Time passed strangely inside of that prison, if it passed at all. No-Name had no idea if a week, a year or a century had passed from her awakening to purgatory. Still, she leaned very much toward the third.

One could think that being bound and unable to move was enough of a plight, but it turned out that the mind could end up in chains as well. Of that discovery, No-Name decided that she could have very well done without.

Her thoughts ran in circles, going over and over the same things without ever finding an answer, and unable to focus over anything else. And who else but her so-called father could be at the center of that wretched spiral?

He was such a headache for her.

She hated him, of that there couldn’t be no mistake. She hated him with a passion that re-ignited every time she felt the gaping hole where her flame was supposed to be. Her hatred beat with the rhythm of her throbbing wounds, of the memory of mud and mire lapping at her toes while her body laid inert in the dust. It fed off the coldness with which he visited her, the disdainful gestures, the thousands failings in attention and delicacy.

She hated him, and the world was clear and definite. Even without her flame, she felt herself to be strong and stalwart. One day, those wounds would go away and her flame come back to her; and then she would fly away, and never return. If the old man decided to get in the way, she would fake obedience and then… pow! Right in the kisser at the first chance and away!

That felt right. No-Name congratulated herself to be so cunning and firm, and the slopping flowing time became the hopeful wait of triumph.

But then a little voice would come unbidden from the recesses of her mind. It came carrying traitorous memories, like the startled awareness of not knowing, plucked from the contact with the mind of Father and then carried by his own words. Despite her resistance, it would thrust over her the memory of all the guilt and horror that had echoed from him, from his startled gaze; and then that same gaze, firm and strong, and a promise plucking at the very strings of her heart.

“I will die before letting the mire take you.”

And there was such a knowing there, a silent understanding that told her that he knew what he was talking about, that it wasn’t just the promise of someone that knew nothing and tried to remedy, that it wasn‘t just a lie.

Then, all the small gestures that before had seemed slights acquired new colors. The rudeness of the visits turned to the zeal of a concerned father, the few words took the tint of restrained attention, of shame even; the constant presence ceased to be irritating and became infused with warmth.

Her hatred would wobble, and the world turned back into a muddy place, unsure and unbalanced. Where was her place there? While she stumbled for the certainty lost, a part of her, the same where the small voice came from, turned to tentative hope. The word Father resounded inside of her with a new warmth, a desire for things she couldn’t put names to.

Was that possible? To be accepted? To be loved and love? Was it?

The missing fire would return to her attention, and whatever tentative goodwill had been built crumbled down into the rising bile.

And so she went, moving from hatred to hope, floundering into indecision. It was exhausting, and more often than not freedom from the spiral came only when her tired mind collapsed into sleep. She often dreamed, and it was always about the same thoughts that tortured her during the waking times, so that when she startled back awake it felt like she hadn’t slept at all.

Thankfully, there were things that could distract her from her plight, at least for a bit.

The first was the strange jumble of knowledge she found stuck in her head. She didn’t know how, but she knew things, stuff that nobody ever told her. They were simply there, chilling in the recesses of her mind, waiting only for her to acknowledge them. With plenty of time in her hands and nothing else to do, she found herself more and more busy fiddling with them.

There was stuff of all kind there, from down-to-earth knowledge to stranger and stranger things. To her irritation, she found that she could understand only what looked to be the basic; like, she could observe the image of a pink flower and understand that it was a flower, she could see the image of a man and knew out of instinct that to be a man. But other things, the greater majority of them, she had no name for; a black surface filled with white scribblings, a funny-dressed person she didn’t recognize, a vista of an unknown place. There were emotions underlining each: she felt a dim satisfaction toward the scribblings, irritation toward the smile of the person and more.

It quickly became a unexpectedly funny activity, and she lost herself into it. Verdant mountains in the distance. A strange machine, buzzing with energy. A regal hall filled with fancily dressed people, all clamoring and shouting.

Suddenly, she started violently. While experimenting with the various responses, she had found something disconcerting.

At first sight, the image didn’t seem more notable than the others: a grassland, going as far as the horizon. The long grass swayed gently under the breeze, making seem like a great, invisible hand was caressing the sea of vegetation. A great, full moon shone alone in the night sky, painting the scene with silvery light. It was a lovely scene, if solitary, but No-Name felt a nameless dread clutch her heart as she looked at it. It was more than the feeling that something was wrong, it was a horrible certainty, the absolute confidence that something was coming for her, something enormous and terrible and unnameable, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

The more she watched, the more the impressions increased. The moon assumed a leering countenance, until it became a great, lecherous eye looking down on her; the grassland seemed to rustle to the steps of an army of shadows rather than the wind, the breeze itself the breath of the monsters hidden in the dark.

The experience put a lid over her prodding at her unknown memories, and when she returned to it, she did so only with caution.

Still, before fading, the fear the scene had put in it gave her the push to find her second mean of distraction.

