Hollow Ground

There it is again, that sudden force, barely present but enough to grab my attention as it feels like a never-ending itch. Right between my eyes, focused with a perfection of placement as my finger pushes at the skin, wanting the feeling to go away. Perhaps this itch is not too important to focus all of my attention on as I hear Fiona talking in the background, her voice increasing in proximity as I know the male is with her. Only minutes ago did I ask what had happened to me, only for Zion to find my question something of horror as he fled the room, unable to look at me anymore. Fiona having chased after him, they left me alone, within this small room as I sit on a wooden chair, facing a fireplace with ash in the center. They have yet to answer my question, Fiona saying she would speak with Zion before she came back.

As they enter the room, I spare them no glance even as I feel a tug at what perhaps is my heart, tempting me to gaze once more into the eyes of the male. The first time I saw him in this room, he reminded me of perhaps someone I once knew, how his held himself like he was untouchable, someone demanding respect, and one who could stand up to any beast. Zion reminded me of these things, but the second he saw him, all of that went away, replaced with the true colors of a man perhaps almost dead on the inside, holding onto a little thread of hope. How he looked at me, with such passion in those eyes, it almost frightened me at first, for how much joy I could spark into someone so dead. Fiona had used his name earlier, my only response being that I remembered him. Zion. His name belongs to a memory that is blurry, my consciousness only to barely brush the surface of those memories before I am pulled back before I can go any deeper.

"Sybil?" He speaks my name clear, as if he has perfected the pronunciation of every letter making up the name. Looking back to the male, his golden eyes captivating me, he looks to me like a man trying to keep up with looking his best, shielding the outside world from the darkness surrounding him. "What do you remember?"

"About what?" I ask, turning to face the male as his eyes seem to darken. "Who you are to me?"

"About the last time you can remember anything," Fiona responds, laying a comforting hand upon the man's shoulder as she passes him, edging closer to me.

I try and find the memory, a haze covering the images as I can only remember my name being screamed over and over again as a sound was shot through the air. Perhaps a gunshot, the noise resembling one as I find my forehead becoming itchy again. Something tells me that I should be worried about missing all of these memories, unable to find them and experience them.

"I know someone was screaming my name and a loud noise went off," I inform, watching Zion from the corner of my eyes as I see his skin pale with my response, as if he is reliving the memory I cannot seem to fully remember. "Did you have something to do with it? You seem to react like my memory haunts you."

Zion looks to me, knowing my question was directed towards him. Clearing his throat, he takes a step forward, nervous as he runs a hand quickly through his hair. "I was there." Short response but enough to inform me something horrible happened that day.

I get hints of tragedy. Gunshot noise, Zion being present, memories of someone screaming my name, this all means something unpleasant happened to me. "Was I shot?" The silence is enough for me to know the answer. "Where?"

The itch occurs again.

"That day was the worst day of my life," Zion answers, voice cracking, face losing all the warm tones it once held, and screams echoing in my head. "I lost you that day, Sybil," he continues, almost reaching out to me as he says those words, only to take in a deep breath.

"You say that you lost me, yet here I am, standing before you," I interrupt the silence forming around us. "Fiona talked about tricking death, about taking something that belonged to death." My vision becomes blurry as I try and form the next question to leave my mouth. As I find my back against the wall and my body slides down to the floor, Zion is instantly right beside me. The itch nags at me, my fingers tracing the location as I stare ahead at Fiona, watching her nod for the answer to the question I have yet to ask. "Did I die?"

Hollowness, the only feeling I get when I try and look Zion in the eyes. His soft gaze into my eyes is something with hollow emotions, haunting me as I gaze farther into the depths of those orbs. The way he watches me from here, how his reaction changes when I ask those words, and how it seems like he is stuck in some sick loop, replaying moments over and over again. The male before me pinches the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath as he tries to steady himself, not because of anger, but to try and not break down. Jaw clenched now, I see the bags under his eyes, the bloodshot eyes he looks at me with, the facial hair untamed, and hair grown out without any style to it. There is a piece of memory I just seem to scrap the surface of, one of a male that makes me think of Zion, his attire polished, hair well-groomed, and never falling below a bar he sets for himself to constantly raise and push the limits of.

But as Zion takes in the words I have asked, he seems to almost crumble before me, hope lost as he takes a small step forward, trying to reach out for me.

"That day is best left-

Fiona cuts off Zion, his voice cracking as she steps forward, knowing to either let me know all at once with a painful hit of reality, or to one day perhaps tell me when it is too late. "A man shot you and you bled out."

Her description of my death seems too vague. "I remember screams."

"Ones of pain," Fiona responds quickly, holding her head high as I know those screams cannot be mine.

