When she woke up it was in confusion. Darkness surrounded her and something sharp pressed against her side, making it difficult for her breath. But breath she did, breath in the all too familiar sent of copper tinged destruction. Dust filled her lungs and what she identified as shattered wood threatened to pierce her hand as she shifted around, trying to feel where the pressure resided most heavily. On her back leg, which was suspiciously numb, and her left foot, which was definitely trapped. With a groan that sounded too high pitched to be her own she tugged her limbs, grimacing when the wood sliced through but let her pass. Blood pooled around her feet and the woman reached down to check over the muscle on her legs. It was…soft. Her skin, he formerly solid calves, and what should have been very calloused feet felt like she was a twenty some things year old house wife. With another check she found her hands were the same way.

"What?" she muttered, freezing when her voice reached her ears. That was not her voice. These were not her hands. She pulled her leg to her chest and took in a slow breath, trying not to cough. There wasn't much air in her trapped place, the lack of light proved it, and she didn't need to start wasting it on hyperventilating.

After feeling around for something to give way she finally gave up, realizing that she was trapped on the inside. All she could do now was wait.

She did wait, and eventually her waiting paid off. She had fallen into a sleep like state, controlling her breathing and forcing her heart beat to slow until it was near none existent, giving her a longer time to live. It had been harder than it should have been, the body not wanting to respond to her mind, but she had managed to pull it off. Then there was a sound from outside her dark prison and she shifted to her knees, ripped up shirt acting as a bandage to keep her from bleeding to death.

After a few moments she took a chance.

"Hello?" she called, and the movement stopped. Doubts filtered into her mind. What if they were enemies? What if they had trapped her here in the first place? She ignored the question of where 'here' was.

Then there was talking, loud, Japanese, talking. She bit her lip and focusing on the archive of her mind that held languages, mentally picturing it as a selection screen in a video game.

"Hello?" she repeated, this time in their language. The result was a series of shouts and suddenly the ground was moving, the darkness lifted and arms circled around her body. They grabbed her leg and the light struck her eyes.

Embarrassingly she screamed.

When she awoke it was to the white walls of a hospital, the familiar sent of chemicals drifting into her nose and the white walls painfully bright. She squinted and shifted, finding she could sit up. Her leg was bandaged up and elevated in a cast, her foot in a lesser state. There were bandages on her right arm and when she reached up to touch her hair she found it short, singed at the edges and also wound with gauze.

She pulled her hand away, staring down at the soft, smooth skin, bruised and cut in a few places. It was not her hand. It was too small, too frail, too soft. Her legs were too thin, so were her arms, even with the days of not eating. The near permanent tan that she had was missing. A look at the bed revealed that she was far too short, much too small.

Something had happened. She searched her memories.

Nothing.

She frowned.

Nothing.

No, there wasn't nothing, but there was something, just out of reach, something she couldn't quite get to. She shook her head. She would deal with it when she took a shower. She paused.

A shower.

No, not a shower.

What?

Rain.

Rain?

Yes, rain. She needed rain.

But the window showed none.

What would she even do with rain?

Sit in it.

Why the hell would she do that?

Because castles appear when she did.

What?

She shook her head and laid back down, giving up and closing her eyes. She would figure it out, she decided, when she woke up and didn't have a broken leg.

Doctors were anxious about her, asking questions and prodding her this way and that. She answered them with as much truth as she could.

"What's your name?"

"Ask me later."

"Where are you from?"

"Not here."

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead.''

"Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Three and your thumb."

"How old are you?''

"Older than I look."

"Are you trying to be difficult?"

"Maybe."

"Do you remember anything?"

"Almost."

And eventually, after hours of grilling and drawing blood the physicians left her alone to ponder her situation. More specifically the humiliation of a bed pan. She glared heatedly at it before deciding that she would not be using it. With care she pulled her leg out of the sling, swinging her legs over the side carefully and pushing off of the bed. Her leg almost gave out from under her and she stared at the IV in her arm. Carefully she removed it and made her way to the connected bathroom, briefly considering walking on her hands before she realized her arms couldn't handle it.

With her business done and the exhaustion of medication and dehydration setting in the girl hobbled back to the bed, pushed the IV back in the exact place it had come from and lay back down, once more falling asleep.

For the next week she stayed mostly unconscious, only waking up when a doctor came in and answering their questions to the best of her ability. She had been diagnosed with amnesia, and the doctors were still trying to get her to remember anything.

"It would be easier if someone would tell me something. Where you found me, why I was alone, why it smelled like blood."

"We can't."

"Can't or won't."

"You don't need to know."

"How many people died?

Silence.

"That many huh? "

"You should get some sleep."

She did. The doctors left, their strange, tan uniforms rustling quietly as they vanished from the room. And with no other choice she slept again.

The next time she came to there was another man that came in with her doctors, a man with a grey beard, draped in white and red robes and a strangely shaped hat. The girl stared at him blankly, eyes taking in his old, wrinkled features.

"Hello."

"What do you want?"

He raised a brow.

"I can't simply ask how you are?"

She frowned.

"Are you going to ask stupid questions like them?" her eyes flicked to the doctors, who were slowly turning red. They did not like the difficult amnesiac.

"I don't think you're wellbeing is stupid."

She shrugged.

"I think I'll live. But no one will tell me jack shit."

"Oh?" he looked amused and curious, "nothing?"

"Nothing. All they did is ask what I remember, which I don't, and tell me I didn't need to know why I was stuck in the dark for days in a place that smelled like blood."

He sighed and pulled a chair up, motioning for the physicians to leave. They did so and she sat up as well, looking at him curiously.

"It's not a good story," he began, and the girl gave him a flat look. She knew that.

"I know that."

"We don't fully know what happened, but when we found you you were in a caved in house in a village that had been destroyed. You're the only one we found."

"The only one alive?"

His expression was grim.

"No. The only one we found."

She blinked and stared at him.

"Oh."

"Do you know anything about yourself?"

She shook her head.

"No. Sorry sir, I can't remember anything. I know the memories are there, I just can't find them. Like…like there's a curtain that they're hiding behind."

"I see. You'll tell the doctors if you remember anything?"

"No."

He raised a brow.

"No?"

"No," she repeated more firmly. She glared at the door.

"Why not?"

"They don't show me any respect, they hide things from me. I don't like them."

He laughed.

"It's not funny!"

He stopped and stood up, smiling gently down at her.

"I'll have to visit again then," he reached out and ruffled her hair, leaving the girl to swipe futilely at his hand as she left. The doctors came back and she stared at them blankly, missing the only man.

And the rain.