identity.

Who am I?

The question repeats in my head in an endless loop of dazed confusion.

Who am I?

"Katherine." The man from the dream floated back into my thoughts, and for a fraction of a moment, I wished I could return to sleep. I saw myself as I looked in the dream: frail. I had never been frail. There was a time I used to feel beautiful.

I bring a hand to my face, scratching the sleep off my eyes, and brushing a soft lock of dark hair off my cheeks. My eyes, heavy with confusion, must have appeared darker than how it already seemed under what people might call normal circumstances.

But appearance is the last thing on my mind.

A constant, piercing pain throbs at my temples. I frown slightly as I try to focus better upon the person before me. But the light is still blinding. Barely a silhouette do I see before I am forced to cover my gaze and look to the floor.

"It's bloody bright in here." I murmur, instead of answering his question.

Who was in front of me? Why am I here--more importantly, just where am I?

And why won't this pain in my head just stop?