𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎+𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 ; 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

𝟎𝟏. 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

She wondered if she could sneak onto a train. That would take less than an hour. The girl began to plot there, leaning against the wall of the gift shop, before she discovered a few notes in the cloak's pocket.

As she hailed a taxi, she allowed herself to analyse her own mind. She had been single-handedly focused on reaching the capital, for a reason she didn't understand. Her memories were unclear; all she saw were hands tending to a garden and a house beside a lake. Both seemed like they were from a distant time; she assumed they were from an old television show.

"Where to?"

"Lausanne's train station, please."

He glanced at her momentarily, searching for companions that were not there. "You look too young to be travelling like this. What's your name?"

Without hesitation: "Juliet."

The taxi driver had magazines in the back seat, and she could identify the various plants on the cover. Ixora, orchid, baby's breath. She knew an abnormal amount of information regarding aeroplanes, but couldn't tie her knowledge down to a specific point. She knew her name. Juliet could read the French advertisements when the taxi slowed ("Magasinez chez untel aujourd'hui! Appelez ce numéro et effectuez votre achat dès que possible. Veuillez visiter la boutique à l'adresse suivante ..."), and knew her name, and could speak Arabic to the driver, who told her he was from Egypt when she asked. She couldn't remember studying either language. Her English was passable, since she could speak to herself without many delays and pauses. She knew her name. Where did this come from? Who was she before?

Juliet attempted to calm herself with the following thoughts: the ideal human existence was private and kept to oneself. What was more awful than letting your identity be derived from the public? It was better to exist in isolation, without onlookers—even yourself.

The station appeared in the taxi's window. Juliet braced herself—her musing time was over.

She thanked the driver, gave him more money than he requested, and hurried into the station. The people inside were too busy peering into newspapers or engrossed in their chatter to take any notice of the tall girl in a red cloak searching for something she couldn't name.

Near a wall close to the platforms stood a young woman in an identical cloak to hers, clutching a slim book in her right hand and looking directly at her. Her skin was dark, her lips matched the colour of her clothes, and several thick braids framed her face. The woman straightened as she approached her. She didn't regard her warily or with the careful detachment that strangers usually possessed. She put her hands onto her shoulders like she was an old friend.

"We go on like this," the woman told her in fragmented English. She continued in French, "It's only a small vice, and it shouldn't be too difficult to recreate and continue. What is your identity now?"

Juliet could only stare.

"We look different enough to avoid..." Her voice faded out. When she spoke next, she sounded tentative: "You don't remember, do you?"

"I don't think I've ever seen you before, no."

What could be heard of their exchange had already started to draw some attention in the form of a sharp-eyed businessman. The woman ignored his gaze and lowered her voice. "Did you wake up floating in water?"

"Not floating, but I was near a lake, in the grass."

"You are my daughter," she said firmly, louder than earlier, but doubt still crossed her face for a moment. "I nearly didn't recognise you, when you were standing across from me—still, I'm glad you remembered to come to this station and look for me. It was your older boyfriend," she added after a moment, "he convinced you to run away two months ago, and I've waited for you ever since. Your name is Juliet Aidara."