At his words, I felt a dull throb come from just below my left breast, and it sent a chill through me as I felt the sickly weakness that accompanied it and spread through the area. I inadvertently reached and brushed my fingers across the area, and he felt silent, hesitating.

Just the single touch brought memories of the stabbing, that brutal attempt on my life as a way to harness his weakness. It had been years--a decade and a half, almost--and it was still there. The "reset" had changed much, and had given me a different reason for still carrying that scar, but just looking in the mirror at the strange convolution resembling a starburst that spread across my skin made me feel very, very cold. Many memories of that past life, that past reality, the one that was overwritten for everybody but those of us that he chose to have remember, still carried such a heavy weight, as we realized what had happened and all the implications it had.

If I thought about it enough, I still could remember the flavor of the thoughts and the gasp of emotion and panic that flooded me as the longknife entered my torso, still could remember the tangy pang of mortifying desperation and hatred at the look on the creature's face, the sneer of sheer evil, the excruciating anguish as he twisted the knife, knowing full well what he was doing, the hurt and injury he was causing.

I felt myself silently reaching for something to steady myself with as the emotions flooded back, and his eyes widened and he took a step forward to take my shoulders and steady me, knowing that nothing he could say would, or ever could, alleviate this.