What the Future Holds

"I think my name is Dahlia..." The girl trailed off, staring out the window near the bed. "And I don't think I have a home."

So many thoughts were rushing through her head.

Where could she go?

What was she going to do?

She couldn't count on these people to take care of her forever...

"When will I be well enough to leave?" She questioned.

Growing Concern

Raelene raised her eyebrows. Was it really that bad? She had seen the wound on the girl's head, but it hadn't seemed like any more than a scrape and a bump. She'd dealt with newcomers with lost memories before, but this girl's injuries weren't near as bad as some of their's... But who was she to question? There was a lot she didn't understand, especially about the people Kivuli dug up.

She gently lifted up the shirt they'd changed the girl into last night, loosening the bandages around the girl's waist to inspect the stab wound. No blood, good. It seemed to have clotted well under the stitches, and with luck, it wouldn't get infected... She dabbed her fingers into her mortar, smearing the cold yellowish paste over the opening. "Sawrry if that stings," she said. "I promise it'll help, though."

She continued to busy herself with little tasks, swiping a rag over the floor again, taking a bucket of bloody bandages out to the porch. A few of the other employees hurriedly jumped to looking busy as she stepped outside, and she furrowed her brow. They were catching on. She hoped Nocona would be back soon; he could always scatter the nosy ones like flies.

Poor girl. Raelene could only hope she was ready for this madness.

She stepped back inside, pouring herself a handful of water, which she downed as she took a seat on the chair next to the pile of hay. "So, do you remember your name?" she asked carefully. "Or anything we could use to help get you home?"

A Story

Dahlia closed her eyes tightly and tried to think.

"I... I don't know." She shook her head and remembered the other night when she had previously failed to recall her past.

"It honestly feels like there is nothing there to remember. Everything starts with... Kivuli."

Connections

Raelene chuckled lightly.

"Geographically speakin', you're about a mile from the edge of London. To be more spa'ciffic, though," she added, turning to refill the girl's water glass from a jug by the bed. "You're at the camp of The Stars of the Devil. You might'a seen our posters up around town." She took a scrap of cloth and quickly wiped off the floor, hanging the dirty rag off the open window. "And in our ringmaster, Kivuli's, wagon. Pretty rare honor, there." The young lady gave a playful look with raised eyebrows, a wry smile on her lips. "He was the one what brought you over. Found you'd been attacked in the city and all. But don't you worry about nothin'. He don't want you to owe him. He's just a good man like that." She said the last statement softer than the others, her eyes becoming somewhat wistful as she looked out the window. It seemed an unconscious action as she rested her hand on her stomach, before quickly removing it and resuming her work.

She leaned over Dahlia, asking quickly, "Can I see the cut? Now that you're awake, I'd like to reapply the painkillers..." She reached for her mortar and pestle, which had been absentmindedly set in on the bedside table in the hubbub the night before. She began grinding ingredients, and said quietly,

"So, what's your story? You might as well work out the kinks before the rest of the circus catches wind of you and starts askin'." She winked and smiled in a way that made it very difficult to tell how serious she was.

A new source of information

Dahlia allowed herself to be helped back into the bed.

She eased onto her back and winced as the movement pulled the stiches in her side ever so slightly.

She could hear the girl moving about the room when she thought to ask, "Where am I? Who brought me here? How could I even begin to repay him..."

Raelene

The woman, who could actually hardly be called such, being noticeably younger than Dahlia, quickly reached out, catching the girl's arm before she was beyond her reach. Her hands were quite rough, and though her grip was strong, there was no malice or anger in it. There was only support and a desire to help.

"No no, it's okay Miss," she said softly through her accent. "I can clean it up. You need to keep lying down for now. We don't want that cut in your side to open back up..." Her voice trailed off as she rose to help the girl stand, offering to guide her back to the bed.

She was quite tall for a lady, especially since she could not have been older than seventeen. She looked like a willow tree; long and thin with a long fringe of wispy hair hanging in her face. She was very tan, and that silky mane of her's was almost the same color as her skin, with only tiny sections bleached by the sun. Her eyes were strikingly bright even through it, like a cat's in the moonlight. And so green, like wine bottles or sea glass or black magic. They were softened with empathy, though, and her silent pleading echoed from them like a distant drumbeat.

Instinct

Again, all she felt was pain.

Her head ached, her side burned, and she felt nauseous.

She felt bile rising in her throat, thick and acidic.

She rolled on her side and retched on the floor. The nausea was quickly replaced by guilt and fear.

There was a mess in a room that was not her home, and she had caused it.

Would they be upset with her? Would they scold her? Throw her out?

She tried to sit up, tried to bolt towards the door, but only succeeded in tumbling to the ground, thankfully missing the puddle of sick on the floor.

Her limbs were shaking so severely that she could barely support her own weight as she pushed her torso off of the hay littered wood.

She saw a woman sitting in the chair on the other side of the room who seemed to be startled into waking by the loud "thunk" Dahlia's body made when it hit the floor.

Dahlia's eyes widened as she attempted to scoot away.