𝔸𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖

Rebirth

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May 13th, 1960

You realize you were reincarnated mere moments after you were born.

Someone had royally effed up here—you had memories from your past life, after all. As you thought about that, you wondered how the hell any of this had happened. You spent your entire life disbelieving of any higher power, yet something had to have existed to put your soul—is that how it worked?—into the body of a newborn baby. Yet here you were, a day old and wailing uncontrollably as you got your first wash.

"I've finally decided on her name, Thomas." Your mother, typically called Rosie, Rosamund, or Rose, spoke to your father.

The two of them rarely ever left the other's side, you learned. Rosamund had been ordered nothing but bed rest during her hospital stay, a result of the difficult labor she went through to bring you to this world. The only time Thomas strayed from the room was to fetch something for Rosamund or to harass the doctors and nurses with unnecessary questions about your health.

"Arden Tamasin Ramsay."

"It's perfect, Rose. I love it." You hear Thomas say.

It's almost as if you can hear the smile in Thomas' voice, which you're grateful for. You'd always heard of how terrible one's eyesight is as a baby, but you hadn't the slightest clue just how bad it was. You've been sensitive to bright lights, only preferring to open your eyes—as tiring as it was—when it was late enough that your mother only lit candles. Even when you did strain to raise your eyelids, everything was so hazy and blurry that you didn't even know Thomas and Rosamund's faces.

It made you a bit anxious, not knowing what they looked like, but when they'd speak and sing to you, you found your nerves settled by the smoothness of their voices.

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September 8th, 1960

You're nearly four months old when you realize something is off.

Your eyesight had been slowly improving, and you'd even begun to see a little bit of color. When they were close enough, you could see Thomas and Rosamund, enjoying the way their faces became clearer with every day that passed.

Better eyesight meant a better view of the world. When you were first brought home, you kept wondering what that dark object so many held in their hands was. Unable to make out the shape, you assumed it was a recent trend, to carry such a lengthy and thin item. It perplexed you, of course, but you didn't know how long it had been between your death and rebirth, so you tried to get with the program.

But you couldn't deny it now that you could make it out—all these adults around you?

They were carrying sticks, perfectly shaped and typically with pointed ends.

They were very familiar, you couldn't deny, not when Thomas giddily showed you his for the first time. You were quite amused with him when Thomas waved it around in your face like it was a new toy for you to play with. The high-pitched giggles that escaped you were uncontrollable and gleeful when Rosamund came into the room, fearfully shrieking when you grabbed the stick from Thomas and shouting at him to put it away before you were to hurt yourself.

When the stick was carefully put in his sleeve, Rosamund had swept you out of your father's arms, not giving him a second of reprieve before scolding and lecturing Thomas tenfold.