Port Royal, 12 days later.
Blackness. Cold, unfeeling oblivion. Voices. Whose voices?
"She seems to be waking up, father." Female. Who?
"Annabelle, my darling, can you hear me?" Annabelle? Who is Annabelle?
Slowly, my eyes fluttered open. All I could see was a huge blur. I tried to sit up but pain shot through my body and I cried out, falling back onto the oversized bed.
"No, my darling, do not try to sit up. You have been badly wounded." I tried to focus on the blurred shape speaking to me. After a moment, my vision began to clear and I saw an elderly man gazing down at me. He was wearing a long grey wig that was slightly askew and had a kind face that seemed somewhat familiar.
Beside him stood a young woman, she too looked familiar. Her chocolate curls were tied back from her face into a fashionable knot on top of her head. "Oh, Annie, I was so scared you were going to die!" She sobbed into her lace handkercheif.
The third person, a young man, a year or two older then myself, looked down at me, tears glistening his warm liquid eyes. He brought my hand to his lips, the simple touch of affection sending a delicious jolt of warmth through my body.
Who were these people and how did they know me? I loved this stranger. But why?Most immportantly, who was I?
