I hesitate when we get to the entrance, the tiny flames created by Angus illuminating the long path ahead with no branches that I can see. Steeling myself, I take the first step forward, the dark green blur of the shrubbery dominating my vision, Angus’s flames the only indicator of the path ahead. Ten feet in, I can finally see the path turn a sharp right.

  “Ni!” I exclaim suddenly, unable to help myself.

  “What?” Angus asks loudly, pausing in his stride and I can imagine the look on his face.

  God, I am such a dork.

  “Yes, you are. You should be ashamed.” I hear quite clearly in my head. It is the unmistakable voice of that little brat who put me in this body.

  “You know I can hear your thoughts, right?” I hear him chide. “You really should be nicer to me than you have been. I gave you what you wanted.”

  Ignoring him, I turn back to Angus and giggle.

  “It’s nothing.” I say before pulling on the hand he has locked in mine. “Come on, I’m curious what layout Daddy has created with the m-maze this time.”

  He moves forward again, walking beside me hand in hand. We walk in silence for a few minutes, taking righthand turns at every opportunity. I find that I am able to visualize a map in my head and soon I am able to predict the pattern that my father used when constructing the current layout of the maze. Not wanting to give it away, and enjoying my time walking outside with Angus, I continue to let us wander into multiple dead ends, extending the time it will take for us to reach the center.

  “So,” I began, breaking the silence between us awkwardly. “That Soul Drain ritual that you mentioned earlier…”

  “Yes?” Angus asks after my voice trails off.

  “Um, I’m c-curious if, to your knowledge, anyone other than p-potentially me has survived it before?”

  “No. As far as I’m aware, you would be the first.” He says matter of factly.

  “O-oh.”

  I look down, organizing my thoughts before continuing.

  “Then, my memories and ability to c-control magic are likely gone for good, right?” I ask.

  “Not necessarily.” He replies. “With the way the ritual works, the actual soul is extracted taking with it the knowledge and magical essence. Granted, we don’t have any actual examples I know of to confirm this, but I theorize that since at the very least a part of your soul remained, so too should some of your memories and essence. I would have to talk with one of the University professors back in Aberling about this though, to see if that theory actually holds up. It is just off the top of my head after all.”

  I nod at this and he continues.

  “As for the coma you were in and your lack of vision, my guess would be it would have to do with the damage to your soul itself caused by the ritual. If I remember correctly, you also mentioned lacking access to your other senses after regaining awareness, correct?”

  His voice is starting to take on an oddly excited tone.

  “Yes,” I say, nodding. “When I first came to, I could only feel things t-touching me, then I could smell things around me, followed by being able to hear, and then eventually, the ability to move. Sight is the only thing I still am having difficulty with, but even that in improving. I can see very blurry shapes, light and dark areas, and even some semblance of c-colors. Not enough to navigate unassisted, but it is an improvement.”

  “Yes!” He exclaims even louder. “It makes so much sense now! Beira, it is theorized that souls are infinite, if part of one were to be cut off, it will eventually repair the damage to itself. I guess then the question is, would magic essence and memory also grow back? For that matter, what would happen to the fragment of soul that gets cut off, does it grow into a new soul? There is so much we don’t know on the subject.

  “In your case, assuming that is indeed what occurred and the theories of the infinite property of souls is correct, then what likely happened is that a tiny fragment of your soul was retained in your body, be it due to interruption of the ritual or your own stubbornness. Honestly, we will never know for sure. Anyway, following this train of thought, if majority of your soul was removed and only a fraction remained, then it is possible that a whole new soul could grow back, essentially making the you that makes up you a new being all togeth…”

  “Wait,” I say interrupting him while sighing inwardly. “Why c-couldn’t anyone tell that I had been a victim of this Soul Drain ritual when I was found? From what I have gathered, nobody c-could tell what had happened to me.”

  If only he knew how close he is to the truth.

  “But you’re not going to tell him, now are you, ‘Beira’?” I hear once again inside my head.

  No. You told me how cruel it would be for the people in her, my, life if they were to find out that the person they loved is gone.

