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"The world is nothing but a shadowy labyrinth of riddles and gloom, a universe of unfathomable enigma and despair."

IN A STATE, a feminine voice could be heard speaking in the vast void. The disembodied voice spoke, seemingly talking to an invisible listener. Who he was conversing with and where their location was a mystery to him.

But the voice, in the midst of the utter stillness, seemed so clear and real, as if they were right before him.

Her voice, like a whisper to the ear and a hummingbird singing on a branch of small trees was all that he could hear. "Will he be alright?" asked the unknown feminine voice, the question lingering in the air. "Yes, he'll be alright," a response came, sounding like it was from a man's voice.

"He only needs to rest for a few weeks, or a month," the man continued,

"His wounds are not that severe, nor in a critical condition, because as per my observations, his situation is manageable."

As the woman sighed with relief upon hearing the man's response, her voice was followed by the sound of footsteps drawing close. The man's eyes slowly opened, although with blurry vision, all that he could perceive was just a blurred silhouette looming before him, as if staring down on him. For a few seconds, he remained unmoving, his eyes trying to adjust to the faint light, as if trying to make sense of the mysterious presence before him.

"I knew this would happen."

The woman spoke as she stared down upon the unconscious man. "This is all my fault," she whispered to herself, the words ringing in the air, her tone filled with guilt. As the reality of her words slowly came to sink in, she closed her eyes tightly, unwilling to acknowledge the consequences of her actions.

The man remained motionless; his consciousness lost once more as the effects of the woman's words lingered in the air like a curse, one she had brought upon herself.

The woman remained in a state of silence, her words a mere whisper that she spoke, deep within herself, "If only I wouldn't have done it, perhaps things would have turned out differently?" she uttered those words repeatedly, as if a remorseful chant filled with regret.

She was perhaps consumed by guilt and the feelings of responsibility for her actions, and it was perhaps a heavy weight that she carried upon herself, her punishment for making that fatal decision.

As the woman stood by the bedside, she grabbed a damp cloth from a small basin nearby. With a gentle manner, she proceeded to wipe the young man's wounded body, as if tending to his scars, like a mother trying to take care of her child.

With tender care, she cleaned his skin, trying to remove the dirt and grime from his injuries, leaving only a hint of moisture on his body.

She worked carefully and delicately, making sure not to cause him any additional pain or discomfort, as if treating him as her most precious gem. As the woman tended to the wounded man, she also tried to cure him with the prescribed medicines that the doctor recommended, in order to improve the chances of a swift and easy recovery.

After all, it was her fault that the incident happened, and it was only right that she takes responsibility in helping the young man get well. With her care and concern, she hoped for the best possible outcome for the young man.

The man laid motionless, his mind was filled with illusions, fragments of memories playing in his subconscious. "It's alright... I'll always be there." was the voice of another woman that could be heard, and though it was weak, it was soothing, nonetheless. As he continued to lay there motionless, the voice remained, like a presence that comforted him in this moment of uncertainty and helplessness.

In the dreams of the man's memories, the woman had an ash blonde hair with a wavy texture that seemed to fit her perfectly. Her ivory skin was as pale as the snow fell during the winter months of December, and her lips, a shade of vibrant red, which reminded him of a goblet filled with fine vintage red wine.

The woman's crimson eyes were a reminder of the bloody incident that happened in the distant past, a memory that he tried to suppress but still left an impression on his unconscious mind.

While the man's subconsciousness was filled with illusions, the fragments of memories suddenly turned into a nightmarish reality. The woman's face, once a beautiful vivid presence, suddenly began to crack and break into tiny pieces, like a mirror shattered into a million shard.

The pieces of the memory, each filled with a unique memory moment from the past, began to fall away one by one, as if disappearing into the air like dust particles in the wind.

As the fragments of memories fell apart into nothingness, the current memory faded away, disappearing like an illusion of the past, as the man was transported to another space, a different reality, leaving that moment in the past behind.

A young boy's suddenly emerged out of nowhere, uttering a scream that pierced through the air like a dagger.

"Why? Why did she take the blade instead of you?!"

The young boy yelled in anguish, his voice filled with grief and anger. His pain was purely evident in his as the tears he tried to hold back falls to his cheeks. There's no one to blame but only the man who was frozen in the empty void of memories.

"It's your fault that she died!" he continued, his words echoing off the walls of the man's mind as guilt and self-blame tore everything apart.

The memories now turning into a nightmare, continued to unravel in the man's consciousness. "You don't even deserve that honorable recognition by father!" a voice be heard, this time sounding like a young adult man, his words filled with bitterness, sadness and betrayal.

"Are you even suitable for this honorable name? You are nothing but an obstacle for my dreams!" He continued, his tone shifting towards disappointment, as if trying to crush the man's self-esteem even further.

"If only you are the one who died instead of her," the voice continued, his words were like daggers, sharp and painful.

Although the man tried his best to act tough, putting on a facade of strength and courage, the illusions of his memories had begun to overpower him, leaving him in a vulnerable state. In the darkness of his unconsciousness, he began to weep and blame himself, his sorrow so intense that it let him distraught.

The memories of his guilt and pain continued to torture him, he whispered to himself, trying to calm himself as tears rolled down his cheeks. He was in pain, both in body and soul, as the reality pf his mistakes dawned upon him.

"Forgive me... Mother."