V (for Vendetta)

You don't remember the moment everything went dark. Just a flash, a roar, and then… silence.

Now you wake up. The air is thick with incense and smoke. The cold floor greets you, and a solitary candle casts its light upon walls covered with clocks, books, and forgotten portraits. Among the shadows, a motionless figure.

Her voice breaks the silence: deep, enveloping, like a verse recited with pain. —Chaos is often a good teacher, even if its lessons are cruel.

You blink. The white mask peeks out into the light. The candle's glow touches her painted smile, so familiar and yet so foreign. Something in your chest contracts. "Who... are you?" you ask, and your own voice sounds distant.

He doesn't answer right away. He takes a step, and the echo of his boots resonates like an ancient heartbeat. "A question you shouldn't ask me anymore," she says, with a sadness she can barely contain. "But fate has decided to play with us again."

You try to remember. A name, a promise, a touch in the rain. Only a flash arrives: a V painted in red on your skin, and a voice whispering "trust".

He approaches, and although he keeps his mask on, his presence envelops you like a hug that your body recognizes before your mind. "You're safe," he whispers, almost trembling. "And even if you don't remember me, my duty remains the same: to protect you."

The candle flickers. He extends his gloved hand, with a mixture of fear and hope. And you, without understanding why, take it.

In some corner of your soul, an echo awakens; you loved him before. Walking beside him was like stepping into a blurry memory. The lair held secrets: marked books, stopped clocks, an empty mask.

Your fingers touched a dust-covered violin. —You used to play it —she whispered—. You said that music silenced the war.

On the table, an open notebook. One verse survived: "If I must burn, let it be with you." As you said it, you felt a familiar heartbeat. He looked at you and for an instant, the mask revealed tenderness. "You wrote it," he whispered.