Chapter Text
« But I am damned
If life itself is condemnation
I am immortal
Thus my freedom is captivity »
Kamelot-Across the highlands
I'm slightly older than three when I “wake up”. My memories, until now parcelled out, finally stabilized. I remember. I know. Although one thing remains a mystery to my eyes. How comes I'm still living? This, and all the related questions. The three last years passed by without my awareness, or almost. My young brain, brand new, assimilated English at a crazy rate. My body learnt, step by step (litterally, lol.), how to walk. I'm a healthy and functioning baby. I'm three years old. I'm living in London. My parents are quite wealthy. I don't really know what they do as a job, but they're rarely here. It's a governess that takes care of me, most often. She also maintains the house. House that is not exactly huge, but definitively not the kind that my parents-my former parents-could have afforded. I only have a vague idea of what those three last years have been. My consciousness is remained asleep, my “awoken” phases lasting more and more, until today. When I woke up this morning I remembered this other life, when I was French and was c alled Aurore*. The life where I died when I was seventeen. The last thing I can precisely remember, except today, is the moment I let myself fall when the pain caused by the poison became unbearable, giving me the momentum I needed to jump from the building. I remember. I remember everything.
It's three o'clock. The governess picks me up in the room where I was supposed to nap. It's time to go to the park. I surprise her by insisting to walk without her help, refusing to hold her hand. I notice that I lost my short-sightedness when reincarnating. First good news of the day… The still hesitating balance of my body confuses me a bit, but I know I won't have to endure it for too long. The governess, Mrs Winston, as I learn from her annoying “So, who is going to the park with Mrs Winston?” said in a “baby voice”, is a white lady in her fifties. She has generous shapes and a hopping step.
I surprise her again when I prevent her from following me in the toilets, and she doesn't find anything better to do than applauding when she finds out I managed by myself. Apparently she's impressed by my amazing achievement. Finally, we go out of the house and cross a first road to head to the park. The neighbourhood we're in is clearly wealthy. The private houses aren't adjoining and their small wannabe gardens could almost really deserve the name “garden”. Everything is peaceful and the sun shines in the cold but clear winter sky (and here I thought it was always raining in England). A hundred more meters suffice to reach to a quite wide boulevard, with a lot of cars. It's now or never.
The traffic light is red. I have to look normal. She didn't think about taking my hand when we got closer to the boulevard. I see a truck travelling towards us, quite fast. I don't pause to think about the pain or what will my new “parents” think. I'm not even sure any of this is real anyway. I tweet, perfect impression of an enthusiastic baby, and rush in the park's direction just when the truck is about to pass in front of us at full speed.
*Aurore is a French name that translates into “dawn”.