The Philosophers Stone

I am surprised when I wake up. I cough as I regain consciousness, which hurts to do so. I am still in pain, but all I can think about is why I am not dead. I should have bled to death. I am uncertain what to make of this.
But one thing is certain. My mood has changed. “What am I doing?” I think furiously to myself. “Those beasts left bạn to die, to die a slow death. They lấy trộm, đánh cắp Soror and Frater. And I don’t know why, but maybe they have something to do with my parents disappearing!” I clench the floor with my hand, squeezing as hard as I can. “Look at me!” I think, gritting my teeth and huffing, “How dare they make me so pathetic! How dare they make me despair so that I willingly waste away?” I push myself to my feet. I scoop up a handful of blood and let it run out of my hand. With my other hand I grip my sword beside me. And this time I speak aloud, roaring, “And how dare they do this to my life!?”