Pandora (preface)

She opened her eyes and first noticed that the heat had woken her up. It was dark, and a fabric covered her, sticking to her sweat-soaked skin. The torpor of too much sleep had left her dizzy, and her head was pounding painfully.

It took her 30 seconds to realize she had no idea where she was.

She stood up in surprise and saw the outlines of a room as her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was sitting on a soft bed with sheets covering her entire body.

It took another 30 seconds to realize she had no idea who she was.

She jumped off the mattress and felt her hip bump into something hard: a nightstand.

She tried to breathe, but fear closed her glottis. She racked her brain and tried to find something in her head that would tell her who she was, her name, her own face, something from her past, some memory of where she came from and what was happening.

Anything. Her head was empty, and the only thing she found was an incredible pain that only increased as she tried to remember.

She leaned against the wall and let her body slide to the floor. She thought about screaming, but terror wouldn't let the sound come out of her mouth. Either way, it would be a bad idea. She didn't know where she was, much less who would come to find her.

Nothing. She couldn't remember anything.

Now that her eyes were more used to the dark, she could see better. She noticed that the room was luxurious and generic and that a door was on the other side, leading past the bed and through a hack with a giant TV. Nearest, there was an open door, which led to a bathroom. Above the girl's head, a large, closed window let in a light breeze that slightly cooled her body.

She got up and put her hands on the window handles, but fear prevented her from opening it. She had no idea what she would find on the other side.

She looked around again, and when looking at the bathroom, she was overcome by a growing curiosity. What was she like?

With hesitant steps, the girl headed to the bathroom and looked around suspiciously as she felt blindly the walls for a switch. When she found it, her snap was accompanied by a momentary blindness.

It took a few seconds for her eyes to deal with the sudden brightness, and then she could calmly survey the room. Again, it is luxurious and highly generic. The shower curtains were open, and a quick look around was enough to see she was alone.

And then she faced the mirror.

She got scared. She had no idea who the girl staring back at her was.

Her hair was royal blue and flowed down to just below her shoulders. The pale skin surrounding large, black eyes gave him a surreal feeling. She lifted her fingers and touched the few freckles on her cheek, seeing in the frame in front of her a small hand slide across the curve of her cheekbone.

Her thinness made her wonder if she felt hungry, and the growl in her stomach told her yes. But it didn't seem like that body had ever known true hunger. Chronic hunger.

She must have been around eighteen years old. Her face was young and seemed to be losing childish expressions as if she was leaving her childhood days behind.

Soon, she noticed the bruise on his forehead, almost entirely hidden by his blue bangs. A deep and recent cut, but no longer bloody. It was the focus of all the headaches, and intuition told her that it was also the cause of the lack of memory.

She hoped everything would return, but something told her it wouldn't. The void in the mind was too big to be short-lived.

She walked away from the mirror and decided to do something other than sit and cry, which was her first desire.

The girl returned to the room and took advantage of the light from the bathroom to better understand the environment. She saw a switch on the wall next to the bed and flipped it on, ready to see something appear in the light.

Nothing. It was just an ordinary room.

She had a digital clock on her nightstand that said it was two - in the morning? Of the night? – and the current date. The only information she had about everything.

She took a deep breath and sat down on the mattress. She put her hands over her face and tried desperately to make sense of it, but there was none. Her head was empty and sore. She felt hollow.

The girl wanted to cry again, so she jumped up.

She wasn't just going to sit in a corner and mope. At least not yet.

She went to the window and prepared in advance for whatever could happen. She took a deep breath and swallowed her fear as she opened it violently.

The light wind that invaded the room was a relief. The girl saw a big city at night, full of buildings and extremely bright. The sound of cars filled her ears, and she felt relieved to hear voices. If she screamed, someone would listen to her.

She hadn't realized how trapped she felt until she found an escape route. It would be easy to jump out the window, grab the sills below, and have a not-so-small, but definitely not fatal, fall to the sidewalk.

That calmed her down but didn't remove her incessant desire to understand everything. She would only leave once she was sure it was necessary or that it wasn't where her answers were to be found.

She turned back to the bedroom and ran to the nightstand drawers, opening them wide in search of anything.

Nothing, they were all empty. The girl did this with all the drawers in the room and only found something in one of the last ones. A series of informational pamphlets about a hotel in Paris. She compared the photo on the stiff sheets of paper with the view from the window. It was similar.

So she was in a hotel in Paris. Paris, the capital of France, in Europe. Her knowledge of the world seemed in order; it was her knowledge of herself that was missing.

Well, if she was in a hotel, the best thing she could do was to sneak up to the front desk and ask for information about her room. She could play the innocent little girl. She could look for something to arm herself with and use violence if necessary.

She looked at her hands. Would they be able to defend her? Using force, punching, scratching and tearing? Handle any weapons?

She hoped she wouldn't have to find out.

But she preferred to be on the safe side and analyzed the room in search of anything that appeared threatening. The closest she found was an old chandelier on a small table, and she was heading toward it when she tripped over something in the middle of the way, falling face-first onto the floor.

She almost screamed with delight when she saw it was a suitcase, the only personal object among many generic things.

She unzipped the main pocket and found a bunch of small, feminine clothes, probably her own. She threw them on the floor without any discretion, unfolding the fabrics, trying to find something about herself. There wasn't any information other than that she really liked flower prints.

She had reached the bottom of the suitcase when she felt something cut her finger. She hesitated momentarily and then moved the last few pieces of clothing out of the way. Underneath everything, they had weapons. About three kitchen knives, a dirk, and two daggers. Two pistols were barely hidden in a smaller pocket. Occupying the entire length of the suitcase, a somewhat heavy sword that started with a straight blade and then curved into a complete half-moon. It was a khopesh. She had no idea how she knew that, but she was sure that was the name.

