Chapter Text
"Ugh..." Abby groaned. Every part of her body felt like fire. Intense aching kept her from moving. A cacophony of sound assaulted her ears and she was dizzy even though she stayed still. Finally, she opened her eyes. The sun was bright, too bright, though leaves above her shaded the light some. She was wet, she realized and she sat up too quickly, grabbing her head at the resulting throb. She was sitting in a rapidly flowing creek under a cobblestone bridge. She stood slowly, careful of the growing ache in her skull and trudged out of the water and onto the grass to sit and collect herself.
She was covered in bruises and small cuts from head to toe, but nothing seemed broken as far as she could tell. She looked at her surroundings. Everything looked odd, but she couldn't figure out why. The noises that had pained her began to clear and she realized it was the combined calls of many animals coming from a thick jungle surrounding the area.
She sat a long time, letting her head clear, trying her best to shake the thick fog that filled her brain. She couldn't remember anything. Nothing at all. Her age and her name eluded her, trapped somewhere in the deep mist of her mind. She stood slowly, pulling her dripping skirt away from the skin of her thighs. Skirt? I hate skirts. The thought was jarring. A single identifying feature in an otherwise totally vague picture. She latched onto it, clutched it tightly to her soul. If she knew nothing else, she still knew she hated skirts.
The hot cobblestones of a path on her bare feet warmed her cold and aching body as she followed it. If there was a path, it would no doubt lead to people. People who maybe knew who she was.
The humid air kept her clothes from drying fully, but as the rooftops of a village came into view her clothes were now damp instead of dripping. She slowed her pace as she walked past the first of the buildings. Bright colors and well tended flower beds lined her way as she walked.
People were staring, she realized. She touched her loose, wet hair self-consciously. She had no way to know it wasn't her disheveled look or the blooming bruises on her cheeks that caught their attention. She didn't know how uncommon outsiders were. The whispers spread up the street faster than she could walk, and the clear activity that had been happening when she'd arrived seemed to stop as she passed.
Her heart was pounding, She wanted to escape the looks and whispers, but she didn't know where to hide. Her brain swirled in conflict, how could she ask any questions of these people who were whispering around her. The stares burned into her. The whispering grew louder and the fog pressed in on her too tightly. The last thing she saw before collapsing was a splash of dark fuchsia swirling through the tunnel of her vision before she sank helplessly onto the darkness.
Bruno could hear a commotion, but that wasn't unusual. It was Louisa's sixth birthday and preparations we're in full swing at mid-day. He'd been standing at his door debating on even appearing at the party. Once He saw that woman die, things in his life had changed. It wasn't the first accidental death he'd witnessed. She wasn't someone that he knew. The real reason was that he would be long dead before it ever happened. It was how he had grown so attached to the her sad and tired eyes as he'd watched her young adult life unfold in a tragedy far greater than his own. It was the understanding that he would never see her in a happier vision.
Every sour prophecy that followed hit harder than before. The accusations and rumor wore on him heavily. He lived hidden in the folds of his ruana and the vast loneliness of his room. He hardly ate and almost never slept. He chose instead to keep scraps from his meals and train the rats, now many more than before. Jorge and Maria had been busy.
He opened the door to utter chaos. Pepa was storming violently just inside the door. Julieta was shooing all four of the children off to the nursery and while the girls had gone solemnly, without a fight, little Camilo refused to leave his mother. Pepa groaned and grabbed her son, carrying him off to the nursery herself storm clouds firmly in place.
At the door stood his mother. Her head was low as she whispered to Felix who stood beside her. He carried a young woman in his arms. She was black and blue all over. thin lines of red littered across her skin. Her clothes were damp, the white blouse clinging tightly to her chest, hair falling limply over Felix's arm. Her face was pale and his breath caught. He thought he might vomit.
He ducked back into his room, slamming the door behind him as he kneeled into floor heaving. Before he could collect himself there was a knock on the door followed by the sharp wip of his mother's voice. "Bruno!"