Light.
It's the first thing I notice, too bright, too close, pressing against my eyes like something alive. I
try to move, to shield myself, but… my body doesn't respond the way it should.
Something's wrong.
My hands… they're small. Too small. Fragile. I stare at them, uncomprehending. The blood,
there was blood, wasn't there? There should have been.
But there's nothing.
No pain. Not even a trace of it.
The thought comes slowly, unwillingly.
…Did I die?
A strange warmth surrounds me, soft and unfamiliar. Voices follow, blurred at first, then clearer. I
can't understand the words, but I can hear the emotion in them.
They sound… happy.
Why?
I force my eyes open wider.
Shapes begin to form, faces leaning over me, smiling. Smiling… at me.
That doesn't make sense.
I've never been the reason for anyone's happiness.
A pause. A breath that doesn't feel like mine.
Then the realization settles in, heavy and absurd.
…Am I… a baby?
I… I don't understand any of this.
I feel so tired all of a sudden… like I can't even think properly. Maybe… maybe I really am just a
baby now. My head feels too small for all these thoughts…
…
My eyes open again.The light is softer this time.
For a moment, I hope it was only a dream, some strange final flicker of a dying mind.
But no.
They're still here.
Still smiling.
The woman leans closer, her face warm and bright, exhaustion softened by something gentler.
Relief, maybe. Joy. Beside her stands a man, watching with the same quiet tenderness, his
eyes fixed on me as though I am something precious.
I don't understand it.
Why are they looking at me like that?
The room around them is small, simple, but filled with a warmth I can almost feel pressing
against my skin. Wooden walls, soft blankets, the faint scent of firewood and cloth. Nothing
grand, nothing luxurious.
And yet…
It feels more like a home than anything I have ever known.
A thought settles heavily in my mind.
Is this… a second chance?
My gaze drifts downward, and I catch a glimpse of myself.
Dark hair.
Plain eyes.
The same dull features.
Nothing remarkable. Nothing beautiful.
The same face no one had ever once looked at with joy.
So why now?
Why would people like them, people who seem so gentle, so kind, be smiling at me as if I
belong here?
As if I am wanted.
The thought twists painfully somewhere deep inside me.I was never wanted before.
I was a burden.
A curse.
In my previous life, all I ever brought was hunger and hardship. Two parents, poor enough to
barely survive in a forgotten village, forced to divide scraps that were never enough even for
themselves.
A child like me was never a blessing.
I knew that.
Even if they loved me, and I think, in their own way, they did, love was never enough to fill an
empty stomach.
There was never enough for the three of us.
Not enough food.
Not enough warmth.
Not enough life.
One of us had to go.
So…
I left.
The memory returns in fragments.
The ache in my shoulders.
The weight of things far too heavy for a child's hands.
Days that began before sunrise and ended long after dark.
Work. Hunger. Exhaustion.
Again and again.
I remember wishing for it to end.
Praying for sleep deep enough that I would never wake.
But death was not merciful.
It came slowly.
Cruelly.My body never had the chance to grow.
Instead, it only withered.
Each day taking something from me.
Strength.
Weight.
Breath.
Until one day… there was so little left of me that it felt as if I had simply faded from the world.
As if I had shrunk enough…
to disappear.
My memories are still there.
Sharp. Unfaded.
Too vivid.
It feels wrong.
A newborn body should not be able to carry so much of the past, and yet every image remains
with me as if no time has passed at all. The hunger. The cold. The weight of work against frail
limbs. The slow, miserable fading of a life that had never truly begun.
Then another sensation interrupts the memory.
Movement.
I'm being carried.
The realization comes slowly as warmth shifts beneath me, gentle and steady. Arms cradle me
close, careful, almost protective. A soft voice hums above my head, the young woman's voice.
No… my mother's voice.
It is so soft that for a moment I don't know what to do with it.
Then I hear it.
A name.
"Ere.
"
The sound lingers in the air, spoken with such tenderness that it almost doesn't feel meant for
me.Ere.
My name.
I had never imagined I would be given something so gentle.
So beautiful.
For a long moment, I simply let it settle inside me.
A name.
I can't even remember the last time anyone called me by one.
Most of the time, I was only ever called a curse.
And perhaps they were right.
I was one.
Still… somewhere along the way, even my old name had disappeared from memory.
Forgotten.
Buried beneath hunger and bitterness.
The thought is too much.
My mind feels heavy, crowded with things this tiny body cannot hold.
So I close my eyes again.
The days pass in fragments of warmth.
The heat of her body whenever she feeds me.
The softness of her arms whenever she holds me close.
The quiet presence of the man who watches over us both.
They are kind.
Too kind.
And yet…
I cannot bring myself to trust it.
Somewhere deep inside me, a colder instinct remains.
A certainty.This won't last.
Sooner or later, I'll be thrown away again.
That feeling clings to me no matter how warm her embrace is.
As if happiness was never something meant for me.
As if the only thing my old life left behind was this constant, gnawing insecurity.
Fear.
Expectation of loss.
It is the one thing that survived death with me.
Whenever I retreat into myself, I find that same strange place.
Darkness.
An endless, silent dark.
The only thing I can see is the chair beneath me.
And behind me,
another chair.
Occupied.
There is always a shadow sitting there.
I cannot turn to look at it.
I have tried.
Something in me refuses.
But I can feel it.
Its presence.
Still.
Silent.
Watching.
It never speaks.
Not once.And yet… it feels familiar.
Too familiar.
As if whatever it is, it carries the same wounds I do.
The same exhaustion.
The same sadness.
It feels almost as though we are made from the same sorrow.
Still, there is something else.
Something different.
A feeling I cannot explain.
I notice it most when hope begins to rise in me.
Whenever I begin to believe that this life might be different… I feel him.
That shadow.
As if it stirs only to remind me of what has been.
And perhaps… what will be.
It feels like an inner voice.
A voice without words.
It does not speak.
But it listens.
It sees me.
It knows what I am feeling before I can even understand it myself.
Maybe, one day, it will tell me more.
For now… I push the thought aside.
Whatever it is, it can wait.
These people, my parents, if that is what they truly are, deserve at least a chance.
I do not know if I feel anything for them yet.
Not love.Not trust.
Perhaps not even attachment.
But I can see the worry in their eyes.
They whisper to each other when they think I'm asleep.
Concerned that I am too quiet.
Too still.
Too serious for a baby who should be crying.
They worry as though something is wrong with me.
There isn't.
I am not the one they need to worry about