Dreaming continued…
Chapter Three: Remember Who You Are.

Hours went by, clearing the streets, except for a few women wondering around the bakeries. I had made much more than normal yesterday, maybe it was because I have Oliver at my side. That much (about three pounds) would last me for some time, about a weeks—if I choose day old bread instead of fresh—worth of food in my hands.

“May I treat you?” Oliver’s voice asked, sounding a bit distant. Normally this man would be cheerful, content, and down to earth. Watching him zone out into a world unknown was surreal. Just as the day we met—my very first memory—he wasn’t paying attention to much that day.

Stumbling down a long road, my vision was dazed. It’s impossible for me to walk a straight line, or remember what I was doing in that blasted road.

Leaves of brown and yellow fell from the pale blue sky and the wind howled into the dimming sun. Coating the dirt road with unusual shades of brown, red, and yellow. Red, brown, yellow: it’s the only thing I can see through the haze that was surrounding me.

‘I don’t feel well…’ I thought to myself, feeling some kind of liquid run up my throat. The taste in my mouth was dreadful, I tried to spit it out, but nothing worked to rid it. The awful taste remained.

Wondering further down the path—how I hoped it lead somewhere—my legs began to entangle in themselves. Before I knew it, my face hit the ground, and my nostrils filled with the familiar sent of fallen leaves—of autumn.

Click, click, click, click. Horse hooves pounded against the dirt, coming closer and closer to me. I ignored it, waiting for the animal to pass, waiting for night to break and violate me with it’s freezing temperatures. Not much could be done for me now—I thought—until the horse beats stopped suddenly.

“My god!” a voice called out—I shuddered. Now there were footsteps closing in on me. Closer and closer they came, until I felt a hand on the back of my summer dress. “Miss, what are you doing?” the soft voice asked again. “Miss?”

A few Misses later, I couldn’t move. I was fast asleep, or unconscious.

Hours, maybe days went by, I think. All I saw was a brightly illuminated room. I was in a house, a wealthy house—my mind still a blur—I continued to gaze at the portrait of King James, when a young man entered. Dark black hair tied behind his head with high cheekbones that distinguished his face stared at me.

“Why Miss, you are awake?” dressed in simple cloths, it made me curious of the house.

My big blue eyes stared back at him, probably looking terribly confused, as he took a seat next to me on the bed. He looked at me for a short while. It was a very odd thing because I knew not of him, and I felt dirty and pasty.

“Yes? And who are you?” I finally found something to say.

“My name?” he repeated my question, almost afraid to answer—why would he be afraid? Of me?

Angels.

“It would be Oliver. Oliver James Smith, madam.”

The blank stare must’ve made him uncomfortable because he edged off the bed and looked me over. I was nothing to look at: my hair frayed, my dress torn, my gurtile loose, and my make-up, or what little was left, smeared. A lowly looking woman.

“Why am I here?” thoughts of medical doctors and insane asylums flashed through my mind. I could feel my heart begin to beat inside my chest. It would make sense, casual cloths and a bleak white room, honoring the king. Droplets of sweat formed on my forehead and my heart was pounding harder and faster. So fast, I could no longer hear the man, Oliver's, voice.

He smiled, and then frowned. He sat back down and felt my forehead, “You’re burning up,” I think he said, trying to lie be back down against the pillows. Wrestling with his left hand, I begged him to stop and let me leave.

“What are you talking about?” he inquired, brushing my tangled hair out of my over-heated face.

“Sir, Oliver, I’m not crazy. Why am I here?” grabbing both of his hands, my heart went on, faster. My anxiety was controlling my movements.

Shaking his head, Oliver flashed a crooked grin. “Really Miss, you are at my home.” It seemed surreal he knew exactly what I was referring to. “And who are you?” he asked causually.

“I’m—” a flashback to the roman covered in browns and reds. Tears began to well up in my eyes once more as the shock of my inablilty to remember anything kicked in. “I’m—I’m… I ca—can’t remember.” I stuttered, staring down at me shaking hands. I looked back at Oliver, hoping he’d know. “Sir, absolve my lack of respect… but—I do not have any knowledge of my name… or much else.”

“Lord…” his eyes widened at me, surprised. “I’m a Lord…” he didn’t know either. “And leading advisor of the king.” His face didn’t change expression, or even blink, and his voice was flat, monotone.

“I apologize-“ for some alien reason, I felt the need to bow, but I whisked the feeling out of my mind, “Lord Smith.”

Snapping his head, Lord Smith smiled again—a white smile, revealing something more, not just a young man, but a person. A kind and gentle man. “No, no, I’m sorry. Just you talk with such… manner and intellect, I felt I had to match the quality.

Doubtful on how to answer him, I nodded, forcing a smile.

“I’m making you uncomfortable. Ha. Wow, sorry Miss—I don’t know what to call you…” he trailed off his awkward sentence. “Anyways, you’re welcome to here as long as you need to…” he mumbled, making it difficult to make out what he was saying.

Spending a few days with Oliver, I realized it was useless to stay in a stranger’s home. But I was alone, and on other options were available. Soon after I left the Smith home, I found an alley that was layered with large boxes. It wasn’t easy to talk my only friend into letting me stay on the streets, but, alas, he agreed, offering me as much as he could, including his home. But I couldn’t take any more from him.

That was two years ago. Once that spring came, I began to see fragments and with fall, when it began to get colder, I started having dreams. Now the dreams come less and less and Oliver is beginning to get worried.

“I’ve made some money,” I chirped up, walking into a bakery. Smells of freshly baked bread and pastries filled my nose. A short woman greeted us moments later. She was fairly old, but quick on her feet.

Hundreds of loafs surrounded us, melting away any objection I had about Oliver paying. The familiar aroma made my whole body weak as he placed a bag in my hands and rushed out. Oliver knew the woman she was foul and hated me because I was… how would she describe it… stealing from the king by mooching of his Lord—treason!—I’ve heard it all, living as I do, but nothing will stop me. False accusations, rude comments, nothing can stand in my way. I will discover who I really am.

A/N: here ya go, it's sorta a jumbled mess... but it's going to get better, i promise :D

p.s. i have up to chapter 20.... i'm just too lazy to type all of the things. becasue there is a lot of words lol... sorry.