She stood near me, her eyes trembling with a fear she could not hide.
Yet she did not flee. She did not leave me alone amid the ash.
Simply her remaining there… was something strange, something I no longer knew the name of.
I looked at her long. Her face was not perfect—scratches from battle, dust trapped in her hair, a bewildered gaze. And yet… it was beautiful. Beautiful in a way unlike anything else. As if the beauty was not in her features but in that she remained standing, in a world collapsing around her.
I laughed bitterly and said to her in a tired voice:
— "You… look as if you're not from here. Not from this ruin."
She raised an eyebrow, first not understanding, then replied with an unexpected shyness:
— "I'm… just a girl who survived."
But I did not believe it. I couldn't see her as merely a survivor.
There was something in her face… something that made my insides tremble.
I stepped closer and looked directly into her eyes.
The words left my mouth on their own, without permission:
— "You… you resemble her."
She froze and asked in a faint voice:
— "Who…?"
I fell silent. I tried to speak the name—Mary.
But the name stuck in my throat as if it were forbidden.
I clutched my head; the pain intensified. I saw the image again.
A woman. Long hair. A smile. A hand holding me as if saying: "I will not leave you."
But her face remained foggy. The closer I tried to make it out, the more it dissolved.
I slammed my hand on the ground and screamed:
— "Why… can't I remember her? Why is her face a haze?!"
The girl flinched at my outburst, but she did not run. She took another step forward.
She stretched out her hand slowly and touched my shoulder as if testing whether I would break.
She said with an odd calm:
— "Maybe… you shouldn't remember. Maybe the past is just another chain."
I looked at her with burning eyes and said, voice dripping with anger and despair:
— "The past is what makes me me. My mother… my lover… they have become foggy images. How do I live without memory? What is my purpose if I cannot even see their faces?!"
I felt the curse stir inside me. Another laugh—deeper this time—echoed in my chest:
— "Because you were not made to remember… but to recreate hell."
I grabbed my chest and fell to my knees. The girl looked at me, pity in her eyes… or perhaps something else.
She whispered:
— "You are not a curse. You are just… lost."
But I did not believe her.
I was no longer only lost.
I felt myself… changing.
---
I rose again, wiped blood from my mouth, and regarded her long.
I spoke in a calm voice, but it was sharp as a blade:
— "Do you know what the problem is?"
She fell silent, waiting.
I continued:
— "You are beautiful. Beautiful amid the ruin. And that… makes me hate you."
Her eyes widened in surprise, but she did not step back.
I added with a bitter smile:
— "Because you remind me of what I lost. Of what I cannot reclaim. You remind me… of Mary."
When I spoke the name, something inside shook.
For a moment the image appeared clearer, but the face stayed misted—only the smile… and the hand.
I felt I might collapse again, but I forced myself to remain standing.
---
The girl whispered:
— "Who was Mary?"
I looked at her for a long time, then closed my eyes.
I wanted to say: "She was my life."
I wanted to say: "She was my beloved."
But when I opened my mouth only one sentence came out:
— "I don't know."
The word was heavier than a mountain. As if it was another betrayal of my past.
I struck my chest with my fist and screamed until my voice filled the place:
— "Why… can't I remember?! Why are even their faces stolen?!"
---
The girl raised her hand again, this time steadier, and touched my face directly.
She spoke in a calm voice like a breeze:
— "Maybe… you will remember one day. Or maybe not. But… you are here now. And that is enough."
I opened my eyes and looked at her. For a short moment I believed her.
But the curse inside me laughed.
A long, wicked laugh that reminded me I would never escape it.