Remembrance

She woke up.

Arms stretched out, reaching for a person that was not and could not be there. Tears forcibly left her, gravity pushing them down her face and onto the bed. Her breathing increased slowly to an almost impossible speed.

And. She. Woke. Up.

Memories pounded into her skull without mercy or pause to process any of it. It wasn't fair. That is what she barely able to process, if only because it was so reoccuring. Lifetimes of every moment possible where she found love only for it to end in such an awful note.

Only to end with them in her arms dying, and her remembering. And she remembered everything.

Throwing her blanket over head with a pillow in her arms, she tried to hide from the world (and from the memories). Her head slammed into the pillow, desperately attempting to muffle her hystrical cries, each sob being achingly pulled from her gut. Quickly, her face could feel the wetness on her pillow, and it only kept increasing. Her heartbeat slammed against her chest, almost violently.

How was she supposed to move on from this? How could she?

Who was she?

Rosales Evans.

That was her, yet not. It wasn't her. Or was it? But who else could she be?

"Rosales Evans." She breathed out the words into the soaked pillow, as if she could ignore every sob intertwined with her(?) name. Who was Rosales Evans?

Who was she, beyond loving her fated one?

Who could she be?

(Who could she be when everything she ever was... could only be found in her fated one?)

How could she move on from this?

Quickly she sat up and slammed her hands to her mouth, trying to ignore the building nausua. Moving only made it worse, adding to the dizziness she just discovered.

She could not do this.

A few moments passed as she focused just on breathing and being. Each breath took everything from her, all her focus. That was good. If she concentrated on the air in her lungs, she would not have to think of anything. Not a single thought to considering any memory of them or of the love of her life being...

(They were dying in front of her, she couldn't stop the bleeding, but no She was sick, so sick and nothing would cure it. His blank,blank eyes, and so unfairly-)

... Dead.

She died.

(She was free falling, only the tiniest bit of relief because this would finally be over. No more pain and suffering. She could finally rest.)

The world spun around her. Her hands dropped away from her mouth, in an attempt to ground herself by clutching at her bed. The quick movement only made the nausea worse. From that point, she disconnected from her body.

She saw herself heaving, releasing any stomach contents she was not even aware she had. Tears kept streaming down her face, her eyes crusted over. She looked like a mess.

(She was a mess.)

Time became an illusion as she continued to heave and continued to see herself heave. Eventually, her eyes slipped shut and did not open, her body falling asleep from the emotional turmoil.

Or what felt like it should be considered sleeping. Dreams (memories) past through her, but she was aware. It did not feel like she was resting at all.

(Nothing about any of that could sooth her mind and body and she should have Died. But she Woke Up.)

A ceiling appeared in front of her. It took a few blinks before she realized she was awake. Her cloudy gaze explored the room, barely taking in the details. She sat up slowly, distantly feeling sweaty and sticky and overall gross.

The next few hours were a daze to her. Later on, she would not recall cleaning up her room and then showering or mumbling a greeting to her parents(?) or walking away from the house and to a little forest path or sitting under a tree.

Her thoughts had no meaning and drifted through her head. She processed nothing and could not tell where she was or even who she was. It would be a call from her parents, looking for her, that the stars would shine through her daze and make her focus back in.

"Rosales!"

She rested her hands on the ground for a moment. A soft exhale later, she stood and almost floated towards the voices, no rush in her movements. Soon, she reached them, getting their attention simply by appearing.

The parents hugged Rosales, concerned but not too worried. They did not live in a dangerous territory of the kingdom. When they saw their child that morning, they had immediately zoned in on something being wrong.

Their baby was a precocious child. Tiny and stubborn and what made them believe in the world's goodness again. As a baby, she would only cry when she needed something, often making them concerned. Rosales smiled a lot, holding their hearts in her eyes.

As a child, their child would roam their home and around it, chasing chickens and fleeing from geese. Always cheerful and strong, she faced the world with positivity and curiously. Rosales was just so curious.

