head fuzzing over with a mass of confusion and fear that was almost terror. An attempt to move backward only tipping me back onto my rear. My hands, thrown out for balance, splashed into something warm and wet. An awful sort of dread curled in my stomach told me what it had to be. Still, I raised one hand to check- and choked back a scream when I found it covered in the same blood that coated most of the room I was in.

I was surrounded by the brilliant scarlet red of blood. Splashed across the floor, the walls, even the high arching ceiling. My mind finally provided one thing for me- I was in a church. A church that had been torn apart along with those inside it. Men and women lay scattered across the floor. Throats torn, bodies shredded, and it must have been their blood that coated everything. Their blood that released the thick scent that was making me dangerously unsteady.

My stomach gave a hard twist, and I nearly tipped over as I turned to the side to release the measly contents of my stomach. The bitter scent of acid only made it past the blood for a second. Then that copper sweetness was once more the only thing I could smell as panic started to take me. Whatever had happened, whoever had done it- were they still there? I didn’t know, and I had to get out before I learned it when I was sliced open like all the others.

I didn’t dare try to get to my feet. The harsh trembling that had taken me would only send me toppling to the ground. I scrambled forward still on my hands and knees. Tears burning in my eyes as I had to scramble over the bodies in my way. Those tears turned into hitching sobs when I saw several of those bodies belonged to children, their small faces frozen in pain and terror. More than once I had to pause, acid burning the back of my throat and tears scalding my face, before I could continue fumbling my way to the door.

It was harder the farther I went. Seeing the church broken to pieces put an ache in me that I didn’t understand. But I didn’t understand anything. The only thing in my mind was what was happening at exactly that moment. I couldn’t remember what had caused the deaths, what had torn the church apart. And I couldn’t remember anything before that, either. I had been born to the blood that bathed the church, the all consuming panic and fear that my blood would soon join that already splashed across the walls.

I barely made it. Though I was sure I would collapse before making it to the door, my desperately outstretched hand hit smooth, wet wood. My breath fluttered wildly in my throat as I forced myself up to my feet when pushing against the door with one hand didn’t provide any result. Neither did pushing it with both hands, my shoulder, my back. The door didn’t budge.

Desperate, I threw myself into the wood. It shifted- only a little, but a little was enough to give me hope. I slammed my body against the door several more times, my heart racing faster with each time I did it and the door only moved half an inch. I was ready to give up when the door moved farther, enough for me to see sunlight. The hope swelled until it was choking me, and I threw myself at the door one more time, with a wild cry.

It burst open, and I went stumbling out into the sunlight. Falling to my hands and knees in the dirt, my tears streaming again though they had stopped in my desperation to get out. Tears fuzzed the edges of my vision, and it was all I could do not to cry, relieved to simply be away from the worst of the blood. Though there was no escaping the horrid scent of it; my clothes, my skin, were covered in their blood.

But at least I was outside. In the sunlight. In the fresh air, not surrounded by gallons of the sticky red substance that coated my skin. I had to tell myself that, or I would go mad. I so fully convinced myself that I was safe, finally, that I was bending down to kiss the ground and murmur prayers to whatever god had listened to me. What I got, instead, was cold steel in my face. An awful sort of squeak ripped out of my throat as I threw myself back. Toppling over so that I was sprawled on the ground as I followed the length of the sword up to its owner.

If a man could be called pretty, that was what he was. Soft brown hair layered around a delicate, regal face, full lips pulled down into a frown. His eyes, a green so light they almost seemed to be yellow, had a hard look in them that I feared didn’t bode well for me keeping my head attached to my body. The three men behind him weren’t much better. Clothed more plainly where the brunette was in rich garb, they had angry, threatening expressions that had me sliding back a little more.

My mind provided for me the identity of the people before me. The one dressed so richly had to be a noble. A quick glance up further, at the ring of gold that rested on his head, made him more. The king. Protected by his guards. And pointing a sword at me. Funny how I could remember that, but anything else- say, who I was, why I had been in the church, and what had happened there-was far out of my grasp.

“Do not move.”

The king’s voice froze my awkward, scrambling attempts to get away from them. A quick, clipped step forward on his part had the tip of his sword resting against my throat. My eyes grew wide, my breath coming in uneven pants as I stared up at him. Words failing me as I silently pleaded with the man not to take my life when I had only just narrowly escaped death.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice gruff, not fitting with his soft face.

“I…” Even that small bit sounded strange to me. My own voice higher, sweeter than the king’s, startled me. I hadn’t even remembered the sound of my own voice. It made me wonder. Who was I? What did I look like? Where was I from? Those and a hundred other questions began to spin in my mind while I simply continued to stare at the king like the answers would come dropping out of his mouth.

“Who are you?”

The harsher tone of his voice made me jump a little. My breath catching for a moment before coming out on a gasp as his sword pressed forward and blood trickled down my neck. “I-I don’t know!”

The king’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned over slightly to be closer to my level. “Don’t know, hm?” His voice was soft, angry, matching the darkness in his eyes. “I don’t believe you. What is your name?”

“I-I don’t-”

“Where did you come from? Why are you here? What happened in there?”

The questions were shouted at me so quickly that I didn’t have time to really understand them, much less answer them. In the end, all I could do was spill tears of frustration, baring my teeth at the snarling king. “I don’t remember!”

Something crossed the king’s face. It was almost… sorrow? Quickly wiped away as his anger returned. He stood up straight, wiping my blood off the tip of his sword before he sheathed it. The man had already turned away from me before his voice rose. “Throw him in the dungeon and see if that jogs his memories.”

“What?” I breathed the word, horrified. “Wait, please, listen to me! I don’t know anything! I swear, it wasn’t my fault! I can’t remember what happened, but it couldn’t have been me! I swear! Please don’t throw me down there! Your highness! Please!”

Despite my struggling, his guards easily grabbed ahold of me. I was tossed over the shoulder of the largest one, kicking and screaming as horror and fear filled me once more. He couldn’t really mean to toss me into the dungeon, could he?

The answer became clear as the guard pinned down my flailing legs, shifting me so I had no chance to escape. I could only barely lift my head, trying to meet the king’s eyes as I pleaded for my freedom. What I saw there killed any hope I had that he might change his mind. His stiff-jawed determination as his guard carried me away- there was no way to convince him.

It didn’t stop me from screaming. Fighting and clawing when they tossed me in the cell. Or throwing myself against the bars when they locked me in. My voice echoing in the dungeon for hours, days, until I finally accepted the king’s decision. Giving in, and preparing myself to wait as long as it took for him to set me free.