As days went by, Rhea tried to remember who she was.
She would close her eyes and try to chase shadows in her mind. There were no faces, or names, or places she could remember. The only thing she remembered was slipping into the river, feeling cold and her body sinking into the darkness.
Her entire mind was blank. It was as if her mind and memories were a painting of different colours that someone had painted over with a thick brush of black.
Her whole body still ached, and her chest was still heavy from where she was shot, but at least she was breathing better now. She was finally able to move around the cottage by the river.
One of those evenings, she came outside and sat on a wooden bench just outside the house, her shoulders still wrapped in a thick, long cloth. As she sat there, t
