text: "Now that's a good question. The short answer is: I don't know. Nobody does as far as I know. Except, perhaps, for Zaren, but I don't think he's likely to share that information, do you? You really never went through the slums?" Ophelia narrows her eyes suspiciously.
  
  
  "I don't know what you mean." You answer truthfully.
  
  
  "The slums are what they are. A broken down place infested with poverty and suffering. Everyone, nobility and peasants alike, appears in the slums. People don't really have children here. Pregnancy is extremely rare among the population, even over large periods of time. Most women will go their whole life without a child. Most pregnancies will end in miscarriages. Almost all of those carried to term will be stillborn. Of the handful of people over our whole history to be born here... I've never met one. I've heard that they turn out strangely, even compared to the average citizen. Nothing specific, just strange. There are rumours that Zaren is one, but I doubt a thing like him was even born, even in another place. To my knowledge there is no one older than Zaren alive today so I guess we'll never know. Anyway, people will simply "arrive" here instead. From somewhere else. Always... Well, you're the exception, but always in the slums. They're not a pleasant place. The slums are filled with screams and the raving of the mad. The "upper ranks" to which you now belong are comprised of the completely sane, or at least the sanest. Zaren... I don't think he's insane. I've known him too long. No, I think he just likes to watch us suffer in our own filth."
  
  
  "So you can't tell me anything about where I am."
  
  
  "No, I can tell you much about where we are. I just don't know where where we are is. I can't tell you anything about where any of us came from. Most people don't remember anything and even if they do it's after a long time of searching. But it just tears them apart. It's best to forget if you start remembering."
  
  
  "But I... I remember.... Something." You're not sure. It's that faint form of memory, but vivid in strange places. More like a story that you've visualized.
  
  
  "Forget it. Or if you can't forget it, ignore it. At the very least leave it alone. Do not go any further into that abyss."
  
  
  But this memory is to real to forget. Ophelia looks at you, rolls her eyes, and sighs. "Okay. Tell me about it, but then that's it. Don't ever think you can make it farther into your own mind. It won't end well."
  
  
  "I remember. I remember... " Words roll of your tongue as you look through the past towards the only memory you can find.
  > You gray
  It's soft. It's got pieces branching off of it. It's small and blandly coloured. The colours continue along tiny pieces, like somebody just cut some of it out. This one is small, but you know there are bigger ones.
  
  It's a feather.
  
  You hold it close and peer at it. It looked solid at first, but now you see the little bits of fluff.
  
  The sky is blue and clear and you can see all the birds flying through the skies. Ravens flap in the wind and caw far off. Little songbirds sit on tree branches and tweet songs. Rabbit bolt through every so often.
  
  It's an orchestra of the wild.
  
  There's a slight breeze and the smell of trees. Green is everywhere. Long pieces of grass feel soft under your feet. Leaves and flower buds cover trees. This is it. This is life.
  
  Then it's gone. You have it here in your head now, fixed and alive, something you'll remember. There's more...
  
  But that's gone, at least for now.