Voices. I could hear them shouting my name. Calling out into the night. Asking. Pleading as to where I was. I tried to shout back. To tell them that I was okay. That I was safe. But no noise escaped my lips. I tried to move toward them but I couldn't. I couldn't see a soul in sight it was so dark. The only thing that told me they were close, was the warmth I felt when I heard them speaking. The warmth of their breath against my cool flesh.

I slashed about, trying to reach out to them. To grab them. But there was nothing there. There was nobody.

Everything was black. Dark like the pits of hell. No light shrouded my sight for my eyes were closed. I tried to open them, but they felt too heavy. Too worn out and tired.

My body was cold. My skin frozen. I felt as though I had been burned by fire, and the ashes from my corpse, that last remaining piece of me, left to coagulate in the freezing snow.

I could hear a far off voice in the distance mumbling something, but I couldn't make out the words. The noises kept repeating over and over, but I couldn't make them out. There was something holding tightly onto my arms restricting my movements. It started shaking me violently and would not stop.

My head began to pound intensely and red spots began to appear everywhere.

I tried again to open my eyes, only to be met with the piercing light from the fire staring back at me fuzzily. I then went to stand, slowly but carefully, my feet moving underneath me to support my weight, but I swayed greatly from side to side as though I were drunk. I did not fall or stumble though.

As the red dots started to disappear and the fog began to clear, I was able to see where I was; pink and yellow mushrooms aligned around me confusedly in spirals instead of lines and fluffy green pompoms with black beady eyes weaved quickly in and out of sight making me dizzy, small faeries danced merrily along a small winding path leading off into a blue and orange forrest, and the purple and peach clouds that rolled gently over my head like soft waves on a beach of sand. The faeries sung for me to join them. To follow them.

My mind was so blurred and clouded, yet everything seemed to make perfect sense, so I decided that I should follow the faeries.

I stretched my arms out as though I were flying and spun around in circles looking up at the sky.

The faeries pulled gently at my skirts trying to lead me into the woods, so I stopped spinning and followed them.

One gave me a small trinket with a clear, shiny looking liquid inside of it. I looked at the small creature that offered me the tiny object, when it made a gesture for me to drink it.

I quickly lifted the container up to my mouth and tilted back my head to down its contents. It tasted sweet and heavenly, but I started to gag.

The tiny hands gripping at my dress let go and I fell to my knees holding my throat as I coughed up its contents. I started to feel nauseous. I let my arms fall to my sides clutching my hips loosely and allowing them to cross over to my tender stomach. I lay back on the cold ground and closed my eyes, hoping that the feeling would pass.

I woke again to the smell of smoke and caramelised food, and a realisation that my hands had been bound tightly behind my back. I wriggled about trying to gauge how secure the knots were, stopping when I realised that I would not be escaping any time soon.

I looked around cautiously, hoping not to see anymore dancing faeries or flying pompoms.

Instead, my eyes settled upon a man stood crouching over the fire with his back to me. His arms covered in markings and scars, old scribe and symbols. They wound up his arms and down his back, but began to fade as they reached the nape of his neck. A pair of black wings were etched into his skin just below his shoulders, it's bones, broken and its feathers, plucked, leaving nought but a damaged frame. The symbols and scribe entwined around and within them, binding them together as though they had been shackled or tied.

"Be careful not to sit up too quickly" he stated, not bothering to turn around and startling me that he even realised I was awake. I shot up quickly from the excitement, but fell backward as my head began to pound violently and the red spots began to reappear.

"I told you not to do that. You should take things slowly at the moment, just until the last remaining traces of the hypnosis leave your system. You should have something to drink. You'll be dehydrated And this will help speed up your recovery. Are you alright? Here." he said, spinning around beginning to walk towards me, holding up a large leather bota bag in one hand.

His skin was dark and tanned, although it was rather dirty too and on his left hand, he wore a small silver ring with a black stone in its centre. The markings from his arms and back, deviated around his well toned, muscular chest in disorientated loops and swirls. His hair was a dark shade of blond, almost like mouse brown and was long, just past his ears, but was swept back into a ponytail. His eyes stood out most though. A bright and striking colour; aquamarine.

"Ughh...?" I kept blinking and rubbing my eyes, trying to rid of myself of the red dots that crowded my vision, but that only made it worse.

He put the bota bag on the floor beside me and lifted my back leaning me against the mossy stones of the ruined castle in which, we were seeking shelter. I glared at him the whole time.

