May 10th, 2005 - Remnants of Mount Pearl, Newfoundland Canada
The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was the rain. A near constant downpour, hammering into her face and forcing her to squint in order to see. The second was the water all around her - she was partially submerged in a pool of it, and she could feel it surging towards her feet. She was on a slope, then.
The third thing was that she had no idea what was going on. Where was she? Why was she outside? Why was she laying in water?
Who was she? What was her name?
Why was she so calm about all of this?
Deciding that questions could wait, as she didn't want to keep getting pelted in the face by water, she sat up. It hurt. Everything ached. Was she injured? Was that how she lost her memories? She knew that injuries could cause amnesia, and if she had taken a blow to the head…
Why did she know that?
If only she had a bottle of Wiggenweld, that would solve so many issues. At least for the aches and pains. Maybe a bit of Dr Ubbly's Oblivious Unction could handle the amnesia? It would certainly be worth attempting.
Where the hell did that come from? What the hell were those names? Potions? Alchemy? What-?
Countless recipes - hundreds, thousands , came to her. Potions to clean wounds, provide more energy than an espresso, heal burns, calm the mind, aid in sleeping, cure petrification, regrow bones. Her eyes closed as she began to get a headache. So much knowledge. Too much. She wasn't sure her mind could handle it-
Her many years of Occlumency training kicked in, organizing the information in her mind into categories and helping to ease the flow. Preventing it from overwhelming her. It was like a librarian, sorting the countless tomes of information into a neat, tidy, library. One she was sure she could leaf through at her leisure.
What the hell was Occlumency? Years of training? She'd never even heard of it before! At least the flood of information was handled. She could think clearly now - though some part of her recognized that the knowledge was still flooding in. That same part was organizing it, feeding her useful information slowly, bit by bit.
Spells, now. And rituals. She knew how to conjure water and fire, clean herself, heal wounds, create constructs the size of buildings, and wards and shields to defend herself and others. Locations she considered important, too. She even knew how to make enchanted items like a flying broomstick or a tent that was larger on the inside than outside.
She knew how to turn into an animal. That was…sort of neat. She guessed.
With the flood of information handled, some sort of multitasking ability, she theorized, the issue of getting out of the rain and water moved back to her number one priority. Opening her eyes again, she turned her attention to her surroundings. She somewhat wished she hadn't.
She was laying in the middle of what she assumed was the driveway to a house, maybe even her own home. Around her were the destroyed remains of a suburb, every building had been obliterated by some cataclysmic event with only a few support structures remaining. Looking behind her she could see the same applied to what was once likely her own house. There were…distinct shapes. Human ones. In the rubble throughout the area. Including the building behind her. Some of them were in the flooded streets, just floating there in the water.
She fought the urge to be sick and focused on the other parts of her surroundings. Searching for something, anything, that stood out. That allowed her to ignore them.
Something moved at her side, bumping into her leg. Looking down she saw a beautifully carved wooden staff, made from a white wood. All along its surface were symbols, engravings she couldn't decipher…yet. She didn't know how, but she knew that the knowledge would come to her soon. The tip of the staff spiraled, twisting around a single large light blue gem. It was not a sapphire, she knew. But she didn't know what it was. Not yet.
The staff was…familiar. It felt like it was hers. No, like it was part of her. Related to the seemingly endless library of knowledge that still flowed into her mind, the metaphorical librarian in her brain still working tirelessly to sort it all. Taking the staff in hand, something that felt right to do, she worked herself to her feet - leaning heavily on it for support. She was ankle deep in water, and the rain still came. The streets beyond the driveway were completely flooded - far beyond anything a mere rainstorm could provide.
"What happened here…?" She questioned aloud, her voice hoarse. Like she'd been screaming. Had she been?
The answer to both questions didn't come, naturally. Just like her own name, the knowledge she sought stayed out of her reach. But, perhaps one of the answers lay in the ruins just behind her?
Turning to face the destroyed home, she grimaced as pain surged throughout her body. Given the state of things, and where she woke up, she must have been thrown from the building when it was destroyed. It was a wonder she wasn't hurt worse than she was.
Or dead. Like them. Her mind whispered. She pushed that thought aside. She needed to focus.
Making her way towards the ruined building, ignoring the twinges of pain that hit her as she stepped, she blinked as the part of her mind she'd labelled "librarian" offered up a...spell, for lack of a better word. Therapeuo.
