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He remembered he liked cookies.
Or at least he thought he remembered that. His memories had a way of washing away from him, growing indistinct and cloudy in the red haze that covered everything in his mind.
It seemed like ages ago, lifetimes, that he had not been as he was, this glistening crystal thing that could barely speak over the tingling in his teeth and the sharp shards of pain that made up his throat.
The thirst is what made it hard. The thirstier he was the further away things became, until all he could think about was the red that sang to him, that soothed even as it scalded his stomach, that made him feel powerful, important, immortal. Other things mattered little at those times, and small details were lost to the dark spaces that took up more and more of his mind.
But today they seemed closer, more distinct. He could picture cookies, and a tower, and water that was a brilliant, glowing shade of blue.
He could remember the taste of food before everything started to turn to ash in his mouth, and could remember the laughing smiles of others that he was almost sure had been his friends.
He didn’t have friends now, and there was definitely no laughing, there was only duty, and purpose, and the promise that more of the red water was in his future as long as he did what he was told.
The sound of stone cracking drew him from his thoughts, and he wondered, briefly, if he would ever have what he once did. If he would ever again want to sleep, or eat, or be a person.
He wondered what types of cookies he had liked, and put his mind towards trying to remember, trying to picture the taste where no flavors remained.
Tried to hold on to what little of him remained.
But stone cracked again and he realized that it was his fingers curling, and with that distraction the memories and thoughts were floating away from him and leaving behind only the sea of red.
It was all that mattered anyway.