The girl was sitting on a straw bed, surrounded by looming and ominous figures. They were going at it again, asking her the same questions and sounding upset. She assumed them to be the same ones as the day before. The inquiries were identical at least. Her memory might be playing tricks on her, but the ones from yesterday seemed pretty clear. She wished it could be the same with her vision, for she did not quite see accurately. Still, judging by the long white robes, they should be the same people. Religious, it seemed. How did she know that? Like many things, she did not manage not recall.

Apparently, they suspected her of breaking into the cellar and stealing some medicinal herbs. There was no sign of  the burglary but for her door left open. Preposterous. Could they not see that she was drooling all over herself? And quite embarrassingly so, she might add. She did not remember what she ate two days ago, but they made her out to be some kind of criminal mastermind? And the idiots had the nerve to talk down to her, as if SHE was the dull-witted one. It must be because of the drool. If only she could tell her mouth to stop.

Why did they keep asking about the same topic? It was only some weeds. They acted like these were vital to her treatment. The strange thing was, she could not help but feel better than before. She could remember most of her day and it unsettled her. Thinking back, perhaps it was not such a good thing, since she recalled her breakfast. Who would like to recollect being spoon-fed a suspicious and disgusting brown sloth, as if they were a babe or a disabled elderly?

The questions kept coming. How did she manage to get out of her room they asked. The person in charge at the time sweared locking it up like they did so every other night. She wanted to scream at them that if she had any skill at picking locks, she would have left this awful place ages ago. Maybe it was worth a try, the never ending questions should stop then. She opened her mouth but no words came out, only drool. There was always more drool apparently. How useful. The girl tried sleeping, for there was always a chance these annoying intruders should be gone by the time she woke up.

****

She opened her eyes to find herself alone, and smugly satisfied her plan had worked. She could see inside her room clearly now, it was odd since the few things she managed to recall were all foggy. Her vision was getting better, she concluded with a pang of hope. She was still laying on the same straw mattress. There was daylight coming inside from the unique window in the room. It was small, the glass was darkened, covered with some tight iron grid on the inside. Perhaps the white robbed idiots thought she would try getting out this way. She looked down at herself. Perhaps she was skinny -and filthy-, but she would have to undergo quite the diet to manage such an escape.

Inspecting the walls proved to be surprising. The person in charge of the... decorations?... was obviously deranged. Writings over writings from top to bottom, covering every one of them. Most of the words did not even make sense, and the floor had also fallen victim to this mad writer. A whole area in a corner was black, the floor and walls around it seemed to be burned. And there were the disturbing spots of dried blood. The girl did not think she was much of an artist, but the ensemble was definitively done with poor taste. Nothing else in her chambers to turn her attention to but a lone chamber pot. She sighed.

She thought back on the thieving incident and found an explanation. Someone had broken in and stolen the goods, before locking everything back, leaving her own room opened to frame her. Such conspiracy against her person warranted retribution. It should irk her but she could not do much about it, apart from drooling on the culprit perhaps. The girl was glad her mind was working better, so she decided to let it slide for now.

Then she noticed the ambient noise. How could she not have had before? It might be worst characteristic of the place. A strange chorus, one without any intelligible words. Once more, she would concede not being an expert on musical matters. However, she was confident things like rhythm and melody were important. She wondered if the culprit was the same person who decorated her chamber. That should be a legitimate explanation. After failing as a writer -or interior artist she was not sure-, that person managed to fail as a composer. Such tenacity in face of adversity, namely an abysmal lack of talent or common sense, was surely laudable in a certain way.

The last thing she noted was her own lack of hygiene. Her dark hair was long, filthy and filled with knots. There were more knots than actual hair, she remarked. The girl was wearing a long gray robe, adorned with an impressive collection of stains. She could guess the nature of most of them, but it would not be a proper thing to think about out loud. Whoever wore this dress before her, that person must have had trouble retaining all kinds of body fluids. But she had to admit that it was practical. One single piece of cloth was covering the whole body and it was not impairing movement.