Malus and Evelina Evans owned just enough to live and never wanted anything more than that, until the day Rosales was born. They loved their child so, so much and just wanted her to be happy in any way possible, so they worked hard to give many opportunities to Rosales as possible.

After a pause, Evelina looked at her baby and rubbed her cheeks, asking softly, "Are you okay? We were worried."

Rosales, their sweet summer child, only mumbled something back, something that could almost be taken as an okay. Malus exchanged a look with his love, both instantly she lied. The brief silent conversation ended with them determining to not bring it up for now and to head back home.

They each grabbed a hand of Rosales and led her through the forest. Only the sounds of nature could be heard: the chirps of crickets, the almost silent rush of water from the nearby river, the hoots of owls, and the crunch of grass and sticks as the family walked on. Only the stars led the way, with the moon hiding that night.

Malus stared ahead, looking away from his concerned love and abnormally quiet child. He wished to break the silence but could only find himself lacking in this regard. He had never been talented when it came to conversations, much less in such a prominent way that was necessary currently. Taking a quick peek at Evelina showed her to be in the same state.

That was how they bonded so well when they first met, but that would not be able to help them now. He knew this almost instinctively. Something had happened to his child, his little baby, when he was not paying attention. All of this awareness did not change that he could do nothing.

Malus hoped this would not be a sign of the future.

That night, Evelina and he treated Rosales delicately. He fixed their baby's favorite food and made it nice and pretty, earning only a small thank you in return. Evelina braided Rosales's hair, singing quietly in an arguably off-tone voice. Whether she realized it or not, their child started humming along, making them smile in relief.

It was when they entered her room to put her to bed that her mom and dad realized something was wrong. Her sheets had been changed, and it smelt a little weird.

"Rosales, my daring?" Malus whispered questioningly, "What happened to your sheets?"

For the first time that day, Rosales showed a spark of life in those eyes, but it flared up briefly and painfully. Her eyes revealed more than they expected. Tired suffering reflected back at them in that moment, before a blink took away all emotions. Like that, her eyes went back to a daze.

"I threw up." She responded almost monotone and without any infliction. Immediately, hands flew to her forehead, checking for a fever. Without prompt, she added, a little disbelief in her voice, "I had a nightmare."

Again, Evelina and Malus looked at each other and questioned if they should push for more information. When it was clear that their daughter was too zoned out to be able to answer more, they left it alone but promised silently to ask her in the morning.

Then they tucked her into bed, each parent on one side. With a kiss goodnight each, Rosales laid in her room alone. The only light available came from the window near her bed, barely much at all.

Rosales found herself staring around her, at the dark room she now resided in. The cedar chest at the end of her bed had little rocks and dead flowers on top, none making any actual sense but something herself before this (a small child, barely a preteen and now she lost that childhood and had Memories instead) would have found intriguing. Quilts from the previous generations could be found in it, if one was to move all the decor on top.

On her bed, she had a few quilts herself, and she knew they had some significance. Nonetheless, she could not recall what significance it was. Her pillows held feathers, some method unknown to her on which and how. Other than those two main pieces of furniture, she had a cedar bookshelf, filled with titles that she once did not understand but could now.

It was almost a familiar dream - she thought to herself as her fingers traveled across the rough stitches of the quilt on top of her. A dream she would honestly wish to wake up from if she could.

Why did she remember so early?

That question barely had any thoughts or consideration attached to it. Absent-mindedly, she considered that (painful) question. Most likely, the answer simply came from her choosing to die. She had never done that before. Before, she would wait patiently for death and start this cycle all over.

The tightness in her lungs told her that she should stop thinking about this, so she tried to focus on her room again.

Her, Rosales Evans.

That is who she is now. Not the previous person who went through all of those memories. She was not them (but she was).

"Rosales Evans." She muttered, in an attempt of a firm determined voice. Her eyes closed, and the nightmares followed soon after. Every single time she watched the love of her life die, on repeat, never ending.

Even then, she did not wake and mumbled with a small amount of strength, "Rosales Evans."