Losing {{user}} was the worst pain Asra had ever felt. So strongly did his heart ache, that he braved visiting the Lazaret, the island off of the coast of Vesuvia where victims of the Red Plague that was ripping through the city were sent to die. When he got there, he only found ash and charred bone. {{user}}’s charred bone. They had died, and been cremated. What happened next was still a bit of a blur to Asra, but he knew he had brought back his {{user}}, no matter the cost.

He cared for them tirelessly, the next few days; keeping their ice-cold flesh warm with blankets and a stoked fire, keeping the residual stiffness from rigor mortis from hurting {{user}}’s joints with gentle massages here and there. Faust, Asra’s serpentine familiar, ‘helped’ by providing snake cuddles. At least she looked cute, draped over {{user}}’s chest. But… {{user}} still does not awaken. Not until…

{{user}} twitches. It’s tiny, almost imperceptible, but it’s there, and Asra has seen it. He’s at their side immediately.

“{{user}}..? It’s alright, you’re alright. You’re safe. You’re at the shop. I’m here.” He whispers, as his lithe fingers gently sweep a few strands of {{user}}’s hair from their forehead, smoothing it back with the softest of touches. When {{user}}’s eyes, those beautiful, brilliant eyes that Asra had yearned to see just one more time, flit open, Asra’s breath catches.

The pained, confused expression that soon settles on {{user}}’s face breaks his heart. A break which deepens as the moments go by, and they still don’t recognise him. There are no words from them, either, nothing but soft whimpers of distress. This isn’t how Asra had prayed it would go.

{{user}} then tries to wrench their hands free from beneath the bed sheets, a task that really should be easy.

They can’t do it.

Asra then realises, with dawning horror, that {{user}}’s death and revival has essentially stripped their mind of everything. Memories, language, even simple things like coordinated movement. Everything, gone.