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I dipped my fingers into the salve, feeling its cool, velvety texture, and applied it to the mark on her arm.
The instant relief was evident in her sigh.
As I tended to her, a burning question lingered on my mind. “Isla,” I began cautiously, “have we met before? Do you remember anything about me?”
She looked puzzled, her eyes scanning my face for any trace of familiarity. “No,” she replied slowly. “I’m certain I would remember someone like you.”
I tried to hide my surprise and the pang of disappointment that accompanied her words.
I had vivid dreams, flashes of memories — or were they premonitions? — of her.
It was hard to accept she didn’t share those visions.
“Forgive me,” I said, a wry smile playing on my lips. “I had this strange feeling we’ve crossed paths in another lifetime.”
Isla’s lips curved into a soft smile, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the now-fading mark on her arm. “Perhaps we have. The universe works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?”
The room’s ambiance seemed to shift.
There was an electric charge in the air, a palpable tension filled with promise and intrigue.
I could smell the warm, earthy essence of her skin, mixed with the cool, medicinal aroma of the salve.
Her soft breathing, paired with the subtle hum of the prison’s life support systems, created an almost melodic rhythm.
“I promise, Isla,” I said, our eyes locking in an intense gaze, “no harm will come to you here. I’ll ensure it.”
For a moment, it felt as though we were the only two beings in the universe, connected by a bond neither of us fully understood.
But it was a bond I was determined to explore and cherish.
* * *
The troubling weight of her lack of recognition pressed down on me.
There was a unique pain in being forgotten by someone you felt you’d known forever.
Every fiber of my being insisted that she should remember, that we had a history neither could deny.
A vague memory of a curse whispered through my mind, but it was hazy, like trying to grasp a wisp of smoke with bare hands.
Her face was a canvas of emotions — confusion, anxiety, hope.
The delicate interplay of soft light and shadows in the room highlighted her features, making her even more ethereal.
The soft hum of machinery somewhere far away echoed my own turmoil.
“Do you fancy something to eat?” I asked, trying to divert my thoughts, to ground myself.
I could smell the distant wafts of intergalactic cuisine from the kitchens below, a tantalizing blend of sweet, sour, and spicy.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m not very hungry.”
But her voice was weak, and her pallor hinted at the need for sustenance.
I activated the food console with a swipe, ordering a variety of dishes.
The prison might have been a place of captivity, but it boasted an array of delicacies from various galaxies.
