What is your name, child?



She's lying here, with me, head on my stomach, snow melting in our clothes and chilling both of us to the bone. I assume.



Child? Did you hear me? What is your name?



Is she dead? I can't tell. I'm too close to dead myself. And still the stranger stands over me, purple eyes ablaze in his silhouette. I think he expects something of me. I'm not sure I care. All grown-ups do.

Do they? I struggle to remember, though my memory is slipping away by the second, grains of sand falling through my child's fingers. What is the girls name? I was holding her not long before, sharing my body heat to keep her warm, I'm sure. Nothing matters as long as she is safe, but I don't even know who she is.

I recap to the best of my ability. We were running, running, running from a fate worst than death, whatever that fate was. A cold winter night, snow from the heavens, but a glowing heat haze from behind the trees. A fire? Where - who - are my parents? Why aren't they here?

My sobs - for I suddenly realise that I am sobbing - grow louder when I realise that they must have abandoned me, probably in some sort of escape attempt. How else could I have gotten here? They must have abandoned the girl too. I see no people running from the flames, hear no screaming above the crackling of the flames. All dead or fled but us.

I sit up and hold the girl tight with numb arms, shaking from the cold, relieved when she is just sleeping. Her chest rises and falls, but she is a block of ice. I hold her even closer, though what hope could I give her when I havn't enough body heat for myself?

I looked at where my head had lain. There was a thread leading from it, insubstantial, pure energy almost indiscernible next to the whiteness of the ground. It seems logical that it is my memory leading away. I don't know what to make of that.

I keep hold of the girl. I sense that she's the only anchor that keeps my memory in tact.



What's your name?


I...I d-don't remember...



The stranger seems untouched by the snow, all the while casting a shadow on me. Ash looks like more snow. Just snow. Nothing meaningful. Why would it mean anything to me?

He holds out his hand, and from his eyes I see that he is smiling.


Well, child. if you follow me, I can give you a new one.


I take his hand.

Strands of memory, slipping away.

I make it to my feet which are barely protected from the cold by my cloth boots. There's a girl on the snow. She's the same age as me - and pretty. Does that matter? Why is she lying there?

I'll leave her. She's probably been dead for hours anyway. The stranger slips a cloak around my shoulders, and I tug it tighter.



Yes.



The stranger smiles at me, amethyst eyes and all.



Join us, Samael.



He leads me away, twisting an insubstantial thread between his fingers.