I Don't Recall.

There were two people that strode down the halls of the shelter. The two weren't friends nor were they exactly enemies. One was a grown man who was called a murder and the other was a minor girl certainly not above the age seventeen. An unlikely duo, one would question who was the supposed leader of the two.

The two finally reached a room, one for the ill and injured.

"Five minutes is all I give you, any more than that I alert Reinhardt, kay?" Salem hissed at Dottie who had his hands tied behind his back.

Dottie didn't say anything but nod, something Salem thought was strange coming from someone who seemed to not be able to do anything else but talk. Salem opened the door and allowed him inside while trailing slowly behind. As she thought about things more deeply, she realized that she had absolutely no way to defend herself from a man as built as Dottie. Maybe Kryta would be able to take him down but not only did she have amnesia, she is in what appears to be an indefinite coma.

Dottie towards the bed where Kryta lied and just stared at the curtain that hid the girl. He didn't make a move for a good whole minute. This was just still too surreal to him right now, Emily should be dead yet there she was, breathing and sleeping just behind the curtain. He took in a heavy breath and slowly reached out to open the curtain and reveal the girl.

….

Dottie stared at the unconscious body of Emily with a surprised look on his face. He didn't know what to say or think, it was Emily but it wasn't at the same time. He felt a pit in his stomach start to grow. Who was this? It was Emily's body but not Emily. How did he not notice the first time? Was it the shock that fogged his mind to delude himself in thinking the girl who saved his life was alive?

"What did you call her?" Dottie quietly asked. As he did so the air around grew thick a pregnant feeling of anxiety filled the air, for Dottie at least.

"Kryta, she said she liked Kryta."

Kryta was a nearly perfect replication, but the differences were noticeable. She seemed so unapproachable compared to the loving and caring face that rested on Emily's head. The hair she wore in a long braid was something alien to Emily who loved her hair with much care to stress it with something like a braid. How mad she would get with having to tie her hair for the sports she played.

"To honor the many little girls who lived in a world not so nice who wished to have hair as wonderful as the many girls they saved with their will to survive!" was something Emily said in her speech to honor the history of Old and the many lives lost during the calamity.

"You know, Emily was obsessed with stories of Old but not the ones about the Saint's daughter, rather she liked the story of two young ladies who go by the names of Amithi and Aishia. Ashia also loved her hair," Dottie paused for a moment as he reminisced about the stories Emily would rarely talk about, "but not for the reason you think."

Two minutes left.

"I've been told many stories of Old but never one of Amithi and Aishia?" Salem pressed on, her sister was the only person who she knew who told stories or rather the biographies of people from Old. Amithi and Aishia were not one of them.

"I don't know the exact story but it's about two girls and that Aishia loved her hair so much that it touched Emily enough that it made her love her hair more than average. She said she heard from another girl who traveled out by the dome of Deaor. An evident story teller Emily would call her. That was how she learned about the story."

Thirty seconds left.

"That being said, this isn't Emily. I didn't kill 'this' girl" Dottie stated not that didn't fall short as a mumble, "Whether it be amnesia or what not, this definitely isn't the same girl who I killed"

"Five minutes are up, leave."

"Didn't you just hear what I sa-"

"LEAVE"

Dottie didn't say a word as he left the medical room and out the crude shelter. The plan finally began. This is the deal.

Salem sighed as she fell to the ground as she sobbed. Why couldn't it have been a normal day? Why couldn't her parents watch their mouths? Why did things have to be this difficult?

A murder, a betreyal, a lie, and diaster. Now Kryta may be as good as dead…

What did Dottie mean that Kryta wasn't Emily? She did forget who she was but she was still her… She did speak as if she was someone else, she didn't know even basic things, she had memories of another. What about that book? The stories people of Old used to read. The classic trope of getting isekied, was that it? Could this be something like that?

Salem let out a crude laugh to think that she entertained the thought. She was not her sister.

"Kryta…?" Salem croaked out ever so faintly. It was odd, for Salem that was. She had no reason to speak out to Kryta yet she did. Was it out of loneliness? Or was it for answers that Salem desperately needed. It could also be that Salem had grown attached to the girl who had saved her life. Or even the fact that Kryta may as well be the only other person here. Salem herself wasn't too sure either.

She received no answer. Predictable.

Salem sighed as she rested her head on her knees as her tears and mind went to a state of calm. Don't think just breathe. There are no monsters, no daisies, no disasters, just me and her and Kryta.

_________

On the other side of the crudely built facility was Dottie who hid from the guards who kept the halls clean from the filth of daisies. It should have been an easy thing for Dottie but as fate would have it, Salem never undid them leaving him with the difficult task of escaping.

But things are never easy when the girl who saved your life multiple times is in a coma or in Dottie's case, gone.

Wonder how the said girl is doing.

I don't recall.