More alarming than the state of her garment was the one of her skin. It was covered in filth and scratches, disgraceful, truly. The hands were the worse off, for they showed a disgusting array of scratches and bruises. Finally, there was a disturbing amount of dried blood on her fingers, and most nails had gone missing. Feeling shame for such a pitiful appearance would be the proper reaction, but there was no water available in the vicinity. The blame was surely not hers then. Perhaps drooling could help? She would need a considerable amount.

****

She woke up to the sound of her door opening. She was feeling terrible, and her senses seemed... sharper. The girl could feel her body aching in quite a few areas, especially her hands. And her throat was dry. Opening her eyes she saw an old, white-clad woman entering the room. She proceeded to feed her younger companion some more of the dreaded recipe. Another breakfast should mean another day though she wasn't certain. Judging by the way the intruder dressed, she must be a nun or a sister of the One God. She fed the girl with quick and efficient gestures, showing a long-term habit. She left without a word, grabbing the bedpan before locking behind her. The girl was feeling a strange kind of hunger growing inside of her, one the act of eating didn't seem to affect. On the bright side of things, her thought process was getting better. She was also beginning to remember her past a little.

There had been another life before coming to this place. It was still not clear, but she suspected that it had been a significantly better one. How could it not be? She was starting to see her current predicament as a lot more awful than she previously did. How much time had she spent in this small, horrible room, she didn't know. Her hair used to be shorter, did she know the average growth rate of human hair? Probably not. It didn't seem something she would have found relevant in her previous existence. Perhaps a curious thought for a girl her age. Did she even know her age? The girl vaguely recalled turning sixteen once, but how long ago had it been? All these questions were making her head spin now, she should sleep. A fine idea, maybe it would make this strange hunger go away.

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She dreamt. There was a boy, but sometimes he was a young man. The little girl loved following him around but it did not please the adults very much. She did not care. Nobody understood her but him, he was like the sun to her. She tried everything the boy did, learned everything he learned. He used to be impressed with how clever she was, how well she was able to keep up. The parents -she could not remember their faces- kept telling her to stop such conduct but it was useless. The girl was getting better at avoiding them, scheming and plotting to follow the boy without getting caught. She was happy, so incredibly happy. Until that day.

She woke up in a sweat, breathing heavily. She had a brother, an older one. How could she have forgotten? Or were these memories nothing but a fantasy? What happened that day? Did it have anything to do with her current situation? So many questions were racing through her mind. And the cursed hunger was back, only stronger. Her brain was working better but she could not feel really glad about it. Her whole body was aching now, and she was starting to miss the previous dullness of her senses. She missed the fog and wondered why.

The same woman came back as the light coming from the window was growing thin. The meal was different this time, it must be supper then, the girl assumed.

"Poor child, look at you all covered in sweat. Don't worry, we will have some more medicine for you soon enough. It will all get better I promise, just wait until after dark." She said after the embarrassing feeding was over.

As the wrinkled woman left, the girl wondered how she felt about the news. Some form of treatment was probably needed, for she was now shaking violently. But she was remembering things now. Would she forget again? She had another life, a pleasant one with a wonderful brother. And she had parents. She did not recall much about them, but surely they could not be much worse than the ominous white robes, could they not?. But the pain was getting worse. Was it worth it, she asked herself? Perhaps she should sleep, and everything would be easier on the morrow. The pain should be gone, but that did not necessarily mean her memories would be too.

DO NOT FORGET!

The girl tried standing up but her legs were trembling, she fell back on her mattress. She should not forget, she took a deep breath and tried again, falling on her face this time. It hurt. But she could not allow herself to give up, she lifted her head and paused, seeing the wall. Of course, she realized, the answer was obvious. They had no right to take her memories from her, she thought as she crawled towards it. There must be some space somewhere, even the tiniest spot, where she could write it down. The pain was almost unbearable but she kept searching. She had to be quick, less she forgot.

THERE!

She found a small, blank patch. Now all she had to do was to start writing... But how to do so without tools?. There had to be something, she told herself, looking around her. Countless writings ornated the walls. These were done by an obviously deranged mind. Inside a closed room, where a single person was living. It was not a great mystery, you silly girl. If she was the culprit then she should have some kind of writing tool in her possession. She went through the only possible hiding place, the straw bed, not the chamber pot. The later was being emptied regularly anyway. The light coming from the window was fading now, adding to her sense of urgency. The old woman had said after dark, she recalled with fear. The girl was now throwing handfuls of straw around the room, destroying her bedding. But there was nothing inside, she cried out in disappointment.

