Chapter 2
Charlotte stumbled through the streets, her surroundings a blur of unfamiliar sights and sounds. Her stomach growled as hunger gnawed at her, and her steps grew slower as exhaustion weighed on her. Townsfolk eyed her with curiosity and unease, for her clothes, torn and bloodstained, bore a style foreign to the people of Wistledown. Her otherworldly aura made her seem even more out of place...she walked up to a man selling meat buns
"Can i have one please" she asked
"One costs 2 cents" the shop owner replied
"Cents, what's that? Why don't i pay you you with this" she said pulling out the gold ring from her finger and stretching it to him
"Sorry, coins only" he replied
"Please, just one...I'm really hungry" she pleaded but the man payed her a deaf ear as he went about his business...
An elderly woman, bundled in a simple woolen cloak, approached her with concern etched across her wrinkled face. "Young lady, are you all right?" she asked, her voice warm but filled with worry. "You look lost…and those injuries of yours—someone should tend to them."
Charlotte looked at her blankly. "Please, ma'am, could you tell me where I am?"
The woman squinted at her, suspicion flickering briefly before it softened. "This is Wistledown town. Are you looking for someone? A relative, perhaps?"
Charlotte shook her head, her voice faint. "No…I'm just lost. I don't know how I got here or where I am."
The woman pursed her lips, looking Charlotte up and down. "Well, you don't seem to know anyone here either. You look half-starved. Why don't you come with me, dear? Those wounds need tending, and a warm meal wouldn't hurt."
Charlotte hesitated, but hunger and desperation persuaded her. "Thank you," she whispered, and followed the woman through winding alleys until they reached a humble cottage at the edge of town.
Inside, the woman motioned to a worn wooden basin in the corner. "First things first—a wash and a change of clothes. Those…er…strange garments you're wearing are better off left outside."
Charlotte nodded gratefully, letting herself be led to the washroom. She scrubbed away the grime and blood, feeling the water cleanse her sore skin. Afterward, she slipped into a long, faded floral gown the woman had laid out, a garment simple yet surprisingly comfortable. Clean and refreshed, she joined the woman in the main room, where the scent of a warm broth wafted through the air.
The old woman handed her a cup and then, with a shrewd look in her eyes, spoke up. "So, child, what's a demon like you doing here in the mortal realm?"
Charlotte's hand froze mid-reach, her eyes wide in shock. "Demon? And…this is the mortal realm?"
The woman tilted her head, studying Charlotte closely. "It seems you don't remember anything, do you? I sense faint traces of dark energy in you, although it's weak. It's as if…you've lost your powers."
"But…how do you know all this? Are you a demon too?" Charlotte asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The woman sighed, a hint of old sorrow in her eyes. "Yes. I was exiled from the demon realm 300 years ago...for something i did"
Charlotte leaned forward, desperate. "Is there any way you could help me regain my memory? I feel so…empty."
The woman shook her head slowly. "I don't possess that kind of power, I'm afraid. But I believe that your memories, along with your powers, may return in time. You have to be patient."
"Then, if I somehow reach the demon realm, would they be able to help me there?"
A sad smile tugged at the woman's lips. "You're as good as human now, child. Without spiritual energy, crossing the border is impossible. The very magic of it would incinerate you."
Charlotte's shoulders sagged, frustration bubbling within her. "So I have to wait? Just…linger here until I can remember?"
The woman looked her over with a knowing gleam. "From the looks of that strange armor you wore, I'd wager you were no mere wanderer. You likely fought in the last battle between the demon and immortal realms. Maybe something—or triggered your loss of memories and Powers."
Charlotte furrowed her brow, images flashing faintly in her mind—an intense fight, the glint of steel, a face she couldn't quite place. "I remember…someone's face. It's vague, but I remember fighting him."
Suddenly, a deep voice rumbled from behind her, smooth and hauntingly familiar. "Are you talking about me?"
Charlotte's breath caught, and she whirled around. Her gaze settled on the figure standing in the doorway, a man with an aura that seemed to pull shadows around him. Her heart raced as she recognized him—the very face she had seen in her fractured memories.