Saskias head had dropped drowsily into her hands, her elbows propped up by each of her knees. She had been so tired and worn out from everything that she had to sleep. Sitting there for hours and hours, letting her mind run wild with thoughts and memories made her tire even more. She had finally lost it when they sat down around the bodies, with sweet water rolling down their skin and her legs finally resting on the soft carpet. She slept in the fresh smell of death, her brain finally letting go and relaxing.

While this would seem all fine and good, it will cost her so much to come. When someone is subjected to such horrific and terrible events, it is not uncommon for them to block out said memories in hopes of moving forward and healing. Sometimes, it goes too far. Saskia's memory is slowly crippling away as she sleeps, bit by bit her memory of where she is and who she is will fade, until her memories are a blank field, yet to be imprinted upon by anyone or anything.

Even in her sleep, her dreams are the last of her life she will see. These few dreams will be the only relics of her past, the only ones she can say to be true because she only trusts herself.

The things her mind chooses to show are peculiar to say the least, she sees herself sitting in class on an ordinary school day - although she doesn't know that its Queenwood - , and she sees only a few students around her - although she doesn't know that they are the people that have died during this night - , but for some reason she feels like someone is missing, someone she can feel in the room but not see. She sees everything in shades of red, like her vision has been coated in clear red plastic, she wants to move around in her dream but it feels like she's being held down, and her head held still. Like there is something behind her that would give her too much information, something she isn't allowed to remember.

The last thing she feels before the dream ends, before all of her memories fade away, before everything she knows turns to dust and is swept away under the rug, is an intense scraping down her neck. Like the blades of a knife etching into her skin, and finally stopping just below the nape of her neck. Then, a soft hit, like a red flower blossoming on her skin. Then blackness, then nothing, then everything disappeared.