Her “brother” was a strange guy. Apart from the fact that he didn’t look like her, like at all, with all his fur and long teeth and, well, everything. Well, apart from that, he acted just as strange as he looked. He always looked like he was scared of something, and when he talked he did so while keeping his voice low enough that she had to perk up her ears to hear him. Her appeals to him to talk like a freaking normal person, dammit!, only managed to elicit excuses and a still lower voice. And talking of excuses, he seemed to love the word. It was always sorry that sorry this with him, even when she was sure there was absolutely nothing to be sorry about.

It was so frustrating, but it wasn’t like she could be picky, could she?

Still, he was stubborn, she had to give him that. On her own, she wasn’t sure she would start talking. Him, he was like the strange oscillating-thingy she could see in her mind. He tapped with his stupid foot and flipped those stupid things of his. Then, he tried to speak to her. He did so always timidly, always in that stupid shy way of his, and invariably managing to make her angry. She just wanted to be left alone, it was so hard to understand?

Rebuffed, he would return to his tapping and flipping. But that was only a moment. In time, she had learned to pick when it would finish. It depended from the ears, she found. After she had just rebuffed him, those flappy things would be down, and he would hide his nose in his books. But as time passed, they would rise back. When they were completely up, a new attempt was about to arrive, no mistake about it.

Eventually, despairing to find something to distract her mind from the fear from the image, she surrendered to that relentless assault.

Having someone to talk to felt good, but she wasn’t going to acknowledge it, nope. That “brother” of hers was only a momentary distraction. At least, he had the good sense to steer clear from any mention of the old man.

Still, as strange and frustrating as he was, at least he was someone she could express her thoughts to; surprisingly, of the same stuff she had been going on inside of her head. Turned out that her “brother” had the same jumble of knowledge stuffed in his head, and he had been fiddling with it longer than her. Lucky him, he probably hadn’t passed through the same stuff than her, the idiot.

They had been talking, exchanging ideas and images, trying to puzzle out the things they couldn’t understand. Argus - calling him “brother” became tiresome quickly - was all enthusiasm about every little thing. The clouds look dope, those shiny rocks look amazing, that thing stalking through the trees has a beautiful coat, yadda yadda yadda. Who gave a damn?

Still, even he shivered at the mention of the grassland under the moon, his voice taking a trembling tone as he huddled between his blankets. They tried to drag out some more detail about it - it felt important, to both of them -, but an unspoken pact was soon taken to let the matter well alone.

It simply was too… scary.

For No-Name it was a relief. She had enough headaches already without adding another one.

They kept talking intermittently, about nothing important for the majority of times, but each bout was a precious distraction from the thoughts tormenting her.

And that was when she found herself hitting another snag.

She wasn’t sure how to feel toward him.

She felt she should have hated him. He was one of “his”, after all. The jubilant way he had spoken of father still filled her with rabid anger, and she had to actively banish the thought to keep herself from snapping any minute.

And… there was a dark mass brewing in the bottom of her stomach, an angry envy for one that didn’t pass through what she had passed through and still he was here, with the same titles she had, as much despised as they were.

Still, the compact hatred she felt should have been there, giving her strength and purpose, was instead a riddled, wonky mess of uncertainty.

There was something in Argus that repelled negative feelings. Maybe it was his mellow way to speak and move, maybe it was the soft-looking fur, maybe the vulnerability he seemed to always emanate. Whatever it was, a traitor something inside of No-Name called for protection rather than aggression.

The word “brother” was one of those hidden inside of her, carrying a warm weight that resolutely tripped every attempt that her hatred made to become truly strong. No matter how many times she refused it, it was always there, teasing her with the same mocking intensity with which that evasive hope toward father did.

What a mess!

It was terrible, horrible! She hated it! Why things couldn’t be simpler? They should be! Why they weren’t? Why?!?

And so time passed, how much she never knew, punctuated by the tortured circles that her thoughts were, with the occasional distractions provided by the secret knowledge hidden in her brain and the nervous exchanges of words with Argus.

“ I was thinking…” The were-rat began timidly, eliciting a sulking glance from No-Name. His ears were at their peak.

“Maybe you should choose a name?”

She heard the “waiting for Father’s decision” without a need for him to actually say it. Caught in one of her rebellious phases, she snorted derisively.

Argus flinched. His eyes flicked first left then right, his fingers dancing over the rim of a book.

He mumbled something.

“Uh? Speak up. I cannot hear you!” No-Name barked. She was in the mood for teasing him.

Argus lowered his head, a gesture that she had learned to recognize as the same as blushing. She pushed away a small stab of guilt and perked up her ears.

“Spark?” He mumbled, No-Name catching the word only because she was paying close attention.

She arched both eyebrows. Was that to be her name? That was… lame! She was no spark. She was an explosion!

She was about to rebuke it, but the tentative hope in his eyes checked her.

