I remember the Tor. I remember a sharp stab at my heart. I remember a cool trickle down my nose. I remember someone shouting at me, wrestling me away from Mikhail while I wrestled to stay by him.
"Are you trying to die!?" I remember those words but I cannot remember who uttered them.
I also cannot remember how we got out or how I got into the bed. I did not remember but I remember the dream.
My father stood above me with a satisfied smirk, blood on his hands and fire in his eyes. Eyes that owned up to his crimes. Eyes that said, "No one challenges me."
I remembered nothing past a dying Mikhail. But when I woke, I tasted blood on my tongue.
Someone said something I could not make out. Someone had their hands on me. All these barely registered as blood roared in my ears. It sounded
