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Raising one of my hands to move away the hair that flows before my face, I grab my fingers closed in a fist that lightly touch one of my cheeks and take a step back. They are seconds of vertigo, a breath of time, but forgotten years that return to me at once.

"Did you remember anything, love?”

It requires all my effort to act coherently and not fall on my trembling knees, because Jonathan Maxwell's vision brought from the dead does not rescue me from the veils of flashbacks and memories that I fought very hard to be kept in the past. Today I see that ignoring my hauntings never ceased to be a lost battle.

Between containing the knots that form inside my stomach and dealing with fifteen years of memories trying to fit back into the gaps in my head, I lack space to say something intelligent. What forms between my lips is:

"Why are you still alive?”

Jonathan's face darkens a little. Especially because he decides to take an extra step towards me and this makes him escape from the range of