The Forgotten IX

“Who is she?”

“No one knows her name. I’m not sure she knows.”

Laughter.

“They say it’s too dangerous to speak her name even if we knew it.”

“Why?”

“She’s supposedly got some serious backing. If they knew she was here, they would destroy the Realm to get her back.”

“You’re full of shit, Go’Sogoth. Pour the ale.”

They think I don’t hear them. I do. And it’s true about Go’Sogoth; I’ve seen him eat it.

I hear everything in this … wherever I am. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t know what I look like. The guards say I’m beautiful – compared to them, maybe I am. I don’t know why I’m being held; they don’t speak to me at all. I guess they’re not allowed.

And I don’t know my name. If what the guards say is true … I hope I remember. I’d love to call in some help and get out of here. Wherever “here” is.

Stone. Steel bars. That’s all I know. That, and loneliness.

I’m allowed one robe to wear. It’s red. Matches what little light there is in here. I never take it off unless the guards are asleep.

I’ve looked at my body when the guards aren’t near my cell. Maybe it’s pleasing? I don’t know for sure.

I do know I’m covered in tattoos from, well, from as far up as I can see to the tops of my feet. All kinds. I wish I knew what they meant.

The ones on the backs of my hands are the most detailed. The one on my left has a circle with a star inside. The other has a cross shape. Both of them feel so familiar, and I think they mean something. I wish I could remember getting them.

Who am I? And why do I sense the guards are afraid of me?

I should put this journal away before the guards come back. I found it under a loose stone in the floor. It has a “Z” on the cover, crudely drawn, like a child would, maybe?

Who did they have here before me?