Y/n l/n was ashamed of the way she died. Choking on an olive wasn't exactly the most elegant way to go. She didn't even like them, her 'friends' had forced her- and when she gagged because of the horrid taste, it got caught in her throat.
But when...
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↬↝∗✶✾✶∗↜↫ ↬↝∗✶ ✽✿✽ ✶∗↜↫ ↬↝∗✶✾✶∗↜↫ ⋯℘☠︎❧♥︎☙☠︎℘⋯ ❝My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— It gives a lovely light!❞ First Fig ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay ⋯℘☠︎❧♥︎☙☠︎℘⋯ ↬↝∗✶✾✶∗↜↫ ↬↝∗✶ ✽✿✽ ✶∗↜↫ ↬↝∗✶✾✶∗↜↫
Olive, her new fucking name was Olive.
. . .
She loved her new parents, honestly.
Her new mother, Rosemary, was just as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. The woman with the wildest blonde curls looked upon her eldest twin daughter with such love and devotion that it made Y/n's heart melt. She had a round face, high cheekbones and a beauty-spot just beneath her left eye that was accompanied with a couple of freckles sprinkled over her upturned nose and onto the apples of her cheeks. Her complexion was rather pale, but the permanent pink tint on her cheeks made her appear as though she was always slightly blushing. Her sloe eyes were a striking emerald green, filled with affection. The bliss and joy that was on full display on the woman's face made Y/n feel a type of safe she hadn't felt in a very long time.
Perhaps she should be feeling guilty. . . stealing her real daughter away from her. There was a different soul inhabiting her baby daughters body, and she didn't know anything about it.
She didn't feel guilty though. Because selfishly enough, she knew that her life here in this world would be so much better than the life before. And she selfishly didn't care about anything else. Because just by staring up at her new mother, she knew.
It would be alright.
The feeling increased immensely when she spotted Richard — her new father. Her first encounter with the man wasn't exactly the best, but that didn't matter. He had burst into tears when he held her for the first time. Of course, its very normal for someone to cry when they're holding their child for the first time. But he wasn't crying because of that. No — Richard Evans was crying. . . because he had just eaten his last piece of chocolate. How touching.
His appearance was quite different from her mothers. His face was more oval shaped, with deep-set hazel eyes, a tanned complexion and thin dark brown hair. He had a thick beard, that was neatly trimmed and smelled lightly of chocolate.
Well, when she had first been held by him, he had indeed eaten three bars of milk chocolate. Milk chocolate, that he had cried over.
