Darkness.

There is solace in the darkness. Perhaps not peace, but not chaos either. There is nothing, and nothing is the way I liked it.

And then, without any warning, shards of pain erupt through me. At first, it is like being stabbed with a hundred pieces of fragmented glass repeatedly, without rhyme or reason in the locations chosen. But the pain grows, and grows, and grows, until it encompasses the entire length of my body. I can't distinguish between it and I. My name might as well be synonymous with pain.

My name.

What is my name?

Did I forget, or did I ever know it in the first place?

I think I hear a random melody of syllables in the back of my mind, but when I try to reach and bring it forward, it disperses like a stone thrown into a still pond.

Whatever those four syllables had been, they are gone now, and I don't even know if they are my name or not. Did they even mean anything at all, or was it a trick?

Is this all some game brought about by a higher power just wanting to have a little joke before starting everything over?

What is my name? Who am I? Does it even matter? Am I real?

And then, just as suddenly as the pain had come, it disappears, leaving me without anything to hold onto.

A second passes, and there is nothing but the hopeless feeling that accompanies not knowing the question you need to ask, much less the answer. I am lost. Lost, lost, lost.

Is that who I am?

Everything is so fast and sudden. What could have been hours trickles away down to seconds, like water down a stream. Like sand being blown away by the ruthless ruler that is the wind across a vast expanse of land with no idea of a destination in mind.

Am I a grain of sand, blown through a desert? Minuscule? Unworthy?

Regardless, a blinding light shortly follows the disappearance of the pain. I move my hand in front of my face to shield my eyes, but the light is everywhere, and it does no good.

Wait. Hand? Face? Eyes?

I squint against the impossibly bright illuminance and look down at my body. I trace my fingers up my arm. The sensation is unnatural, wrong. I shouldn't be able to do such a thing, and yet I am. I shouldn't be able to feel, and yet I do.

A voice, closer than what I would find comfortable startled me out of my thoughts.

"Divinity's children, George," it says, as if it is watching a monster scratch at the iron bars of its cage in a useless attempt to escape. Am I a monster? "This is unholy."

"Like it?" asks a voice in return, one that strikes a bell somewhere deep below the churning thoughts of survival. "It was surprisingly easy."

"I don't like it," says a third, very similar in tone to the first. "I say we take its life now before this spirals out of control."

I can't explain the sudden urge that sparks within me: the urge to run or fight. I don't know what the third voice meant, but I do know that whatever they suggested was something to be feared. I let out a low sound that reminds me of a desperate growl, hoping that would convince the voice to step down.

"Oh, look at what you've done!" reprimands the second voice, followed immediately by the scrape of metal against concrete. I whimper at the sensitive noise.

The bright light slowly fades, and once more my vision is blinded by darkness. I shift, trying to peer through it, as I swear I can see the faint outline of bodies. And is that a gentle glow pushing back against the shadows, or is my mind playing tricks on me?

I hear footfalls against the concrete, getting closer and closer, and then the second voice is right besides me. It utters something I don't understand before I feel a warm touch brush against my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

I open my mouth to speak, trying to remember how to shape it in order to form words. Finally, after too long, I manage to force out, "Don't  let them send me back."

A laugh erupts through the darkness. "I won't. As long as I'm here, you have nothing to fear." The warmth moves to my face, and I swear I can pick out the whiteness of two eyes staring into my own.

"George, this is ungodly," the first one says, reiterating a point that will never get across. "Look at it! It shouldn't be alive! It's a monster!"

I recoil at the thought. A monster? Am I the monster he's so afraid of?

A light explodes from just in front of me, making me flinch back in surprise at the sudden brightness illuminating the room. I can see what's around me; I'm locked in what has to be a birdcage. Only problem is, I have no idea what a birdcage is. Or a bird. Or a cage. Somebody is kneeling right in front of me, and I realize after a moment that this must be the owner of the second voice, the one who wants to protect me.

"Don't you dare use that word. And stop saying it." He says something else that I don't understand, that one word at the beginning throwing me off. There's a pause, and the warmth of what must be his fingers caresses my cheek lightly, almost too lightly, as if he was afraid that I would snap at any moment. For the first time, I relax as he angles my head so I'm looking in his eyes.

"Who am I?" I ask, my voice pitiful even to myself. "Who are you? And where are we?"

A moment passes where my questions go unanswered. I swallow nervously in that moment, glancing around the birdcage. There is only one exit, and it is guarded by bars. Two other men stand just outside the exit, and the way they cling tightly to their swords makes me recoil. But other than the door, I am trapped. Caged.

Finally, the second voice speaks, startling me back to his gentle gaze. "All of your questions will be answered in due time, but if you must call me something, call me George."

"George," I repeat, rolling the word around my tongue. I like how it feels. George will protect me. George is safety. "Why don't I know who I am?"

This time, there's no pause. "Truthfully, I wish I knew."

"Oh. Why am I in a cage?"

"It's a temporary solution designed for your own safety. Once time wears on, and you get stronger, we won't lock you up in a cage. But for now, why don't you try standing up?"

I nod and shakily rise to my feet. I don't know how I know how to do so, but I am standing. The blood rushes to my head, and I wince at the uncomfortable feeling that overcomes me.

"Careful. You've been lying still for quite a while now," George says softly, and he rises and places a hand on my back to help steady me.

I edge forwards, George behind me making sure I don't fall. It feels strange, like something I had once known and forgotten about. I reach the bars keeping me locked in and reach out, grasping onto them to hold. The sensation of being stung erupts through my hands and I fall back from the bars, falling back into George's hands. "What happened?" he asks, worried.

"Steel," I say, the single word unfamiliar yet a curse. "Can't touch steel."

George doesn't respond to this but instead helps me back to the center of the cage and sets me down gently. He examines my hand for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before he finally lets it fall and looks back up at me. "I have to go tend to some other business," he says. "But I'll be back later, okay?" He pauses for a moment, taking my face in his hands once more. My breathing is unsteady, but he's grounding me. "Please, don't be afraid. I am here to help you. As long as I'm alive, no harm will come to you. I know it might all be scary, but it's going to work out in the end. I promise you."

I consider crying out for him, begging him not to leave me alone in the unfamiliar place, but he's gone before I even have the chance to open my mouth. He takes the light with him, and I am alone. I draw my knees to my chest and rock back and forth, trying to keep myself from crying.

I don't know anything. Who I am, where I am, and what George wants with me. Because as much as he wants to protect me, I know he has a motivation for doing so. Something he can gain. I just don't understand what it is.

All I can do in the meantime is do what he said and try not to be afraid, even if an ugly, primal part of me deep down inside tells me that George isn't going to protect me, that danger looms around every corner.