Lucy plunged into the forest's darkness, not daring to look back. Her head throbbed, a pulsing bruise, and when she touched her temple, her fingers came away wet with blood. A moan escaped her lips, but she kept running, deeper into the shadows. She had no sense of where she was, if she was fast enough, or if anyone pursued her. Fragmented images of the past few hours flickered in her mind: the young man who'd found her near the old woman's apartment, his desires flooding her like a sickening tide. She'd felt his interest, his anxiety that she wouldn't reciprocate, and her magic had compelled her to giggle at his jokes, cling to his arm, mirror his wants. Deep down, she'd known where the night was headed if she hadn't fled—or if those strangers hadn't intervened, disrupting her power's hold.
Shivering, Lucy wrapped her arms around herself, stumbling further into the forest. The deeper she went, the clearer her mind became, but clarity brought a nauseating wave of sickness. Sweat beaded on her skin despite the biting cold. Tripping over a fallen log, she crashed into the brush, scraping her hands painfully. Too exhausted to rise, she leaned against a tree, curling her arms around her knees. Blood trickled into her eye, but she didn't wipe it away.
Sobs shook her, tears spilling freely. She wept without knowing why, uncaring if anyone heard. Was it the trauma of her head injury? Sadness? Anger? Her memories were so sparse she couldn't connect her emotions to anything real. Her thoughts tangled with those her magic had bound her to, blurring the line between herself and others.
Snowflakes drifted down, and Lucy looked up, tears blurring the delicate flakes. A vague sense of dread stirred—snow was bad, though she couldn't recall why. Yet it was beautiful. She lifted a hand, letting flakes swirl around her fingers and settle on her knees. A faint smile curved her lips as she sank into the moment, the beauty anchoring her. For the first time in weeks—maybe months—she felt her body was hers again. The gash on her head stung, her scratched hands ached, and the cold seeped into her bones.
"My… name… is… Lucy," she whispered into the dark.
"My… favorite… color… is… blue." A sob broke her words, a rush of self flooding back, sharpening her exhaustion and pain.
"I… HATE… matcha!" she shouted, venom in her voice. Embarrassed, she laughed, then cried again.
"My name is Lucy, and I really hate matcha," she murmured, resting her head on her knees and closing her eyes.
Her body ached to the bone, but despite the cold and snow, sleep claimed her. Dreams swirled—memories or visions, she couldn't tell. She was in Target, holding a little girl's hand, her pigtails bouncing. The girl felt familiar, like a piece of Lucy's past.
"Buy this one!" the girl squeaked, pointing to pink overalls with embroidered flowers.
Lucy smiled weakly. The overalls were garish, childish, but she couldn't disappoint the girl.
The dream shifted. Lucy wore the overalls, sitting by a small fire under a bridge. Morning light filtered through, cold and gray. A man with missing teeth and sour breath handed her men's boots. Her feet were bare—where had her shoes gone? She forced a smile, flinching as cars roared overhead.
Another shift. She was running, pursued by faceless figures. If they caught her gaze, she'd lose herself, consumed by their desires, forgetting who she was. Again.
Violent shivering jolted her awake. She lay curled in a ball, blanketed in snow. The flurry had become a blizzard. Panicked, she sat up, snow sliding off her shoulders, stealing what little warmth remained. The heavy boots, oversized overalls, and army jacket were a small mercy. Things could be worse, she told herself, standing shakily, nausea surging as she touched her crusted, oozing forehead.
"Ouch!" She cursed, pressing a handful of snow to the wound. It throbbed but stopped bleeding—a small victory. Pulling the jacket tighter, she shoved her hands into its pockets and scanned the dark woods. The snow was a foot deep; hours must have passed. With no direction, she walked. Staying still meant a cold, painful death. Moving might warm her.
The forest was silent, save for her shuffling steps and the snow's soft patter. An eerie glow lit the night, casting a haunting, magical sheen. Lucy trudged on, each step a struggle. Her jacket hung loosely, her bones too prominent beneath her skin. When had she last eaten? She couldn't recall, not recently enough to matter. Why didn't she remember hunger? Her stomach growled, pain clawing at her insides. Desperate, she knelt, shoveling snow into her mouth. It didn't help. Groaning, she rose, driven by a primal, animalistic hunger.
She stumbled from the forest into a streetlamp's glow, falling to her hands and knees. A path lined with lamps curved out of sight. Giddy with relief, she scrambled up, sprinting down the path until her legs burned and her head throbbed anew. The path stretched too long. Cold and hunger dulled her thoughts. When it finally opened to a snow-covered street, cars crept cautiously by. Without thinking, Lucy stepped onto the road, driven by cold and need.
Horns blared, tires screeched. Too late, she realized her mistake. A purple Jeep skidded toward her, slamming into her side. She flew sideways, her left shoulder popping as she hit the ground.
Panicked voices surrounded her as snowflakes tickled her face. Someone screamed, "We've killed her!" Lucy forced her eyes open, mumbling, "I'm not dead," to ease their fear.
"She's alive! Thank God!" a high-pitched voice cried.
Lucy groaned, trying to roll over, but her left shoulder was numb, useless.
"Don't move, honey!" a voice urged. "An ambulance is coming. Stay still—you might have broken something."
Lucy nodded, pain radiating from her head and neck, fresh blood oozing. A kind face with deep brown eyes loomed over her, filled with worry.
"I'm so sorry, honey! You came out of nowhere—I didn't see you."
A tug pulled at Lucy's heart, like a thread forming. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to stop it. Not again. She couldn't lose herself again.
"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" the woman asked, alarmed.
Lucy kept her eyes closed, hoping to block the connection. Sirens wailed, paramedics' voices buzzing, but she refused to look. She thrashed her head, resisting their attempts to check her pupils. A prick stung her arm, and a deep, dreamless sleep swallowed her.