She felt… something in her react to the word, but it did nothing. The pain remained, and she was irritated that bit of information seemed useless. The "librarian" part of her mind reminded her that intent was needed. She ignored the oddness of fracturing her thoughts like this, it was a helpful multitasking tool, and thanked...herself?
Therapeuo. She thought, again, this time willing whatever it was inside - her magical core, her mind helpfully supplied - to act. Again, magic. Spells. That didn't seem right, but also part of her argued that it was completely normal, and questioning it, actually, was the part that didn't seem right. The aches and pains immediately vanished, and she could walk without the assistance of her staff. She leaned on it anyway, mind racing as she considered the facts. She could do magic?
Of course I can! I graduated top of my class at Hogwarts, after all- No, that wasn't right. She never went to Hogwarts…did she? What sort of school was named Hogwarts anyway? The greatest school in Britain, of course.
But she wasn't British, that she was sure. She needed answers. She needed them now. She quickly continued her way into the ruins of the home, and made a point to ignore the human shaped limbs that could be seen hanging limply out of some debris. She wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
She tried to find something that could tell her about who she was. What her name was, at least. None of the books were legible, their pages too wet and damaged. Most were fictional titles, too, from what she could gather. They wouldn't have any relevant information. The house was utterly ruined, and while there were personal effects, most were damaged or destroyed - any text was illegible.
She did see that there were photographs on the floor - maybe that would help? Their frames were broken, and the pictures soaked, but they seemed to hold up alright. She grabbed one that looked promising - a trio of faces looking back at her. She inspected each carefully.
One was a man with greying black hair and a well-groomed beard. He wore a blue golf polo and tanned pants. He was handsome, with a fit physique and bright blue eyes. His smile seemed genuine. He was content with life. There was also a woman, around his age, wearing a white long-sleeve shirt and jeans. Her hair was dark brown, nearly black, and her eyes were hazel. She was quite pretty, and obviously athletic like the man, her husband likely. She had a nice smile. Carefree.
Finally, there was a younger woman, a teenage girl based on her age. Short black hair that just barely touched her shoulders, the same blue eyes as the man, and a tanned complexion. A lot of time outdoors, then. She looked similar to her mother in the sense that she was obviously athletic, and the grey golf shirt and skinny jeans she was wearing hinted at this fact. While she wasn't as pretty as her mother, she was certainly not what one would consider "average." She was nearly as tall as her father, and much taller than her mother. The three were on a boat, somewhere, and it was sunny.
Flipping over the image, the words "Michael, Kerry, and Cassandra - 2004, Florida" were found written in faded ink.
Cassandra.
Cassandra. Cassie. That was her name, wasn't it? She found a piece of a broken mirror, and the face that stared back at her confirmed it.
She had Cassandra's face. A little older, more filled out. Maybe a year or two since the picture was taken. She was filthy. Laying in murky water would do that to you…
That meant that the bodies under the debris…
She turned to stare at the arm that she had been ignoring since she first entered the building. It was a man's arm with a broken watch on the wrist. She recognized that watch. She'd bought it for his birthday this year, using the little money she'd made from her part-time job at the sandwich shop up the road. Nearby, a woman's leg could be seen sticking out from the remnants of what had been a large bed - the ouroboros tattoo on a bared ankle was familiar. She'd wanted one just like it. Both bodies were near the door. They had been on their way out when the building collapsed.
"...Mom? Dad?" Cassandra whispered.
And then the memories came.
Endbringer sirens. Panic. Her father urged her out the door. Too late, they were too late. The sirens came too late. Mount Pearl was somewhat inland, it should have been fine. They should have had time. Time to reach a shelter.
They had been too late.
Their home shattered as the water hit it, and the world seemed to shake as the torrent came. The land buckled, and her father's eyes widened in horror as the home she'd grown up in came crashing down. He held her gaze right to the end, and she watched him die.
The water hit her then. The force of it should have broken her bones, ruptured her organs. She should have died, but she didn't. The water went around her, as if she was a large rock in a stream. She was wet, but she did not die. She lived to watch the world around her, the world she knew and loved, be destroyed.
Finally, it was all too much. Her vision spun, and she began to fall. All faded to black, and a headache unlike any she'd ever felt before struck her. The last thing she heard was an old man's voice, muffled and illegible, followed by the cry - no, the songof some type of bird. One that raised her spirits, that comforted her for reasons she couldn't explain. There was a sense that this shouldn't have happened like this.
Then nothing. Then, she awoke to her world in ruins.
Cassandra fell to her knees and wept.
