"That's odd," Fey thought to herself as she analyzed the book she'd lost just a night earlier. Every page was there, Fey knew that. She had held the book so many times on so many days that she knew it was all there.
"Where could this have come from I wonder?" Fey placed her keys and bag on the table and walked over to the pillow she used as a type of couch, Finicky came over and laid his head on her lap affectionately.
"There's no way it was there when we left this morning, but there's also no way someone would, or could have known it was mine." Fey looked quizzically at the book again wondering how this could be.
Not that she was upset, quite the opposite. She had no memories of her life before three years ago. The first day she remembered she had woken up in a hospital bed and been told that who she was didn't matter, there was no past for her to go back to or try to resurrect. They had given her money, they said it was her "inheritance", but Fey had never really believed them. And this book. They had said that when she had been brought in, she had made them swear to return the book to her, it was extremely important.
Fey Mandrake wasn't even her real name. In the hospital, the nurses had told her that she acted as a fey child would, so she took the name Fey. As she flipped through the collection of poems, one by John Donne caught her eye especially as it seemed to relate to the fey child and a missing past, and from that Fey Mandrake was born.
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