  “Good, that means you’ve learned something at least.” I can mentally feel him rolling his eyes sarcastically. “Now, I suggest you try to steer this conversation towards other subjects before you let something slip that you shouldn’t.”

  “And that’s because there is no one in Elgoss with access to soul magic, only the Elves can use it.” I hear Angus say, finishing up his answer to my question, most of which I missed due to arguing with the brat.

  “Tsk tsk,” I hear again in my head. “I was going to be nice and prevent this until you had fully integrated with your new body, but seeing how you are such an ungrateful child who can’t even be respectful to your elder and benefactor,” I hear a single snap, like someone snapping their fingers.

  “Enjoy.” I hear him say, smugness in his voice.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  What?

  I shake my head and try to ignore the brat harassing me inside my head.

  “I see.” I say after a moment, trying to sound as if I had been paying attention. “C-can we drop the subject for now, Angus? I’m getting a bit uncomfortable.”

  “Oh, okay, Beira.” He says sounding slightly dejected.

  We walk for a bit longer in silence, an awkward air between us.

  I hope I didn’t offend Angus by cutting him off so suddenly the way that I did. He sounded like he was really getting into it.

  Soon we come to the center courtyard of the maze, where the Rose Gazebo stands, just like in the dream. I can’t make out the details of its marble columns nor the intricate latticework of the trellises due to the limitations of Angus’s flames and my own vision, but somehow, I know they match what I saw in the dream. I can see the shape of hundreds of rose vines entangling to the outside of the gazebo, blooms perpetually open thanks to the duke’s magic. As we approach, I can distinguish a blur differing colors in the locations of the blossoms. There are shades of red, yellow, blue, white, and black, all scattered about.

  The fragrant scent of the flowers fills my nose as we get closer to the gazebo.

  Gasping, I grab my head as a sharp pain lances through it.

  Unbidden, a memory surfaces of a time when I was a little girl and my daddy brought me here to show me the rainbow of colors he had created just for me. How I had breathed in the deep scent of the flowers as I played amongst them, unaware of the thorny threat they posed. My daddy eventually had sat me down on one of the marble benches in the gazebo after I had tired myself out and he told me that to come here if I was ever in danger. That the roses would protect me if I called on them.

  At the same time, a separate memory of my mother and I weeding her flower bed in front of our house in America came to mind. She had me helping her while my father mowed the lawn with his brand-new riding mower. We had been working at it for what had felt at the time like forever, but were more than halfway done with the task. The flower bed ran from the front door of the house to the carport where my mother’s pride and joy, her red roses, grew, running up the corner of the house and arched over the entrance to the carport thanks to wiring she had rigged to support them. Growing impatient with the slow progress, I had got the bright idea to go the other side of the flower bed where the roses were and work my way towards her because in my mind, I had thought it would make it go faster. When I had ran over to that side of the flowers bed, I tripped and fell, thorns piercing the tender skin of my hands and arms as I tried to catch myself.

  Faintly I hear someone calling my name, Beira’s name, and I realize I am on my knees kneeling over in the grass in front of the gazebo. The voice belongs to Angus. He is kneeling beside me, one hand on my back as he tries to get me to answer him.

  As the pain that had shot though my head subsides, I struggle to answer him and eventually manage to tell him that I am ok. My head is still reeling from the two memories coming to me so suddenly at the same time, so I ask him to help me to one of the nearby benches inside the gazebo.

  As he helps me to me feet, I realize the flames he had been using to aid me are gone.

  He must be really upset for him to lose his focus on keeping them around.

  He guides me up the couple of steps into the gazebo and leading me to one of the benches. At the bench, he turns me around so that the back of my calves are pressing against it through the layers of my dress so that I know it is ok to sit. He takes his place beside me and puts a hand to my forehead as if checking my temperature.

  “Well, you don’t feel feverish.” He says, concern leaking into his words.

  “I’m ok. I just remembered s-something.” I say in response, trying to reassure him.

  I tell him about the memory of when the duke first brought Beira to the Rose Gazebo and how I felt a sharp pain in my head when the memory resurfaced which led to my collapse.

