I've led a life that I took for granted. Three decades spent in service, not voluntary but who was I to know then? A little girl who was raised to make others happy, I hadn't even known there was a world beyond the bedroom until I was of proper age. Didn't think I was worth anything until I was thirty. Looking back, I came so far. A slave for thirty years, then the ambassador of a nation in less than a year. I should count myself lucky that education was cast down to the servants, but it's hard to thank them for anything, even the one that I loved. I found happiness; lived happy for four years.

And now? I ran, who was I to deserve such a life of happiness. I came, and did what I was fated to do. So many others who had worked harder and didn't even get as far as I had. I was filling space that had others waiting for it, and so I left. To the worst parts of the world I went, without food or clothes. Only memories. Then, there was pain and now I'm here. I won't describe to you what happened, but it wasn't quick.

It's empty here, a terrible bright white with only the vestiges of a home surrounding me. The books and glimpses are all that keep me company. Flashes of lives that I never lived, things I've never done. Other versions of me who haven't fucked up as badly as I did. Dreams that seem like they've been picked for me. I wonder if the people I meet in these lost thoughts and wild hallucinations know about me. I remember them all so clearly, but they don't even know I'm watching.

Then you walk in, a second soul in this blinding darkness. Have I met you before?