I didn't dream, perhaps that was a mercy. I couldn't recollect ever getting a peaceful, undisturbed rest.

I couldn't recollect anything.

I didn't open my eyes when I first woke, I could feel my senses sharpening and my body becoming aware of my consciousness, but I was terrified of what would come when I opened my eyes.

Something plush and soft pressed against my skin, the dreariness and aches in my bones made me want to sink into that soft surface, let my troubles melt away... one last rest.... With that urge I forced my eyes open, realizing my vulnerability.

I sat up slowly, studying my surroundings carefully. I was in someone's bedroom, to say the least. Neat and tidy, with a side table next to the bed with a simple lamp donning the top. I was lying in a bed, a thick, light burgundy blanket covering me with my head laid on a mountain of pillows.

I was so...

what was the word?

a small, thoughtless smile pulled on my lips and my eyelids fluttered as I sank back into the sheets

comfortable.

With that thought I lurched forward, my eyes flying open and gasping.

Thanos, the stone-

I pressed my palm into my forehead, breathing hard as panic suddenly crushes me inexplicably.

I couldn't remember much of anything, I tried for a moment, reaching out into my mind and grasping at anything, only to come back with handfuls of whispers of memories. Whispers where I could see fire, rising and burning quicker and hotter than hellfire, I could hear screaming, had the slight recollection of a blade digging into my flesh, the image of red blood blossoming from my skin.

but one certain memory clung in my mind: I had a feeling I would never forget him,

Thanos

The mere thought of his name had me gripping my shoulders and shuddering, knowing he did things to me I didn't want to remember.

Thanos would punish me soon, I could feel its inevitability hanging over my head. I whipped my head around while my chest heaved, my heart pounding against my rib cage like a cornered animal.

This illusion-however comforting- would not last long. I stared at the door across the room with dread, waiting for whatever torture to come, whether I would be raped, beaten, or cut into like an animal

I could never tell.

I sat frozen, my back taught against a wooden headboard as I saw the door handle turn and a man walked in, wearing plain, unremarkable clothes. His hair was slicked back with streaks of gray, and a goatee on his face. He looked at me, surprised. "You're awake?" He said, shocked, I flinched at his voice.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, clenching my trembling hands. I tried to stop shaking, to look brave. But I couldn't, no matter how many times Thanos forced me through endless illusions and tortures I never got used to it. I opened my mouth, willing words to come to my tongue, but I couldn't even seem to remember how to speak, couldn't remember the sounds, the words...

The man looked at me cautiously, seeing my terrified body language.

He took a step toward me, and the words finally came to me.

"No, please," I whispered, a helpless tear escaped my eye and I swiped at it immediately.

He paused, looking at me in confusion. I knew from trial and error to never believe anything in an illusion, no concerned looks or genuine expressions fooled me. Anymore.

"I did everything you asked," I said, a little more loudly, desperation clear in my voice. Anger, filled with my helplessness, exploding through my head as more frustrated tears fell. "What more do you want from me!" I yelled, bending forward and holding my trembling hands in my lap. I hunkered over, sobbing and my entire body shuddering. Flashes of burning and screaming filled my head, the memory of the scent of burning flesh stinging my nose.

I squeezed my eyes shut to the point of pain, willing my body to stop shaking. Hands gripped my shoulders all of a sudden and I froze, still trembling and sobbing, but trying to remain still, I willed the man to get this over with, to do whatever he was to do. "Listen to me, breathe, okay? It's going to be okay,"

His words were nothing more than static in my ears, I peeled my eyes open, taking in a rough uneasy breath. When I looked at him, I saw he was leaning over the side of the bed, resting his hands gently on my arms to get me to stop shaking. I looked at his belt and I froze when I saw a worker's knife attached to his belt. I released another shaky sob. "Just please," I choked, swiping my wet cheek with my hand. "Get it over with," I breathed, my shoulders dipping and my head falling into my lap.

The man immediately let go of my shoulders, looking at where my eyes were, he immediately jerked the knife from its place and despite myself I jerked backwards, frozen and trembling with eyes wide as I stared at the worker's knife. "It's okay!" He said quickly, holding up his hands peacefully, taking a half step away from me. I didn't relax. "I'm not going to hurt you," He said easily, slowly placing it on the nightstand. I watched him warily as he walked away from me, his face was white and he looked appalled at my insinuation that he would hurt me. As if what I was implying was the appalling thing.

The man stood at a new, respectful distance away now, and I couldn't help but let a false sense of security wash over me. The knife was far closer to me than it was to him, I could easily grab it from where I was sitting. I let my shoulders relax.

"I'm not going to hurt you," He repeated again.

I gave him a small, glad smile and the tension in his spine lessened, he looked relieved.

He began to say something else, and I took my opportunity. I lunged for the knife and the man sprang toward me, but I was too fast for him. I stabbed it toward my neck, but it stopped as the tip dug into my skin, I whimpered, using all my strength to try and press it further into my neck but my hands only shook, a golden mist holding them in place. I looked at the man, he had golden circles around his hands that were outstretched.

He stopped me.

Blood trickled down my neck and a shuddering sobbed racked my chest, "Just kill me," I choked, looking at the man. He had a pale look on his face, his eyes were as wide as saucers. "Please," he looked at the tip of the blade, dug into my neck, and he began to turn his hand that was haloed by a golden circle, and I thought he might actually do it when black crashed into my vision and I fell back onto the bed unconscious.

-

This time, I did dream.

