"I know you're not asleep."

She sighed, sitting up slowly and glaring at the source of the voice.

"I'm not anymore.  Your guards were plenty quiet, but your footsteps are loud as hell."

The man chuckled quietly.  He examined her, and she examined him right back.  They were both tall, his hair was black and hers was brown, his eyes dark hazel and hers bright blue, his skin brown and hers almost translucent.  The most noticeable difference between them was that her clothes were torn, old, and dirty; jeans and a no-longer-white tank top.  He wore a clean and vibrant robe, a golden crown atop his head.  A king.

He noticed she never looked ashamed, merely defiant.  What an odd creature.

"I am King Omond. And you are?" he asked, entering the cell.

She paused, thinking the question over.  "I don't recall my name.  For a long time, I have been 7103.  Perhaps the others would know, but those memories are lost to me."

The king paused for a moment, then huffed.  "What do I call you, then?"

She thought again.  "Seven."

"Seven?!" King Omond squawked, then regained his composure.  "You simply cannot be named a number."

"I can and I will," Seven said, staring at him evenly.

"I have never met a person like you," Omond muttered, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

"You're not used to a person not kneeling at your feet every time you look at them," Seven replied.  One of the guards let a snicker escape from their mouth, disguising it with a cough.  Omond let a smile dart across his face.

After a moment, the king left the girl, not being able to think of a clever answer.  She leaned back, sighing contentedly.   Most would be angry, perhaps even fearful if they were in her position, but she only felt relief.  They  could not get her here.  She was sure of it.

Then again, Fate always loves surprises.