OLAMIDE
"Wake up, Olamide." Her familiar voice roused me. It was the porcelain woman. Her voice albeit foreign felt so familiar. It felt like home. My eyes flickered open. I proceeded to survey my surroundings. The air was chilly and the gust that caressed against my prickly skin was strong. I was atop a bridge and just the thought of looking down made my stomach churn. This place...
"You remember this place, don't you?"
I whimpered and turned to my left; where the voice had originated from and sitting at the edge of the bridge was a woman with skin white as a drained corpse and hair black as death. Her orbs laid intently on me for a moment before her neck twisted back to the roaring waters.
"Who are you?" I demanded. For the time being, it was the only question that seemed to matter.
