Wasting Time

Balin awoke to the smell of cedar and cinnamon in the air, eyes fluttering from the light reflected through the indoor waterfalls above him, heat radiated in every corner of him. He frowned just from the feeling of returning to this strange place.

Lia was dead.

Alexi was gone.

Father was killed.

Balin could see himself making the same mistakes as before but now his memories flowed relinquished from butcher-style alterations that Amoeba had thoughtlessly placed inside his head. He remembered everything as it happened but there were a few memories muddled and difficult to decipher. Dietrich was that memory. The feeling of animosity no longer compelled Balin but they were replaced with the complexities of heat. A warmth that seemed to travel through every inch of him until he was left lucid and giddy.