My heels hurt.

I don't know how long I was running or where I was. There were trees. At first, there weren't many but they grew dense and dodging the branches was like avoiding drops of rain in a storm. The flashes of green and streaks of light were memorizing.

It didn't take long before I couldn't remember what or where I was running from.

I couldn't slow. My heart was racing, my heels were cut up from the forest floor, and my hair was tangled. I couldn't breathe but I couldn't slow either.

Things were flying by faster and faster. I closed my eyes and my arms reached out beyond me, guiding my blindly. I hit a few trees but nothing hurt more than my heels.

My heels really hurt.

Suddenly, my eyelids lit up bright red and something wet and spongy cushioned my heels. I opened my eyes and screamed.

All I can remember is seeing skin and feeling something hard hit me and crush me against dewy grass. As far as I could tell, this was the end. Everything went black.

There were so many voices. I couldn't distinguish one from the other. They were all so loud, overlapping, frantic.

"What happened?"

"Someone call for help!"

"Hurry! Something's happened!"

I was able to determine the sex of each voice as they continued. Everything was still black.

"Who is she?" Male.

"I've never seen her before." Male.

"Are you hurt?" Male. I'm pretty sure this one spoke before.

"Royce? Let me through! Royce, what's happening?" Female.

"We need the doctor," commanded the same male voice.

"Do we know who she is?" Male. This one older.

"What happened?" The female again.

"She came out of nowhere." Main male.

"We need to get her out of here. Everyone's staring." Older male.

"Royce, we can take her to our place. We have an extra bed she can use." New male voice.

"Poor thing." The female.

There was more speaking but I was only listening to what was near. I had more of an interest in comprehending how they were speaking, not what they said. The main male had such a calming voice. He sounded confident in what he said. The male who spoke once sounded sad and the female was really concerned. I didn't understand what was going on or what they were talking about.

"I got her," said the calm male voice.

I felt myself lifted off the wet, spongy grass. It had felt nice under my heels. Judging by the loping stride, I was being carried somewhere by whomever owned the arms that held me. That's when my eyes decided to work again.

Above me was a young man with relaxed, charming features. He had small, bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and a thick bottom lip. His dark gold hair was pulled back and slicked down on top of his head. Thick forearms were holding me to his chest. A muddy, white blouse hung loosely on his broad shoulders. Around his neck was a thin, gold chain, twisting and shimmering as he walked.

He glanced down at me in his arms and jumping slightly, realized I was awake.

"Goodness," he said, taking in a deep breath. "You're awake."

I was very confused. The last thing I could remember was running through a forest, getting trampled, and my sore heels.

"How are you feeling? Are you alright?" he asked, his blonde eyebrows scrunching.

"Yes, I'm alright. Just confused, surprised. My heels hurt badly," I replied, feeling foolish. "What happened?"

"I don't blame your heels for hurting. They're a nasty mess just now. You came out of no where and I sort of ran into you," he said, looking away. He picked up his pace. "What's your name?"

"I don't… remember who I am." I touched my forehead with my fingertips. They came away with blood on them. "You sort of hit me?" I muttered under my breath.

"You don't even remember your name?" He looked skeptical.

"To be honest, I don't remember much of anything," I admitted. "Who are you anyway? And where are we going?"

"My name is Royce Channing. I'm taking you to my house where I live with my parents and sister. We have a guestroom you can use to heal until you can remember where you came from." Royce. He was comforting, especially his voice and demeanor.

I blinked and looked around. We were alone on a narrow cobblestone street, tall rows of housing buildings stretching up around us. The sun was low behind the solid wall of narrow houses. The highest windows had sills full of blooming flowers and creeping vines. It was absolutely silent on the street, aside from Royce's footsteps.

I glanced down at myself and immediately regretted it. My white blouse was ripped and blood had seeped into the fabric from scratches and cuts. My shorts were muddy and my legs looked as if they had been lashed by a whip. Bare and bloody, my feet hung limply against Royce's waist.

"I don't remember a thing," I said softly and Royce looked at me with sympathy. He bit his thick bottom lip but didn't respond.

We made our way through more narrow streets with uneven cobblestone that was broken and woven with ivy. After a few minutes of the maze of buildings, Royce stopped in front of one, tall and narrow, squeezed between two others with no space between. The only way you could tell one house from another was the separate front doors.

He shifted my weight to one arm, holding me delicately against him as he dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a brass key. He turned it in the wrought iron screen which swung open before pushing open the front door and stuffing the key in his pocket again. I clung to his neck, afraid of falling from this tall boy's arms.

"Welcome," he said softly, pulling me into both his arms again.

The foyer was decorated in old-looking furniture, hung with cobwebs and dust. Ugly maroon curtains were draped over two paneled windows on either side of the front door, filtering a dark, jewel-toned light into the small room. A set of double, glass doors led into the narrow living room of the house, decorated in the same style with the same maroon fabric on the couches.

Royce pushed open one of the doors with his shoulder and carried me through the maze of ornate furnishings to a staircase. Piles of musty, yellowing books with fabric covers and gold lettering littered the stairs against the wall. Slowly and deliberately, he carried me up between the piles of books to the second story.

"The house is beautiful," I noted, admiring a portrait of his family. It was painted with dainty strokes and, as far as I could tell, in striking resemblance to him and his family.

Royce was in front, his wavy hair down around his neck. A girl of his same age stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. She had platinum hair, almost white against the dark background. Other than her hair, she looked identical to Royce with narrow cheeks, thin eyebrows, thick bottom lip, and honey-colored eyes. Behind Royce and the girl, two gaunt people stood stiffly, small smiles on their lips. They were all dressed in white blouses and trousers, and the men wore tweed coats.

"Is that your sister?" I asked, nodding to the girl in the portrait. "You look so alike."

