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Summary
A long time passes before he can speak, and when he does, his words are slurred from pain. “I...I don’t know who you are, and I don’t…I don’t remember anything.”
The woman makes a strangled sound. Her shoulder tenses, and her hand on his back stills.
"Seriously? For the love of Barbatos, you’re so much worse than I thought. We’ll have to go to camp for your lip and for supplies, but we need to get you to Barbara and Master Jean as soon as possible. Just let me know when you’re ready, mister-”
“Don’t call me that,” he groans. The words come from habit, and he latches onto the muscle memory, desperate for more, for another scrap of himself, but the words die on his tongue, dissipating like a dream. “You don’t…Ugh.”
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Albedo loses his memory. Sucrose wants certain things to stay forgotten.