"Who are you?" my mouth was dry and tasted bitter, but I was desperate to find out, and I was scared.

"Who I am is irrelevant." he looked down, moving his cloak from a rock nearby and placing it gently over me like a blanket.

"Who are you?" I asked again with a little more force despite the fear I felt.

He went to pick up the bota bag from the floor beside him "Nemo." he chortled quietly. He suddenly looked up at me and our eyes locked. His eyes weren't cold, although neither were they kind. They were just...somewhere in-between. I didn't exactly know where or what 'in between' was. But whatever it was, it scared me.

"Please? Why won't you tell me who you are? What do you want?" there was a sweet form of desperation in my voice. An urgency that became more prominent as I tried to speak. Or even think.

"Calm yourself. I mean you no harm. Believe me, if I would have wished death upon you..." he took a slight pause, looking down he continued, "...you would have been dead the instant I laid eyes on you. I only wish to help you. You can trust me. I'm not going to hurt you." he studied me then. His eyes squinting slightly in thought. He grabbed the knife in one hand and went to cut something. I closed my eyes tightly, unsure of what to expect.

I then felt my arms go slack against my sides. He had cut through the rope securing my wrists.

I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, his head tilted to the side in question. A strange look passing his expression.

"Here. Drink this, it'll help you feel better." he passed me the bag and watched as I poured its contents down my throat.

"Ermm. Thank you, I guess." my voice sounded barely above a whisper. My eyes kept looking around, going around in circles like the cogs of an engine or machine. I gave him the bag back. "Does this mean I get a name? Because I honestly cannot call you 'nobody', even if it is in latin." I looked up at him questioningly. He smiled.

"There are some questions that are better left unanswered. At least for now. I will tell you my story when you are ready to hear it. When you will be able to understand. But for now... It is for the best that I do not say."

"But what am I to call you?" I asked rather impatiently.

"As I said before... Nemo." he said grinning, he turned around to walk back toward the fire.

I decided to take that opportunity to try and escape.

I stooped to grab the blade from the ground and swung my arm around to strike him when the weapon was in my grasp. He leaped backward, avoiding my step. I went to jab his shoulder but he leant back and in the opposite direction. So I kicked at his knees causing him to fall on his back with a large crash.

"Good... Although..."

He grabbed my ankle and twisted it violently. I stumbled to the floor. As I leant back trying to cut at his hand, he grabbed my wrist and bent it near to the verge of breaking. I screamed in pain. And he forced the blade from my grip.

I saw a small, sharp looking rock in the corner of my eye and went to reach for it with my other hand. He saw too, and quickly moved his knee on top of my arm, crushing and constricting it under its heavy weight.

I struggled trying to break free. But he brought the knife to my throat and firmly pressed the cold metal to my warm flesh.

My heart started to pound heavily in my chest.

Fight or flight? Should I take the blow, or should I try and at least escape? Everything was happening so quickly, when a little thought popped into my head.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip. And quickly, I brought my leg up and kneed him right in the bollocks. And hard too.

He jolted his knee from my arm and I punched him in the stomach. He dropped the knife as he doubled over, slumping forward. I moved rapidly to avoid being fallen on and elbowed his back. Where he proceeded to collapse in a mound at my feet. I pushed him onto his back and held the knife to his throat.

"You should have gone for my trachea." He chuckled leaving me completely dumbfounded. He actually chuckled. I was holding a knife to his throat, and he chuckled.

"What?" I said in a serious state of confusion, unsure of his meaning.

"Well... The trachea is the windpipe positioned in the centre of the throat. It can be collapsed by a fist blow or, in simpler terms, a punch to the throat, and it can be fatal if delivered powerfully enough." he smiled again once he had explained the dilemma.

"Oh. Wait, what? I don't wish to kill-" I felt something sharp pointed into my waist. Looking down I saw I had a knife pressed to my side.

"You're good. But I'm afraid, not good enough. You need to make sure you're not open..." he tapped the knife against my side to indicate his meaning then went on "... That you're protected. Fully..." looking at his hand resting on mine, he squeezed the pressure point located on my wrist tightly, causing me to drop my weapon to the floor where it clanged against the stone "... And I need to make sure you get more practice in combat." he got up and offered out his hand to help me up.


"A simple "hello" could lead to a million things" - ?

A.N. After I upload this next chapter, I'm going to do a sweep and clean up any bad bits (chapter 2 and this being my main priority), if you have any suggestions of major changes I could make to any chapters (or just the story in general) your help would be greatly appreciated! Please Read & Review! :D