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....