She waited for him for seven days. On the seventh day, he returned.
But the first thing he said was:
“What’s your name?”
He didn’t remember her. He didn’t remember the lanterns at the mass grave, the ointment in the thatched hut, or his promise, “I’ll stay with you to the end.” The flower of their heart-linking formation on his chest had turned from pale gold to charred black. A crack split the center of its petals, and something was crawling out from within.
She had seven days to find the answer. Otherwise, he would no longer be human.
But she had only just discovered that he wasn’t the only one who had forgotten.
Her own memories were disappearing, day by day.
