The name still felt foreign to his tongue.
"Nephyr," he muttered over and over again, as if trying to get used to the concept.
Laying on the bed, his eyes aimlessly scanned the desolate roof above him, mind still deep in thought.
By pure chance, he had found somewhere he could stay. Even then, however, he knew it was only going to get worse from there. Despite his naive exterior, it was clear as day that the man didn't have Nephyr's best interest at heart. He was using him.
In Nephyr's mind, it felt only fair for him to use him in return.
Despite this ambitious goal, there was still an undeniable problem to this whole situation.
Nephyr had still lost his memories.
The simple fact that he's forgotten everything about who he ever was ate at his aching heart and sent a cold, resonating ache of pain through his mind.
He knew he was susceptible, though he was determined to make the most out of this new existence that was thrown upon him.
After all, it's hard to feel sad about what you can't remember.
Lingering in his mind was the ever present image of the man bathing him in scalding water. The man helping him off the streets for a better life. Confusion enveloped his head, thoughts flickering between gratitude and disgust.
Soon enough, his eyes slowly began to drift shut and his consciousness began to fade. He drifted off to sleep, fully prepared for whatever horror awaited him tomorrow.
* * *
The sudden series of thuds against the door immediately made his body rise. While he was still getting adjusted to his surroundings, the man peered in before fully entering.
"Good morning, Nephyr. I hope you slept well."
Somehow, the man managed to look even more refined than last night — his once beat attire turning to something immaculate, as if it were crafted by a god.
Even his posture appeared more confident and noble.
"Come on now," the man gently murmured, his hands fiddling with his suit, "It's about time for you to meet the others."
'Others?' He thought to himself, placing his feet against the carpeted floor as he came to a rise. 'Others like me or others under the man's control?'
Upon standing and following the man out the door, one thing was already apparent; The entire mood of the hall had, seemingly overnight, shifted from a rather unsettling and uncanny expanse to a strangely normal and somewhat homey corridor.
The once dim lighting was completely replaced with a warm glow, all thanks to a series of mounted wall sconces placed between and just above each of the doors. Each of them emanated two quivering flames, many having their wicks show their age as they shriveled into a ball of ash.
The man strode forward, giving no clues as to what or where they were going. Nephyr was forced to try and keep pace, though he didn't let this moment go to waste, either.
Using the lighting to his advantage, he indulged in his curiosity which managed to escape him the night prior. He began to read each of the inscriptions on the doors.
His eyes moved between them at an incredible pace. Every time, he'd repeat the words he read so as to not forget them — a feeling he knows all too well.
By the time they had reached the end of the hall, he had noted the five other inscriptions on the doors; and, of course, Patches.
While the inscriptions' meanings were still unknown, He knew the information would be useful in the near future.
The door, immediately to the right of his own, was notably labeled 'Reynette,' while the following across and beside were named 'Berry' and 'Rune' respectively.
Only the final door was a special case.
The inscription was etched out — chipped and slashed away by what seemed to be some kind of knife. Eligible was the singular letter 'P' right at the start. Other than that, nothing.
The names meant nothing to him, yet a deep shiver trailed down his spine as if they should.
As Nephyr entered the main room, he could immediately see why.