"But not your pain," Zion adds, looking at me with watery eyes. "Those screams were mine as I cried out your name and held you in my arms. I was screaming for you, for the life you lived, for the love I have for you." Silence for a brief moment. "You felt no pain, for the bullet hit you right between the eyes, killing you instantly as I could only watch your fragile body fall towards the floor. I broke your fall with my body, catching you, afraid more damage might be done as I could only let the tears and screams be what people saw and heard. You died because you believed you could save mine."

Something tells me I should be freaking out, passing out, screaming, trying to forget as I remember what happened. Something tells me someone with a right state of mind would be freaking out rather than me, calm, not knowing how to respond as I rise to my feet, vision a tad blurry as I stare at the male who begs me with his eyes to remember him.

"How long have I been dead?"

"Too long."

A darkness seems to swarm around us, consuming our minds as I know understand why that pressure is applied upon my head, how the exact location where the bullet hit me is still haunting me, even though I am back from the grave. Will it ever go away, this itch that I cannot seem to scratch enough? Will I ever feel like I belong alive knowing this truth? I cannot hear nor feel my heart beating, a constant pressure to remind me that I have died, memories there, yet, I cannot reach them, and the feeling of hollowness within me. What does being alive feel like exactly? Does it have some certain feel to it, something of youth or joy? I experienced being alive before all of this, the hazy memories like a bittersweet taste.

Fiona holds out her hand, not for me to take, but to show me the display. Dark green lines currently run through her palm, creating an orbiting circle as ruins surround the thin lines. A shimmer seems to come from the lines, beautiful, yet warning me that this magic is not one many seek. Displays of moon phases are drawn out by those lines, Fiona closing her palm as a dark green light leaks through, hitting the walls of the room as I wonder what she is trying to say or do. "Zion came to me six months ago, telling me what he was trying to do, how long he had been searching for someone not just capable to do this, but willing." Looking to the walls, I see shadows of figures in the green glow, Fiona portraying with magic the moment Zion came to her. "He informed me of his tragedy (though it was already known to me) and made me an offer." Rather than see what Fiona informs me, on the wall, the shadows tell a different story, one of Zion acting violent towards Fiona.

The shadow yells at the witch, his posture intimidating as he grabs her arm, arguing with her. "We came to an agreement," Zion comments, his voice stern, yet something tells me there was little agreement.

"Yes, an agreement through a curse." Raising an eyebrow, I watch as Fiona opens her palm again, dark mist floating around her hand, only to absorb into her arm as it runs through her veins. "The Midnight Siege." That name rings a bell. "My coven, my family of witches that has gone back for generations, we were part of the wrong-end of a battle. For four centuries we have tried to make things right, yet the curse Zion's ancestors placed upon us still runs through our veins."

Zion places himself between Fiona and myself, blocking me from seeing anymore of the blackness in her veins. "The trade was simple, Sybil," Zion notifies me, "for her to get you back to this world and I would lift the curse."

"But lifting a curse is much easier than getting someone back from the dead. We agreed the moment she came back that you would lift the curse." Fiona argues with Zion now, pulling his attention back to her as I wonder what the curse has done to Fiona, to her coven, and how much she had to do just to bring me back.

"Yes, we agreed that the curse would be lifted when Sybil came back, but the woman I loved, married, fought for, and would have died for is not back yet, just the shell of her."

Just the shell? Does my existence not mean anything to this man, for the only thing to make him jump with joy is for him to have back the woman he married? I married this man, at least the living version of myself did. How different must I be to become the woman he wants back? Zion is asking for me to be someone I cannot even remember, for me to push aside all of what has happened and is happening just for him to be happy. "Did you ever consider that the woman you brought back could be a stranger to you?"

I do not recognize my voice as I ask that question. Attention placed upon me, Zion looks at me, face pale, and shocked. "Did you think through the very fact that you were going to bring someone back from the dead like some miracle-worker or those characters in fairytales? In fairytales the victim always returns the way that they were, but those stories are for children for a reason, Zion, the very fact that those things never happen in real life!" I snap, anger consuming me. "The very fact that you say I am not fully back only allows for me to be certain you brought me back for your own selfish needs." I try and relax, to calm my nerves. "You are asking for someone who was dead for however long to become someone she was before her soul was taken from her body. Whoever you are supposed to be to me, I do not see someone who loved me, married me, and would have died for me."

No words leave his lips as I hold my head high, trying to recall any memories with this male. The face of a child flashes through my mind, yet I have no idea what that means to me. "What do you want from me, from someone dead for death took me from this world for a reason?"

"Tell me you remember me," Zion begs, his voice a whisper, a tear rolling down his cheek, and eyes searching my face for any sign that I may just remember him.

"Do you want the truth or do you want to hear what you want to?" I ask, voice soft as I find myself watching his eyes for his reply. He does not have to move his lips for me to know what he wants to hear. "I remember."