Today is my birthday. Day 2183 of being a captive.
That is my assumption. I try moving my fingers.
Please remember. My name. Please.
Ilyssa, my name is Ilyssa. I’m Fae. I am a Fae. My fingers stop twitching.
I had two other names I had to remember today. What were they?
Do the pain givers know them? I don’t want them to know the names. Because I care about those names.
I do. Do I?
Yes, I do. Because those names are my family. They are.
Just give me my dreams. Let my memories be changed again so I can see their faces.
Those faces belong to Fenrix and Aurora. I almost smile from the relief of remembering the names of my brother and sister.
They are not the ones who gave me life. What do I call them? They are the ones who have the same blood as I. The same… same parents. Yes, that's the word…
My parents' names are easy to remember, which is frightening.
Their names are Kor and Lilith. They are important. I am important. Aren’t I?
I know that "Royal" sounds correct.
I know another name, and it isn’t hard to find. It is the name of my homeland, my Isle.
.
I know things that the world doesn’t know. But I can’t remember them. And it makes me sad. I do remember where I am, though. It causes pain every day. It is a box. This box. An iron box. And I know that I’ve been here six . I try to list the things I know. What I told myself yesterday and the day before. And the day before that.
I tried to kill myself when I was fifteen. I can still feel the visions hitting me, still hear the screams of innocent beings, still see the destruction I would cause if I stayed in this world.
I want to die. My life is a danger to the world. Because my power will cause people pain.
I am worthless to my family and the crown. Crown, what's that?
I am unworthy of the power I hold.
I need to die. I know.
I want to die. I so desperately do.
Why do people crave power? Because…
Another sharp current coursed through me, causing my muscles to spasm in agony. Through the iron woven into my skin. Through the mask embedded in my face. Through every nerve in my body. My throat is sore from screaming. All that escapes me is a hoarse croak. But as I arched my neck from the torment, a feeling of relief passed through me. I think it is someone or something. But as quickly as the feeling came, it departed, leaving me only with the cold.
With the iron that keeps me shackled. I am cold. It was not cold before. Seven days ago, I was burning. It was burning.
The place I wake to every day is filled with shadows. Shadows enveloping me. Shadows embracing me until it hurts. Until all I see is darkness
Why can’t they just let go?
I want to die. I cannot remember. My memories are changing and being taken from me. This torment is different from physical pain. It hurts almost as much. They show me and take it away and change it, morph it, so that my memory is now confused. Why?
I must die. Yes? If I shout it loud enough, will it happen?
Six .
My birthday.
Twenty-one cycles of life and nineteen hundred and seventy-six remaining.