It was a dreary day when I saw the tracks. The clouds blocked the sun, not uncommon in Transylvania but gloomy non the less. Sweat dripped down my face, making my close damp. I shivered as my already cold body became colder. I carried four of the forty or so logs I had chopped. My master believed in working his female servants as hard as he male servants. The servant who usually was tasked with chopping wood, Andrei, had been kicked by a horse the day before. No other male servants were available to perform the job so it had been passed to me. Me, strong little Eveline. I let out a sigh and set the wood down in the already stocked pile. Why the master wanted more wood already was a mystery to me.<br/>I as began to make my way back down the trail to grab another load, I wondered about the masterâ€™s reasons for giving me the task of chopping the wood. It was most likely the fact that out of all the servants I was the one not willing to bend over backwards, literally, to satisfy his needs. He had tried but I had made it clear that he would loose a servant. He must have decided that he was better off with a extra pair of hands, and all of his manhood. I was quite intimidating with a knife.<br/>I was so busy laughing at the memory that I didnâ€™t watch where I was stepping. My foot caught a dip in the road. I lost my balance and fell. My hands hit the ground, my knees tucked in to my chest. My hands pushed off the ground and I found myself rolling out of the fall with grace I had not been aware I possessed. I found myself in a crouching position. I tentatively stood up and marveled at the fact that I had managed not to fall flat on my face.<br/>I suddenly became aware of a dull stinging in my hand. Both hands were clinched into fist. Small red droplets fell from the left fist and as I opened it I was greeted by a rather deep nasty gash. I torn a small portion of cloth from the bottom of my old battered skirt and then tore that strand in two. With one piece I began to wipe the wound. I hissed as my hand clenched in pain but continued to clear it of as much grime as I could before wrapping the wound with the remaining piece of cloth.<br/>That taken care of I looked down to the dip I had tripped over. I stiffened as I realized it was not a dip but tracks, huge canine like tracks. They were oddly familiar. I crouched down and ran my hand over the print.<br/>Breathe scented with blood, the smell of rotting flesh and wet dog, golden eyes filled with rage and the promise of death.<br/>I violently threw myself backwards. My heart beat fast in my chest, my breath came in short ragged burst. That smell, blood and rotting flesh, I couldnâ€™t get it out of my nostrils. It filled my head. I turned and quickly released the contents of my stomach. When I was through I shakily wiped a hand over my mouth. That flash of blood and death had felt so real. It had felt like a part of me, something that had happened years before. If that was what my life had been like, then I wasnâ€™t surprised that my mind had blocked those memories.<br/>Three years ago I had lost all memories. I had woken in a field clothed in a red corset like shirt and black velvet pants. The minute I had found a town I had stolen clothes from a small shop, clothes of a commoner, a peasant. I hadnâ€™t wanted to stand out in the crowd. I had no memories except my own name. I had traveled from town to town, scavenging for food until I had come to the masterâ€™s town. He had told me he was in need of a servant and said I looked as if I was in need of a job. I became one of his many servants and put all thoughts of my lost past out of mind. Why this print brought up such horrific memories, I couldnâ€™t even begin to guess.