There was a blinding pain first. It permeated her entire being, spreading pulses of hurt with each breath. It seemed to be stemming from her head, though with each blink the sheer amount of agony made the origin impossible to locate.
The woman had never felt this much pain in her life. Not even when…Not even when what?
The pain flared again, forcing her to close her eyes and take slow, shallow breaths, hoping it would go away soon.
The woman was sitting somewhere. Her back was pushed into an unforgiving surface, somehow cold, hard and squishy. It was as though someone had soaked wood for hours and then propped it behind her: wet but still solid enough to hurt.
Maybe because of her lack of movement or some act of God, the pain seemed to be retreating. Taking a steeling breath, she opened her right eye.
Then, her left.
She was in a room, though, if it could be called a room anymore she was not sure. The wall in front of her had been entirely smashed through. Shards of glass and brick littered the floor and protruded from her feet, contributing to an ever growing pool of blood.
She had no shoes on. Her feet were bloodied up to her knees. The woman was wearing some sort of smock, like the kind you'd expect an impoverished victorian child to wear.
Wait, what is a victorian child? Why do I know this?
The pain flared again. It was almost as though the pain was blocking her from remembering. In fact, she couldn't remember anything.
Her name, her age, her entire life was like a chalkboard with the agony slowly wiping it clean until there was nothing but an empty canvas. Nothing to make her, her.
Her breaths started coming out in fast puffs, Her throat closing as panic surrounded her. She was somewhere with no idea who she was and no idea how to get home. The woman was covered in blood, barely moving as pain assaulted her every nerve.
Whose blood was this? Is it mine?
Her head swam with questions as she slowly pushed herself upright, the pain conceding to her wishes and her feet settling on the rough floor. The glass hurt but it was nothing compared to what she was already experiencing. Her head swam and her vision blurred as she attempted to understand what she was seeing.
The woman was in some sort of ruin. It could only be described as such now. Perhaps, some time ago, it was a great feat of mankind. Something that demonstrated how far civilization had progressed through its towering arches and stained glass windows. Now, it was in despair.
Rain crashed down, weathering the already ruined masterpiece. It pushed into the room, swirling with the blood in a devilish dance, tainting the floors a gross shade of red.
Her eyes cleared fully, finally overcoming the awful sensation that had been plaguing her. The woman surveyed the room, turning in a circle slowly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She had been sitting on a wooden chair, aged by rain and rot. The once magnificent carvings had melted away with time, replaced by a greenish tint and a sour smell. A few feet to the right of her was a table, strewn sideways to block a door.
Why the door was blocked she had no idea. The entire wall in front of her was already destroyed. It seemed pointless, but she decided to ignore it momentarily.
The rest of the room was once to be marveled at. There were ripped tapestries adorning the walls, candles littering the floor and stories whispering in the surviving windows despite the layers of grime. On the far left, the remains of a chandelier, once grand, lay lifeless on the floor.
Taking hesitant steps, the woman walked towards the gaping wound in the building. The entryway gave way to a steep drop, rain pawing at her feet. Her hand reached out to the wall, bracing herself to withstand the wind as she peered down.
Below was blanketed by trees. Though the woman had to admit, she was happy to see green rather than red. The stench of blood was beginning to disgust her.
Rain pushed through her hair, massaging the blood off her curls with each drop. She was unsure if her hair was truly red or merely momentarily stained by blood.
Walking away from the ledge, her hands traced the windows. Gathering her smock, she pushed the dirt away revealing the masterpiece beneath.
It seemed to depict some sort of religious story. The first panel detailed a light shining upon a bowed figure, sword and shield in hand. Beside the kneeling knight was a woman, standing tall despite the light. She peered almost defiantly at the power blessing the warrior to her left. All around them were different people, or creatures, embracing the light. It seemed to be a gathering of challengers.
The next window showed the knight thrusting his sword at a shadowed figure. Locked in this image, the knight's weapon was forever sparing the foe. The shadow appeared almost gloating, the wispy outline curling in feigned terror. The woman was no where to be seen.
The third panel depicted a small figure, stout and strong, wielding a large hammer. The dwarf's back was shown with its arm raised high above, freezing the hammer in the air. In front of the figure was a large organ. The musical instrument's pipes formed an eerie monster that was under siege. The glass surrounding the organ was warped, beautifully showing the impact of the organs music.
The final surviving pane held just the woman's figure. She was kneeling, her back depicted, with a large sword stabbing her through the center of her being. She seemed resigned, happy almost, with her fate. Bathed in a white garb, her head was covered in a white veil contrasting the pool of blood beneath her.
She was in some sort of church, kneeling in the center of the altar. Yet, there was no object of worship. No statue, no God, no demon stood before her. Instead, she seemed quietly alone. Content to reminisce on her life in solitude.
The woman wanted to keep inspecting the windows but no other panes had survived. Whatever had crashed through the wall had irreversibly broken the rest of the windows.
Looking towards the floor, the woman caught a glimpse of something in a puddle. Whirling around, her hands came out in front of her as she braced herself for conflict. Her heart was beating out of her chest.
"Come out!"
She shouted into the void.
The only response was the howling of the wind.
Steeling herself, the woman looked back in the puddle. Instantly, she was embarrassed. Who gets scared by their own reflection? Yet, her face was truly a horror at this moment.
She was covered in blood. There was blood trickling down from her hairline and speckles on her temples. The woman looked like she'd been through hell.
Examining herself further, the woman still couldn't determine the color of her hair. The puddle was tainted red and effective at concealing the coloring of most everything. Her eyes still remained a mystery.
The woman could tell that she had curly hair though. It seemed untamable in the wind and rain. Her lips were full and trembling, her tongue sticking out to lick them and tasting nothing but iron.
Trudging back to the chair, the woman looked for anything that could identify her. She needed to know who she was.
Nothing.
The rotten chair's carving seemed to show some sort of star, shining vibrantly in the sky. Pushing the chair in frustration it fell to the floor with a bang.
On the backside of the seat, covered in rust and grime, a plaque revealed itself.
Crouching in a hurry, the woman brushed her smock against it, polishing it to try and read whatever had been carved in the metal.
At first, she saw scribbles with no meaning. The indents on the golden rectangle were unintelligible to her. She couldn't read them.
Then, with a pulse of agony, the scribbles shifted into letters and then, finally, words.
- For Estelle, the brightest star in our galaxy -
"Estelle…"
The woman murmured the word under her breath. It was as good a name as any. Besides, she had no other clues to her identity. Even if the name was stolen, it was all she had.
Just then, as though belatedly responding in kind to the bang of the chair, the door behind the table was pounded on.
Estelle jumped to her feet.
Another bang responded to her motion. This one was more frantic than the last. It seemed more powerful, as though some force had regained its will and was focusing solely on getting inside the room.
Estelle crept towards the table, fear contorting her movements and slowing her motion. She didn't want to look. She didn't want to move the table.
Just then, the banging ceased.
Breathing out a sigh, Estelle waited a beat and then turning around to face the chandelier.
Padding towards it, she whirled when she heard the scratch of wood on wood.
The door was being pushed open. The crack allowed for a hand to slide through, groping at the air next to the doorknob.
The hand seemed far from human. The flesh was strained, thin and pale as it stretched to cover bony digits. Further up on the wrist, an entire flap of skin had separated and waved hello in the air.
The hand clawed at the air once more, a groan permeating the room alongside it.
Whatever was trying to get in did not seem friendly.