“I don’t like it.” She said with a frown, pushing back the snag. Sheesh, what was up with those eyes of his?

Argus’ ears fell down.

“Right.” He mumbled. He looked deep in thought for a couple of seconds. Finally, his ears got back up. “Sparky?” He tried, looking like he had found the perfect answer to the most important question.

No-Name, that had been waiting expectantly despite everything, spluttered. “That’s a dog name!”

Argus winched, but then his features turned to confusion.

“What’s a dog?” He asked.

No-Name opened her mouth to answer, but found herself short of things to say. What was a dog? The word came with the image of a furry… thing, with a wagging tail and a dangling tongue. There was even a stink, but it was so peculiar that she didn’t know how to call it.

For a moment, she lost herself in the challenge, features locked in a fierce frown while she rummaged inside of her head for the right word.

She started a bit when she remembered whom she was talking to. She turned, finding Argus alternating glances between the book laying on his lap and her.

Irritation flared. Hey, it was about her name they were talking about! No distractions!

“No Sparky.” She affirmed, folding her only functioning arm before her chest to emphasize the finality of the judgement.

Argus’s nose twitched. “I like it…” He mumbled, but not so low that she couldn’t catch it.

“I am the one that has to like it!” She protested, making him start.

She threw him a frowning glare, expecting other options. When they weren’t forthcoming, she screeched her displeasure, making him start so hard that he almost plopped down from his bed.

And so they went on, with Argus proposing more and more outlandish names, and No-Name refusing each and every one of them. An equilibrium of sort formed, the two siblings managing somehow to entertain each other.

Time passed, for once not while being trapped inside of ugly spirals.

No-Name was almost having fun, listening to whatever strange word Argus could come up with, when the door suddenly opened.

Whatever pleasant feeling No-Name had immediately drained away at realizing the new arrival‘s identity.

Surprise for Father’s strange behavior halted hatred’s avalanche only for the slimmest of moments. Silence, loneliness and immobility made for the breeding ground of indecision, she found. Having her enemy there, instead, focused her thoughts into a deadly point, almost on their own accord. Hatred was easier than balancing over indecision, and so she took that path in an almost natural way, all the memories of insult, outrage and abandonment taking over anything that could disprove them.

She bitterly wondered how she could have been so stupid as to left doubts cloud her judgment.

Father was cold from the start, or at least that was how she saw it. His greeting sounded distracted, like he didn’t care about them. Well, she didn’t care about him!

No-Name hid under her blankets, determined to let that unwelcome visit pass her by. She pointedly ignored the tightness in her chest. He had abandoned her! There was nothing else!

She managed to resist only a few seconds before curiosity took the better of her. Telling herself that it was wise to keep an eye out, she peeked out of the covers.

Just in time to meet Father‘s gaze.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come, both averting their gazes from each other. No-Name felt bewilderment tug at her resolve. She had seen something there…

She angrily shook the head, dispelling the thought.

No turning back!

She was so taken by her inner turmoil that she didn’t notice the exchange between Father and Argus. Still, the sudden snoring still managed to catch her attention.

Bewilderment hit her as she found Argus suddenly asleep. The sense of protection, that budding little thing that had taken roots in her heart, protested loudly. She glared at Father.

“What have you done?”

She expected, no, she demanded!, that Father replied with a cold gaze and a colder tone, that he told her that he did what he wanted to them, because they were his to use and discard as he saw fit.

Instead, he fidgeted. He… fidgeted, fiddling with the empty bowl.

No-Name felt her head spin. When she thought about Father she imagined a tall, cold figure, disdainful and far away, never unbalanced, always untouched. Father didn’t fidget! That was Argus’ shtick!

No-Name tethered. All the doubts that had been tormenting her attacked her conviction like a swarm of angry dogs. That wasn’t supposed to happen! He was supposed to be cold and demanding and… and easy to hate!

“Hey, i am talking to you!” She called, struggling to keep the mounting confusion in check.

“He‘s just asleep.”

The cold tone felt like someone had thrown a bucket full of frigid water in her face. She paused, almost breathless, as it blasted through her doubts. When it was done, her mind had been reduced to a winter wasteland.

No-Name frowned deeply, fierce satisfaction surging through her chest. So he showed his true face!

She embraced the mounting cold fury with relish. No doubts there! No indecision!

“We need to talk.”

Again, that cold tone, now even demanding. No-Name defiantly raised her chin. He wanted to scold her, didn’t he? Tell her that she belonged to him, that whatever torment she had been going through wasn’t worth anything; that what he mattered was only what he wanted.

Well, he could stuff it! Father? What Father? He had stopped being her Father when he had abandoned her. For that… that big iron doll!

Pain and betrayal surged. She clenched her teeth. Even that, even that was his fault. Everything was his fault, everything!

She was ready, ready to hate, ready to attack, ready to wound.

And still, she wasn’t ready for the words that came, nor for the broken, sad voice that pronounced them.

“I am sorry.”