  “That great, Beira!” Angus exclaims. “That means that your memory is definitely returning.”

  I nod, confused. This only confirms to me that that the nightmare I had had was an actually memory.

  That makes two memories that don’t belong to me that I have now experienced. How? I thought this was not supposed to happen.

  I direct my thoughts inward.

  Hey, brat?

  I get the vague notion that I’m being blatantly ignored.

  Fine, be that way. You probably can’t tell me anything about these memories anyway, you little punk.

  “Beira?”

  Angus’s voice brings me back to current.

  “Yes?”

  “You just seemed as if you were lost in thought.” He replies.

  “I was a little, s-sorry.” I apologize.

  “It’s okay, Beira. I’m just concerned.” He says. “Would you like to make our way back inside for now? It is almost time for lunch and we still have half the maze to navigate.”

  “Ah, yes, lets.” I reply, ready to get away from the smell of roses, partly because I’m afraid it might trigger more memories that don’t belong to me.

  What if I get to where I can’t distinguish between Beira’s memories and my own?

  I don’t know if that is a valid fear or not but since that brat had once again gone silent. After finally speaking up for the first time since he came to me in the dream where he sort of explained what happened to me…

  And admitted to murdering me.

  I wondered what made him finally speak up again for the first time in over a week.

  Surely it wasn’t just to bitch about how I refer to him in my head. It’s not like he ever gave me a name to use for him. And for that matter, what the hell is he doing creeping up in my personal thoughts? Ugh, thinking about that punk just irritates me, peeking into my thoughts like that weirds me out.

  I involuntarily shiver which Angus must have taken as me being chilled because I feel a heavy coat suddenly being draped over my shoulders.

  “Thank you.” I say to him since I can’t actually explain why I shivered without raising a lot of other questions that I didn’t want to deal with.

  I hear him stand up, and feel his hand take mine, lifting, to help me stand up. Once standing, we leave the gazebo, him leading while I follow, his hand in mine. The world is still nothing but a blur of color because Angus hasn’t renewed the flames that he had been using earlier. I don’t worry about it, reasoning that he had likely just forgotten that he had extinguished them when I had fallen. I don’t worry about it too much because he is leading me and he won’t let me get lost.

  As we continue through the second half of the maze, I notice that the brightness from the sun is slowly crawling along the path as it climbs higher overhead. We had spent a little over two hours on the first half of the maze, but that was including all of the wrong turns and dead ends that that we encountered after I had figured out the layout of the first half. I suspected I could have reached the Rose Gazebo in around thirty minutes at a regular pace once I had figured out the pattern, but the only reason it took so long was that we had meandered and I had intentionally led us down paths to dead ends even after I had figured it out.

  I’m not sure how long we were in the gazebo exactly, but I figure it was roughly between 10:30 and 11:00 when we left the gazebo. Based on the way the ground was now lit, I suspect that it was now drawing close to noon.

  Suddenly, I walk into Angus, not realizing that he had paused.

  “Beira, are we going the right way?” He asks me.

  “Why are you asking m-me?” I reply. Surely, he can figure out a simple hedge maze.

  “What do you mean, ‘Why am I asking you?’ You are the one that grew up figuring out the duke’s hedge maze patterns, do you not recognize this one?”

  “Angus.” I say with a breathy sigh. “First, I have really big gaps in my memory.”

  “Oh, right.” I hear him say.

  “However,” I continue, “Apparently figuring out the patterns that my fathers' mazes is a skill that s-stuck with me.”

  “Good.” He says, relief in his voice.

  “Which brings me to my second point. It is hard to utilize that skill when all I can see is a blurry mess around me.” I conclude.

  “What do you…” His voice trails off. “Oh.”

  The path before us is now once again lined in tiny flames as he summons them to aid me once more. To the front of me and behind, I can only see a solid path with no turns or intersections showing in range of the visual aid.

  “My range of sight is somewhat limited,” I tell him. “Are there any t-turns ahead? I don’t see any.”

  “No.” He says shaking his head. “That is why I asked if we were going the right way. We have been on this straight path for the last twenty minutes with no sign of that changing anytime soon.”