Amanda's P.O.V.
The room was stifling. Dead air, deadening the silence, weighed upon me, like some unshed tear inside of me which refused to come out. I sat at my window, looking out into the sprawling gardens of Carl's mansion. My mind, however, had flown elsewhere.
Disjointed pieces of something that were at the same time so strange and yet so familiar started as flashes sometime back: a sound, a woman's voice calling my name; the echo of laughter with this feeling of warmth and welcome that just didn't fit into this cold, calculated life Carl said was mine.
My fingers dug in and scratched the nail deep across the skin. Would not those flashes let me be, hanging onto the edges of my mind tenaciously-never to let go and believe this version that Carl tried to sell so desperately as my life.
I abruptly got on my feet-my chair scratching the floor with me. The unease inside had brimmed; I wanted answers.