Maëlys moved into her isolated house, a cold sanctuary facing the ocean. The silence of the small coastal town was supposed to heal her wounds, but it was a mirror reflecting the image of a stranger. She established golden rules: no proximity, no questions, no risks. Yet, a simple scent, a fleeting shadow, was enough to trigger distant echoes, fragments of a life she no longer recognized, but which chilled her to the bone. She trained herself to lock away her emotions, to become an empty shell, but solitude was a gnawing bite.
The days stretched on, long and uniform. Each morning, the same ritual. Burning coffee, an empty gaze at the grey horizon. She walked along deserted beaches, the wind whipping her dark hair, trying to chase away the thoughts that clung like seaweed. The town, with its narrow streets and its inhabitants with faces familiar to one another, left her indifferent. She sought nothing, no one. Just anonymity. Just oblivion.
Yet, oblivion refused to cooperate. The first time, it was the bitter taste of a certain tea, a flavour that awakened such intense sadness she dropped her cup. Another time, a child's laughter in the street triggered a fleeting image: delicate hands caressing her hair, a soft whisper in her ear. Glimpses, always glimpses, never enough to piece together the whole picture, just enough to remind her that a part of her was lost, buried beneath the wreckage of the accident.
Her apartment was her refuge, sterile and bare. No photos, no trinkets. Nothing that could reawaken a memory, an emotion. But even within its walls, the solitude weighed heavily. She read psychological thrillers, watched bland TV shows, anything to prevent her mind from wandering towards that painful void. She also ran, for miles, until exhaustion, as if she could outrun her own past.
One night, the silence was broken by the crash of a violent storm. Rain lashed against the windows, thunder rumbled, and Maëlys found herself prostrate on the floor, hands over her ears. Not the fear of the storm, but a deeper echo, a sensation of twisted metal, shattered glass, screams. She curled up, her body shaking with spasms, the blurry image of a dashboard, a blinding light. When the calm returned, she was trembling, breathless. It was the first time a flashback had been so intense, so real. The reality of her amnesia hit her full force, an invisible wound, but still raw. The past refused to die. And she, she didn't want it to resurrect.