Who was she? Who was that girl who carried an arsenal hidden in her travel bag? Was she dangerous? Some criminal?

She tried to control the shock swirling inside her and searched her other pockets. She found a toiletry bag full of beauty and personal hygiene products on the left side. Some jewelry. Nothing out of the ordinary. On the right side, she had to control her fright again.

A series of identities, driver's licenses, and passports in different languages. She vaguely noticed that she understood them all. The girl had seen the same face in the mirror minutes ago, but in some of those documents, her hair was dark brown instead of blue. In all of them, she had the same first name: Pandora.

It was clear that that was her name. Pandora. She tried associating the name with the face she saw in the mirror. She seemed as gibberish as everything around her.

The only other information that was the same on all documents was her year of birth. She had given herself a year less, 19 instead of 18. Or she would turn 19 at some point that year since the months and days – as well as the surnames and her parents' names – were all different.

She spent a few minutes staring at the little personal information she had obtained, wondering again who she was. It was obvious that she needed to hide and defend herself. Maybe she was from the mafia or part of some witness protection program.

Even though she had already gotten some information, the smartest thing to do was still ask for details about her room, who checked in, and anything else that could answer her – or generate more – questions.

She forced it into her head that the weapons in her suitcase came in handy – wasn't she looking for one? – And she tried not to think much as she pulled out a dagger and hid it in the waistband of her jeans.

She stood up, ignoring the cold metal against her skin, and took advantage of the growing hesitation moment as she walked to the bedroom door to associate herself with the name she had discovered.

Now I, Pandora, am going to the reception to try to understand what is happening. She placed her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. Now, I, Pandora, will stick this knife in the throat of anyone who refuses to answer my questions.

She hesitantly opened the door and looked up and down the empty hallway before heading outside. It wasn't scary like she had thought it would be. It was cozy and relaxing, with the breeze from the open windows, and the elevator at the end stopped on the same floor.

The girl – Pandora – tried to look natural as she walked up to it, entered, and pressed the downstairs button. She would have laughed alone at the classical music that resounded through the walls, so inappropriate the situation, if she had managed to find the humor within herself. Was she suitable for it, or was it just the terror of not remembering anything?

The door opened into what she thought was the lobby, and she walked quickly, fighting the temptation to grab the dagger from under her blouse, and moved towards the large wooden counter on the opposite wall.

The middle-aged receptionist looked bored – until he laid eyes on her.

-- My God, you're okay – he said in native French.

Pandora stopped halfway and looked at him, confused. She understood French perfectly and did not need to articulate a single word when she asked;

-- I was not? – Her voice sounded hoarse because of the lack of use, and she was surprised by the sound. Was it her own? Again, she found no familiarity.

With the receptionist's look of pity, she decided that her best tactic was to act like a scared little girl.

-- You don't remember, do you? Your father brought you in passed out last night with a huge cut on your forehead, but he didn't let us call the hospital. He said you just needed to rest.

Her heart seemed to skip a beat. So she had just hit her head. Everything would be fine. Something inside Pandora spun. It felt wrong for it to be this easy. Something was wrong.

-- And where is he? - There was no one in the room.

-- He left at lunchtime – the man wasn't looking at Pandora, so he didn't see the terror returning to her face – she paid for everything, but left the documents and a letter for you. He said you would know where to go. – he handed her some papers and smiled – you can stay in your room until morning, I won't tell anyone.

Pandora's hands shook. She opened the letter, her heart spinning.

"Survive."

She had to lean on the counter to keep from falling. She held back the urge to cry as she stared at the letter. It had been on purpose. Somehow, she knew it the moment she saw the cut on her forehead, but she didn't want to admit it. Someone had done that to her.

-- Don't you know anything else? – She asked the receptionist desperately – No information about me or my father? About where should I go?

Pandora wasn't going to cry. She still wasn't going to let herself cry.

-- No. – he said – You haven't said anything since you arrived two days ago.

She dug her nails into the counter and gripped the dagger tightly with her other hand.

-- Did we go out a lot? Were we going somewhere? Was anything, anything, said about us?

The man look surprised with the questions.

-- No. You only went out at night and came back in the morning. Your father only told me that you would know where to go. He didn't say anything else. Why? Do you need help? You don't know where you have to go?

No, she didn't.

Pandora stumbled away from the reception desk, ignoring the man shouting at her. Obviously, someone with so many identities would have discretion.

She didn't cry when she got to the room. She didn't cry when she memorized all the information on her alleged father's new document, nor when she packed her suitcase and prepared to leave for nowhere.

Days later, she defined that date as her birthday. It was the day Pandora woke up to her new life.

Pandora is the first book of a trilogy. You can find parts of it in the Wattpad app in Br-Portuguese. 

Synopsis: What does it mean to be strong? Is it waking up in a hotel room without knowing who you are or how you got there, with a single message telling you to survive, yet moving forward with your head held high in search of answers? Being hunted around the world by strange beings - with wings, sharp teeth, swords, and an insane desire for your death - and dueling each of them until someone wins? Discovering that angels and demons are real and that they have a mission to eliminate you from the earth and still not stop fighting for your goals? Or ignore the rumor that says you're going to destroy the world?

Pandora doesn't know what it means to be strong but knows she needs to be. She knows she needs to raise her weapon and fight, look for fake names that lead to empty house addresses and unresponsive faces to find out about her past. She knows she must dig and dig to find concrete words to understand why so many people want her dead and why she is so different.

With her royal blue hair and strangely shaped sword, Pandora will form alliances with innocent humans, rebellious angels, and dangerous demons to discover truths about herself.

To find out why she heals so quickly from mortal wounds and why, every time she enters a battle, she is defeated and dies...

She wakes up to fight again.