The next day, after Nyssa had woken up from night's sleep, she felt too tired to stand up.
She closed her eyes again.
She felt she was just making everyone uncomfortable around her. And somehow, she felt like this feeling of being not good enough had stuck to her like a leech.
Her lips twitched. Finally, her eyes fluttered open. But she did not move.
The world still felt unfamiliar in the quietest ways. The scent of wood smoke, the distant hum of birds, the way the air felt… freer here. It should have been comforting.
But it wasn't. Maybe she was just the problem.
She pushed herself up slowly, brushing a hand over her face. Her memories–that refused to return – were still fractured, scattered like broken glass she couldn't quite piece together.
And sometimes it just felt so hopeless. Because she desperately needed to remember who she was.
Why did she look different from them?
The way she spoke too. She didn't sound like them.
Where was her own village?