I dreamed a memory, a memory I didn't know I had, but at the same time never forgotten.

My hands were shackled above my head, a chain bound to my restraints and strung from the ceiling, leaving me dangling while my legs barely touched the ground. I was stripped naked, a cold breeze blew in that dark room and chilled me. But I wouldn't be cold for long.

Behind me, a man with neatly trimmed blonde hair had held a bucket in his hands, and with many more on the ground. He tipped the bucket at my back, and boiling, molten hot metal poured over me. I would scream as my skin was melted away, as he poured more around my neck, on my front, everywhere.

While I tore my vocal chords with my screams, the metal drizzled down my neck and I turned up my chin, squeezing my eyes shut and quieting myself long enough and to spit out, "You'll burn for this," in between quick gasps, and the blonde stuck his fingers in the boiling metal and stuck them in my mouth, and I could only make muffled yells of anguish at it sizzled my tongue and he continued to dump it on me.

when he ran out of buckets and the metal cooled and ate at my skin, he walked in front of me as I sobbed, grabbed me by chin and made me look at him.

He cracked a genuine, almost goofy smile, and said, "See you later, alligator,"

and then he left me hanging there in pain

-

A couple days passed since Lyra had her little meltdown, and Doctor Stephen Strange was still unsure of what they were going to do with her. Or what had happened to her to cause her to be like that, it was clear her first episode was caused by a panic attack and might've caused her to act irrationally or out of character, but the sudden lack of hope in her wasn't the Avenger the world knew and loved.

She had not spoken a word since she woke up again, she wouldn't sleep or eat either, he tried to bring her food many times, but she'd only stare at him, wide eyed and tense. He tried to ask her questions, why was she on Xandar, how was she alive, but she'd only look at Stephen with a sense of hopelessness in her eyes.

It puzzled him, and he could tell his presence was taking a toll on her, so he gave her as much time alone as he could.

He'd sent Wong in there multiple times to make sure she hadn't impaled herself on the bedpost, and each time Wong said the same thing when he'd leave the room, "It's like she's waiting for something terrible to happen."

Strange walked in the guest room in the Sanctum Sanatorium, where he had taken her after he found her on Xandar. He had a bundle of clothes tucked under his arm, a pair of men's sweats and a t-shirt, they were his clothes but he knew she hadn't changed in a long time and he didn't exactly have women's clothes just lying around. Lyra was still in the room, sitting up against the headboard, she was awake but her eyes would blinking tiredly as if she was close to dozing off, but raised her head when Strange entered.

Lyra tensed a little bit and he raised his hands in peace, she didn't relaxed and he took a seat in the armchair that was across from the bed. He looked at the undisturbed plate of food on the wooden nightstand next to her, and he quirked a brow in her direction. "Not hungry?"

She didn't respond, he didn't expect her too. He stood up slowly, not trying to scare her. She hardly reacted, god she looked so tired. She blinked a few times but didn't take her eyes off of him, and he wondered why she chose to torture herself like that.

He set the clothes he held on the end of the bed and sat back down into the armchair. "Figured you might want some clean clothes, I don't know if you're particularly attached to those...rags." Strange said awkwardly, referring to the thin cloths that hung around her hips and covered her breasts, not very well, but the comforter was covering her. "But they're there if you want them." He finished.

She eyed the clothes, before looking back at him.

He sighed, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. "Look, you don't have to talk to me. But you're safe here, okay? No one's gonna hurt you." He told her, trying to calm her down. She laughed silently, a humored smile tugging her lips for half a second, then disappearing the next.

He sighed and sat back, at least he knew she was listening to him. "Lyra-" He started, then stopped. Lyra had reacted to her name immediately, jerking upright and tensing, shaking her head. He looked at her, wondering what could've made her react that way.

"What? What is it?" He asked her, looking at the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her eyes wide. He began to worry she might have another panic attack. He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his legs. Was she having memory loss? Maybe that's why she was so confused and panicked, she didn't see anyone she remembered, but did she have anyone to remember?

"Your name is Lyra Clovin, the admiral of Asgard, goddess of-" "Stop." She interrupted firmly, surprising him. She was shaking, her breathing became more vocal and he did stop, giving her a moment to catch her breath. "Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He said, after a moment, she stopped breathing hard, but didn't stop shaking.

"What is your name?" He asked, genuinely wanting to know if she knew the answer. The doubt on her face was answer enough, she thought for a moment, her shoulders began to tremble again, but she looked at Strange and said, "Bird,"

He frowned. "Okay, Bird," He said gently, watching her carefully. Her eyes were red as if she fought tears, and she was shaking and breathing harder now, if anything that was worse than her reaction to her real name. Still, she didn't say anything. "You are not a hostage, alright? You can stay in this room as long as you what, you can walk out that door anytime you want. You," He told her, pointing at her, she flinched a little and he dropped his hand.

"are safe. You don't have to be scared anymore. You don't have to force yourself to stay awake, you don't have to starve yourself. You hear me?"

She didn't say anything, and after a moment Strange thought she wasn't paying attention to him, but then she nodded, also imperceptibly, and he gave her a small, half smile. He stood up, she pressed herself into the headboard and tensed but he pretended not to notice. He picked up the folded clothes, placing it on the armchair for her, before leaving without another word.

He was sure everything he'd said was pointless, but when Wong had checked on her that night to make sure she didn't stab herself in the eye with a fork, he had seen her food and her clothes still untouched,

but she was asleep.