The memories had been so vivid.

But the room wasn’t clear, just a hazy mess of colors, bright vivid colors. All blending and twisting together.

The floor beneath her feet had been cold and wet. Stone? Maybe wood? She couldn’t remember.

Her arms bound at the wrist with thorny chains, held out, pulled taught. Muscles sore from hours upon hours of standing. The only time she was bound was when it was decided the jeweled skin, she wore wasn’t right. Hours would be slowly tick by as her Keeper took their time deciding what would look best.

There was a voice, but she couldn’t make it out. Male? She couldn’t tell. But it was there, and it was saying something. Trying to sooth? Trying to tell her it would all be fine, that she would be perfect this time?

But she knew what was happening. She remembered.

Her gilded skin didn’t just appear on her. Oh no. It had been carefully selected. How long it had taken, for the perfect skin to be selected, she didn’t remember.

Oh but she remembered having the rejects cut and peeled away from her body over and over again. Each agonizing cut, each scream in pain as the rejected skin was ripped from her body, the wet sound of skin being separated from her body. Most of the time she passed out, or so she thinks. The memories were too fragmented. But she remembers each of the skins. Some made of silver, some made of gold, some with jewels embedded, some with an iridescent sheen. Each tried for a time, sometimes days, sometimes months, but each cut from her and replaced.

But the memories made one thing clear, she knew now why being bound had always been uncomfortable for her since her escape. Maybe being in the Hedge was the tipping point? Bringing the past to the surface?