THINK!

She took her blanket and looked it over. It was getting harder to see by the minute now. She shredded it in frustration when her search revealed nothing. There was only one other place left to investigate, she thought and patted down her own body in haste. Maybe she had pockets in her dirty blouse. The sound of voices coming from outside, men talking to each other, added to her sense of urgency. The chatting was getting louder, closer each instant. She was about to start ripping her clothes in despair, when she had another idea. Her hair. A hairpin would be the ideal instrument, easy to hide and one could scratch the walls or the floor using it. She was a genius. The girl started to go through her black mane with renewed energy, ignoring the hurt in her hands. Fingers were getting tangled in the many knots. It was there, she knew it, it made perfect sense.

In what seemed like an eternity, the girl went on with her search. She heard the terrifying sound of a metallic door opening close by, but she could not let it distract her. Methodically, she went through each knot, each strand of hair. She had taken it all into her left hand while using the right one to separate and inspect. One small bunch after the other. The male voices were getting alarmingly close by now. Tears of despair were starting to flow down her cheeks, as the left hand was holding less and less. She was right, she knew it, it was there. It had to be there. The girl was now trembling, as she reached for the last bit of hair.

YOU WERE WRONG.

The crying intensified. She looked at the black ceiling in despair. She heard another door opening, it could be the last one before hers, but it did not matter anymore. Salty water was fogging her vision now. The girl started wiping it with both hands. She should feel better tomorrow. She would go back to being an empty shell, but at least the pain should be gone. She resigned herself to her fate. Perhaps this time she would not forget, she hoped. She opened her eyes and glanced towards the wall through her fingers.

YOU IDIOT, STUPID GIRL.

Her hands. The missing nails and the blood on the ones she had left. The bloodstains on the writings. How could she have missed it? Now was no time for beating herself up, she thought, she flew to the blank spot she had previously found. What should she write? About brother of course, that was the most important thing. The girl started scratching the wall in haste, ignoring the hurt in her fingers. She would win, she would remember, and one day the two of them would meet again. The girl cried out when her nail broke in half, but she kept writing. She heard the voices behind her now, followed by a clicking sound, keys going inside a lock. It didn't matter. Her hand was bleeding and tears of pain were clouding her vision but it did not stop her. Only a few more letters, she still had one nail. The door opened and light shone on her work.

"When will you stop this nonsense? You're hurting yourself, girl." Said a dry, sharp voice, but she ignored it.

"I'll just hang this from the ceiling and the smoke will make you feel better." Another one. The girl did not care for the task was almost finished.

"Grab her will you, brother Gregory, the lass is bleeding."

"No!" She yelled out when a hand took hold of her ankle.

The girl's whole attention was on the small spot in front of her. The one where she was inscribing her most precious memory. So she kicked blindly behind her, using all her strength. She was rewarded with a scream of pain and a pang of satisfaction.

Soon, another set of hands grabbed her shoulders from behind. They were too late, the writing was done. She let out a sigh of victory, and let herself being sat down. Three forms dressed in white were looming over her. One had just hanged a small contraption from the ceiling, smoke was coming out of it, slowly filling up the room. The second one, brother Gregory she assumed, was growling at her in a way that made her skin crawl. She averted her eyes and stared at the ceiling. After a little while, the third one took his hands off her and let go. The men, satisfied now that she was being docile, turned their backs to her and began to leave. The fools closed the door behind them, completely unaware they had been outsmarted. The girl couldn't help but smile smugly.

She was feeling tired now, and decided to lie down. She glanced at the nearest wall and wondered how many bits and pieces of her past were hidden in there. Using the last rays of light coming from her window, she looked closer at the writings. A phrase which she could barely make out amidst others caught her attention. She must have had some ink at a time, maybe a quill also, for it was neatly penned. She squinted her eyes in a last ditch effort to understand it before falling into slumber.

Then she felt her blood freeze in her veins, when she managed to read it:

I HAVE A BROTHER.

The exact same phrase she had just carved elsewhere. How many times had she... She fell asleep.