Now you know what the pill does.

It brings back your memories, but keeps you unconscious the whole time it plays itself in your mind.

You know everything now.

Your mother was, indeed, one of the Rebellion’s founders.  She was a cold woman, her beautiful features tainted by the deed she has done.  Your father was not a good man either.  He and your mother were set up in a marriage and you were an unwanted child.  As soon as you were born, they left you in the Rebellion’s care and divorced, not acknowledging you as their daughter, not caring for you, because they had none to spare, none to even start with.

In the Rebellion’s territory, the members saw you like their daughter instead.  Their little kid, the one who’s just around.  They had called you Silly, because you were clumsy and you had silver hair.  A combination they don’t see anywhere.  They cared for you, accompanied you, talked to you, involved you in trainings, built you into such a girl that had knives as her second pair of arms.  You loved being with them, you loved laughing along with them, you loved them as the people who cared for you.

But they did not love you back.

Once you turned 10, they drifted away.  You realize that all they did was to make you owe them something, to make you think that they actually cared for you.  You were bound to their territory, bound to you endless training schedules, too bound you lost all the expression you had known and took out all your anger on your knife throwing skills, acing every test as if it were a breeze.  You weren’t Silly anymore.

You were the silver haired devil without a name.

Until one day, you notice a man, a director of the Rebellion, looking at you like no one has ever did before. He had been watching all your training, all your tests, and you realize that he had been the first to approach you in the Rebellion.  You dismiss him from your acknowledgement, stereotyping him with the rest, as a fake, as a person who will only leave you sooner or later.

And then comes the memory you recalled before, where this man had spoken to you and brought you out the castle, with the Rebellion’s guards following after him.  When this man had passed you onto a woman’s arms, a woman whose silver hair glinted in your vision.

He did leave you, but he left you for the best.

You’re in the woman’s arms, carrying you away from the Rebellion’s territory, running away quietly so that she does not get caught.

You cry along the way when the realization dawns on you; the person who truly cared for you had risked his reputation, his name, his position for you.

You then find yourself in an old house, the woman kneeling in front of you to speak to you as she looks into her eyes.  She had striking resemblance to your real mother, and by then, you know, that she was her sister.

“From now on, you’ll be Amara.  I’m Silvia, and I will be your mother,” She had said, wiping the tears away from your cheeks.

You had too much in your head despite your age, which is why you wiped all those memories from your mind by yourself, the next day truly waking up as Amara, Silvia’s daughter.

You spent happy, warm years with her, and she raised you like a normal child.  Not a girl who threw knives like a devil, but a girl.  A simple girl that had her hair braided and had dresses sewn for her.  You remembered her warm hugs, her beautiful voice, her statuesque face that colored your days, brought back the expressions and colors onto your face, brought back the vigor of life into your soul.

Occassionally, you would peek through the window and watch as Silvia meets that man who took you to her, see how their eyes longed for each other so much but there’s just something that kept them apart.  They always had something to give and to receive, and after every exchange, Silvia would be sitting on her desk, studying papers, furiously scribbling and sending letters, through the same messenger.

She would sometimes rake her hands through her hair in frustration, she would swipe all the papers away from her table with anger, but when her eyes land on you, she would hug you and smile at you, playing with you like she had never been angry.

Once, a letter came in through the messenger she always sent away and you see her drop onto the ground, sobbing furiously.  She had left you in the house that day, telling you to not go anywhere and not open the door for anybody as she leaves, carrying a bag that had all her papers and letters and workings in it, towards somewhere you didn’t know, which, now, you figure out was the castle.

She comes back with a sad smile on her face, and she had you sleep on her bed that day.  You hugged her back as she cries herself to sleep and you read the letter she received.

It told her of the execution of your father because he was charged for treachery.

You find yourself unable to cry, because you see that this was the only thing that could make Silvia break down.  You figured that you could at least be strong, for her.

Because you finally found someone that loved you back.

Then a memory that you had had before played itself over again in your mind, the part where Kris had killed Silvia and left her to die.

But now, it was more vivid.  Clearer.

You make your way towards your dying mother and watch as her bloodied hands put a ring onto your palm.  Her message prints itself into your mind;

“Here’s the key,”

And what comes after is complete darkness, for what felt like days, until you find that light, that little spot of light in the distance, and it bursts at you, blinding your eyes.

And you wake up, with tears streaming endlessly down your cheeks.