— I'll break you a hundred different ways —

He remembers her.

He did not know this until he saw her, the black mare and her pet of bones, but when he sees her across the desolate meadow the realization hits him. He remembers her skeletal puppet, the unnerving way it had reminded him of himself when he looked at it—how he had wondered if someone could manipulate him just as easily in his skeletal state.

He has not thought of her since he last saw her, and so he is surprised at how quickly he recalls her name, Violence, but he supposes maybe that is because in a land such as this it is an easy name to remember. Everything in this land was tainted by violence in some way, at some point. It was interwoven into Beqanna’s history just as deeply as magic, the two so often working hand in hand to shape the land and its residents to their liking.

It would be unlikely that she should remember him, though. He is, just as he had been back then, unremarkable. Storm-cloud gray with his mother’s brown-black eyes, and feathered wings folded at his sides. He still, even all these years later, did not often venture into the common areas at night, keeping his skeletal form a secret from mostly everyone save for Wonder—the one thing that may have distinguished him from the rest.

He doesn’t know why he walks towards her.
He doesn’t even like companionship or conversation, but he is drawn to her by some unnamable force, as if she can control his skeleton, too.

“I remember you,” he says once he is close enough, but his gaze readily slides from her face to the animated bones next to her. “Well. I suppose it’s mostly that that I remember.”

— and I'll make you remember my face —