𝐘𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐦

꧁༒༺ (𝐈) 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥:

Where were you?

Everything was a blur, a few splotches of color and hear a faint melodious voice that accompanied your breathing. This whole situation was something you were unable to comprehend, puzzle pieces that didn't belong anywhere. You could feel something close to your trembling form, something warm. Something comforting that made your heart melt.

What was happening? You were supposed to be dead. So where were you? Why were you still alive?

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺?!

Out of pure frustration, you wailed.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Everything was confusing, your eyes covered with an invisible veil. 

Although a woman was gently holding your bare body in her arms, protecting you from the harsh outside world, she could not stop the raging thoughts inside of your head from consuming you.

You were scared.

Very scared.

Death had just embraced you in its cold touch, yet you were still here, alive.

You wailed even harder.

The woman immediately, the delicate melody waltzing into your ears, yet completely silent to your eyes. A raging sea of fear and anxiety swept you out of the security of her bare arms. The soft voice desperately pleaded for your attention.

You were reincarnated.

After two years of being in this world, you had come to that assumption. Everything was the same: the trees, the flowers, the houses, the people, everything. Yet, stranger and unfamiliar peeked at you from every direction in your line of sight. The world felt unknown, an arcane secret much somehow knew, everyone except you.

A new life.

A new father.

A new mother.

A new future.

Back at the flower shop, every drop of thrilling adventure you could selfishly salvage was nothing short but a miracle. Monotone days tired you to no end.

But this?

Your throat tightened, suffocating any of your cries.

The unknown stood before you, an unannounced enemy.

The sea of brutal changed had ravaged your past, present and future, leaving you in an empty desert, thirsty for understanding and sympathy.

You were alone. All alone.

"(f/n)!" A voice called out from behind you.

It was your mother. But even with all the kindness and love she had showered you with, you were longing for the familiar embrace of your real mom.

The urge to rip off her face—to scream and shout for your parents— yelled and yelled at you to run away, to fight, to cry.

"(f/n)?"

A small, gummy smile was all you could give her.

You still couldn't talk very well, but that made you even more adorable and your mother's friends would always fawn over you.

"Do you want to go outside (n/n)?" She spoke in a baby voice.

Having to act like a two year old made you want to keel over and die but what other choice did you have? You couldn't just start acting like a fifteen year old.