In Which Severin Recalls What He Forgot to Forget

October 14, 1165

Where the hell am I?

He certainly wasn't back at the castle. He'd woken to find himself on an uncomfortable bed in a filthy room that reeked of herbs and sour wine, his head throbbing and his body heavy. Perhaps he'd passed out and been dragged to the nearest house? That must have been it. Falidor was probably waiting for him on the other side of the curtain. Figuring the man had better things to do, Severin slung his legs from the bed and pulled himself to his feet. "Falidor?"

There was no answer; perhaps the young man had nodded off at the kitchen table. Severin pulled back the curtain and stepped into the house's main room. "Falidor? Are you there?"

A quick look around revealed that he wasn't. Odd.

Severin made his way toward the center of the room and turned about, trying to examine every nook and cranny. There was something uncannily familiar about this place, but as to how that was, he had no idea. It was a lost fragment of a long-forgotten dream. He had all the pieces, yet could not complete the puzzle.

Trying to ignore the stench, he shuffled toward a table in the corner upon which sat two clay jugs, seemingly the primary source of the odor. Curious, he placed his hand upon the nearer on and gently rocked it backward, a slight splashing audible from within; it still held some liquid. From the smell of it, it was some sort of spirit, or perhaps some combination of the same.

He began to tilt the vessel in order to see for sure, but stopped when a scratch on its far left curve caught his eye. It wasn't just ordinary wear and tear, or even an accidental scrape--someone had clearly etched the letter 'K'. Probably just some kid, marking random objects with his initials; Severin rotated the jug a few degrees to the right, figuring a preceding letter would confirm this.

'S'.

S.K.

Those were initials--his initials.

The hell'd I tell yeh 'bout tha damn kid? Let 'im stay with 'is da!

He knew where he was. How had he not realized it before? This was his mother's old house in Dovia, in the same state as it had been decades prior. He'd spent much of his youth in this house--how had he not remembered that until just now? Was he ill? Mad, perhaps?

Git tha damn kid outta 'ere!

His stepfather's drunken slurring was a voice he never thought he would hear again, not even in his own head. How could he now remember this? He had made such a point to forget!

Or maybe he never had; maybe he'd forgotten to forget.

Desperate to regain his composure, he left the table and pushed open the bedroom door. He stepped into the doorway and stared in disbelief.

I must be dead.

It was his stepfather, just as he had seen him last--newly dead, poisoned, dark shadows under his eyes and his mouth dry. How was this possible? The man had been dead for fourteen years; he could not have been so well-preserved.

Beneath the woven blanket, he twitched; Severin jumped. The corpse's mouth creaked open. "Daddy ain't here to help you now, boy."

His instincts taking over, Severin clenched his teeth and scowled. "You."

His late stepfather cackled. "Welcome to Hell, you useless bastard! You and me are gonna be seeing a lot of each other; I been waiting for this, I'll admit..."

"What are you talking about, you cunt-licking ass-rag?" he snarled, despite a nagging feeling that he already knew.

The cadaver grinned his crooked, vindictive grin. "I know what he did--what you did..."

"Severin? Severin, are you in here?"

It had never felt so good to be interrupted by another voice.

He retreated to the main room and closed the door behind him, coming face-to-face with Octavius. "So... you're dead too."

A grim frown upon his face, Octavius shook his head. "No, neither of us are dead."

Severin raised an eyebrow. "I just saw my stepfather."

And I just saw my first wife. I thought I was dead too, but that's not the case. It's... odd. I'll explain while we look for Dalston."

"Dalston?" Severin repeated. "Are you sure he's somewhere around here? I mean, I woke up in Dovia--he could be anywhere."

"You're not in Dovia," the other man insisted, "but... yes, he'd better be somewhere around here."

Severin frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Octavius turned around, leading him out of the house. "Because if we don't find him in three hours, he'll die."

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