It had taken months of therapy before I was strong enough to leave the hospital, my muscles having atrophied during the comatose state I was in for over three years. The daily 'exercises' the nurses were able to do for coma patients could only do so much, after all.

I'd been given very little information on who I was, the hospital only having my name from an old school ID card that had been in my wallet when they had brought me in. The only other things they could give me was the wallet itself, containing nothing more than the school ID card and a bit of money, enough for a meal if I was lucky.

They said the police might have more information, but had not been willing to share it at the time of my admittance due to 'confidentiality' issues. Something the hospital staff was able to understand quite well,.

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Weeks had passed since leaving the hospital and still the one thing on my mind every day, from the day I woke up, was who in the world was Shina, and why was their name carved into nearly every part of my body, the scars having faded over the years into thin white lines. The doctors had said that they looked like the wounds had been mostly self inflicted, based on the what they looked like.

The carving on my back was the only place where the name seemed to have been written in a far more gentle hand. Most likely a females, according to the one doctor who seemed willing to give his opinion on that particular brand upon my skin.

Perhaps it was best that I didn't remember who I was, if the life I lived had caused me to leave such marks upon my skin. Hopefully I would never remember who I was. I had refused to talk to the police, not wanting to learn anything about my past.

But why does my heart always seem to flutter every time I see that name upon my skin?