A hand was on her shoulder. That was the first thing she was aware of. The world around her was dark, grim, but someone had placed their hand atop her shoulder. She willed her eyes to open, but they would not obey. She needed to know where she was, who she was, but her memory brought her no answers. The hand shifted to the base of her neck, and she wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch it. Who was on the other end, she did not know, but she was desperate for answers. Her brain was filled with thoughts, ideas, tactics . . . but she couldn't recall any of them. She knew she had a purpose, a role to fulfill, but she could not remember what it was. Her loss of memory made her feel useless, as if she couldn't do anything at all, and she hated it.
Suddenly, the hand was on her face, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Chills were sent through her body, and it was the only real thing she had felt other than the hand. Her brain was practically screaming by now: Open your eyes, open your eyes! But no matter how hard she tried, no light came into view. It seemed she was doomed to an eternal blackness, stuck between the gray fog of consciousness yet at the same time on the brink of sleep.
"Is-is she . . . "
Her heart fluttered. She knew that voice, she knew it like the back of her hand. A face appeared to her mentally: A young woman, with a bright and vibrant personality, and a voice to match. She had adorable pigtails, and the most gorgeous eyes . . . Robin often found herself quite jealous of her.
Robin!
That was her name! Not the bubbly pigtailed girl, no, her name was another. The name "Robin" was hers and hers alone. But what was the young woman's name? It was right there, pulling at the back of her mind. She knew it so well, had said it so many times, but what was it? Something like L-Lis . . .
"I don't know, Lissa."
Robin felt her body jolt: A quick, violent movement that reminded her of a creaky door slamming shut. The action was quickly followed by a series of gasps-three, she counted. The hand on her neck quickly shifted to the back of her head, and she felt another on the curve of her back. A voice began to call out words of caution, but they were quickly shushed by Lissa. She knew that the man who held her either didn't notice or didn't care. She knew these hands, had felt them intertwined with her own, had seen them wield majestic swords, and had known that they were the hands that held her now. She also knew the voice that belonged with those hands: A sharp and commanding voice, but gentle at times. She remembered his head full of hair, wild and blue, and how it felt wrapped around her fingers when she held him close. She remembered everything about this man: his hands, his voice, his hair . . .
And his name.
" . . .Chrom."
