But the strangeness passes quickly (something the ghoul is unwaveringly grateful for) and she moves her fingers and toes and then ankles and wrists, elbows and knees and finally whole arms and legs and is satisfied with the movements. They are her's, they belong to the thing that is Belladonna in entirety. There is a weight to her limbs, along with a weight on her heart. Apprehension mixes with satisfaction to create an odd little thing, something she is not entirely sure what to do with. Distinctly there is the feeling of something important, but no matter how hard she tries she just cannot wrap her fingers around an idea that is not concrete like she is.
Who do you think you are?
Meaning filters through before the realization that there is someone else here, but that follows quickly after and Belladonna (after chirping to herself a considerable "Oh! What an excellent question!") turns quickly. No one is around, an occurrence that mildly surprises her simply because the voice had sounded so close. Because limbs still feel in need of movement, the ghoul turns in place once more, just to be totally sure that she is alone. When there is still nothing but the awareness of herself, she sighs. Someone else in this place would be nice since being alone feels more uncomfortable than getting used to a body that was once second nature.
The question, however, does settle within the witch's skull and she begins to wonder. Who exactly is she? Are all these memories that flicker like lightning bugs in and out her own? Or do they belong to someone else? Some of them feel familiar, but in some of them the body is not right. What exactly does that mean?
What she can do, what she knows with certainty, is a small list of things.
Her name is Belladonna (there should be a last name, she knows this but for the moment it slips past her grasping consciousness). She is female, she likes this body, it is odd in a good way. The little feeling at the tips of her fingers makes her curious and she knows curiosity is a virtue, if only for her own standards. Something whispers that she likes pretty things, that pink is a fantastic color, that smiling is a favored past time.
A sense of warmth wells within her at these thoughts, knowing they are small and terribly disjointed, but that they still have meaning to her. And though she is pleased with herself for what she is aware of, she is also concerned for what she cannot remember. In the glow of listing things off and the darkening of finding herself lacking, the voice is forgotten. But it does not like being ignored and speaks up again, this time causing a small jump from the ghoul.
Look to your shadow.
Perhaps it had been influenced by whatever gratification was found in recalling even a small amount of information, or perhaps it is because the ghoul's default mood is chipper. It may even be that there is no reason, only that it is simply the way things are. Whatever the case may be, the shadow that stretches out before Belladonna is bright, shining funnily enough, for it is to be a shadow. But it stands tall and proud, obviously excited and frivolous but all her.
The ghoul smiles at the shape, watches it turn up and up and up into something else entirely. A sword materializes, along with armor and Belladonna finds herself still smiling cheerily up at the figure.
Patiently she listens to them explain of memories and protection, more things seeming to make sense in her mind now. The smile remains even as she finds herself a bit worried over having lost some memories. But the figure is so kind, he promises to return them better than before and that is something she happily accepts.
Protection. What a lovely word. It makes her take in a breath and sigh it out gently, the motion causing a small pressure on the lowest curve of her neck. A surprised noise escaped her as a hand reaches up to find a small, lightly glowing blue lock has come to rest on the very top of her collarbone. A black ribbon is wrapped many times around her neck, her fingertips following the material up and around. Momentarily she brushes against a small rise of skin on the back of her neck, a semi-circled scar that piques something sharp and hollow within herself. But that is put aside as the ghoul looks up to find the figure dissolving and the world setting itself back to rights.
More information comes, the gaps in her mind are filled. Both hands rise to touch the lock, apprehension filing in as to how she will remove it or if it will match with her outfits. Never one for much blue, the witch is a bit worried on that front, but as the grey sky resumes a slow march over her head along with a chill breeze that pulls at her skin, she finds she is not so much worried as she thought.
For a little while longer she has helped protect this world that is dear to her. If the price to pay is a few precious memories locked around her neck, then Belladonna is quite alright with that. They are close to her still, and she has a fun new accessory to play with.