"Yes, my twin Lecia," he said with a smile. On the second story, he brought me to the first room in the narrow hall. The paint on the door was peeling but the inside was magnificent.

A brass, four-poster bed with silk, cream-colored curtains owned the center of the room. A wardrobe sat glumly beside an open window that faced the street and a broad hope chest hid at the foot of the bed. A small mirror hung above a bedside table with a flickering light. The most striking feature of the room, however, was the presence of several, intricate, golden instruments, all whirring and spinning away on the surface of the hope chest and beside table.

"Wow," I said softly.

"My dad collects them," Royce explained, bringing me to the bed. "You should see his room. My mother condemned as many as she could to this room because they were beginning to get in the way."

He set me down lightly after pulling back the layers of fluffy covers. I snaked beneath them, pulling the sheets up to my nose.

"I think they're entertaining," I mused, touching one on the bedside table. As if energized by my touch, it took off whirling faster. "Delightful. Thank you so much for your hospitality. Please let your parents know of my gratitude."

"Of course," Royce whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed "What a curious creature you are." Gently, he swept some of my hair back from my forehead. "Beautiful," he said in less than a whisper. "You come running out from the forest and into my life. You are a little mystery."

"I only wish I could remember anything," I said softly.

"I'll help you get your memory back." His voice was soft. The light from the window cast a diffused light on half his face. A strand of his hair slipped in front of his face. It looked as if molten gold was dripping from the edge of his face.

"Thank you," I replied. I felt my cheeks flare up even though I was cold. "Would you close the window?"

"Of course." He slid a finger across my cheek before standing and pulling in the panes of the window. "You should get some sleep now. If you need it, the bathroom is the first door to your right down the hall. I'll bring some fresh clothes when I check on you later but for now, rest. Call me if you need anything in the meantime."

"Thank you," I said again.

With a small smile, he left the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as he left, the room seemed to get a bit darker. His presence was so calming and light.

At first, I watched the strange, mechanical instruments swing and click, roll and turn, flip and spin. The glass baubles and golden arms moved in rhythms and beats that made me drowsy. The room got warmer and soon I was asleep.

When I woke up, a pair of light grey eyes behind silver frames was in front of me. I gasped and sat up, pushing myself back. The silvery eyes belonged to a narrow, kind face that I had seen from the Channing family portrait.

"Mr. Channing!" I said. He was sitting at the foot of the bed. Royce was standing beside him, his arm wrapped around the platinum blonde with amber, sparkling eyes: Lecia. The only member missing was Mrs. Channing.

"Good morning," Royce said cooling with a small, sly smile. He was looking out the window.

"Morning?" I said, rubbing my heels. I looked down at myself and realized I was in clean clothes comprised of a new white blouse and loose-fitting trousers. My face felt flushed again.

It must have turned red because Royce quickly said, "Lecia dressed you in a spare set of clothes of hers. You've been sleeping for quite some time and she thought you might have been uncomfortable. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," I said, brushing my hair back with my fingers.

Mr. Channing, who had remained silent all this time, stood up and paced to the door. "Let me know if I can do something for you," he said. He sounded just like Royce but his voice was huskier.

"Thank you!" I said with a smile and watched him leave.

"Do you remember your name yet?" Lecia asked. Her voice was high-pitched and excited. "Royce told us everything you said."

"Oh, no, I don't," I admitted softly.

She ducked out from under Royce's arm and walked to my bed side, sitting beside me. Her finger went to my neck and traced it.

"Pretty choker," she said in a low whisper.

I reached up to my neck and pulled away a bright purple, silk ribbon. "I wonder where I got this," I said softly.

"Violet!" Lecia said. "We'll call you Violet until you can remember your name."

"Lecia dear, we shouldn't call her anything that isn't her name," Royce said sternly.

"I don't mind," I said.

Lecia smiled at me. "It makes it easier to talk to you if I have something to call you," she explained

"Violet then," I said softly, tying the ribbon to my neck again. It sounded right, although I was fairly certain it wasn't my name.

"What do you remember?" Royce asked. In the presence of his sister, he seemed a lot severe, like polished steel instead of a calming light.

"Running, and then falling, and then voices. Both of your voices. And your father's too," I said.

"What happened before you were running?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"What were you running from?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why are you all scratched up?"

"I don't remember!"

"Royce!" Lecia yelled. "Stop it! She's been through a traumatic event!"

"She can't remember anything before running? Not anything? Not even her childhood, her family? That isn't natural!" Royce yelled back.

"Maybe you destroyed her memories when you ran into her!" Lecia accused.

"Please stop," I whispered and I moved to the edge of the bed. "I need to use the bathroom. Please don't fight about me. I don't remember anything. I don't know why but I don't like it. It's nothing to fight over."

I worked my way to the door. My heels were throbbing under every step. I heard someone step towards me and then stop. "I'll be right back," I muttered, clutching my head. I was dizzy.

Thin arms caught me before I hit the ground and when I looked up Lecia was holding me, pulling me up by my arms.

"I'll help you get there," she said, escorting me out of the room after shooting an angry look at Royce.

She showed me the bathroom door and waited outside so that I could have my privacy. A large mirror was mounted on the wall and a strange young lady was staring at me from the other side.

Her hair went down to her shoulders and was staggered in wispy layers. It fell down in dark brown locks over her eyebrows. Her eyes were large and blue, almost grey and her face was pale and scratched. Her lips were thin and faintly pink, her nose long and slender, and the shape of her face resembled a heart. Around her thin neck was a violet ribbon.

I was seeing myself for the first time. It was me staring into that mirror and me staring back. I gasped and touched my lips, my eyelids, my brow. Nothing was familiar. Nothing was known. I was a mystery even to myself.