I’ve died this way before.
Before I stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. But now, from the burning in the stranger’s eyes, I know he has every intention of killing me.
I wonder, does he see her too?
Her name is Far. All my life, I have been haunted by memories, memories that aren’t mine. I don’t know love or hate. I don’t know magic or destiny. I don’t know what it feels like to die. But they do. There are dozens of them, trapped inside me, or maybe I am trapped inside them.
Far’s memories are the clearest and the most vivid, so close to the surface that I remember the sound of her voice, the deep blue of her eyes, the smells of her world. Her fears and desires intertwine so deeply with my own that sometimes I believe that they are mymemories. That I am Far. That she is me.
Logic berates me that this can’t be true, but the suspicion never fades. I can’t convince myself that I am my own, separate person when one crucial piece of evidence is missing. Far never died. Her life abruptly paused as if she ceased to exist, and I can’t help but think if that had something to do with me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to recall what it feels like to be stabbed. For once, the memories don’t appear. His footsteps behind me grow louder, and I desperately push myself up though I know I can't escape. My chest smashes back down to the ground, and I gag from the dry dirt on my tongue. With each heartbeat, a new wave of pain crashes over me. I taste metal on my lips.
From the first line, I was hooked. And the first page delivered on the promise that the first line made. I'd absolutely keep reading.