Rotsu
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Chapter 2 Re-Write. (V1)
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Stats as of last chapter:
Aubrey Hawthorne
Age - 4
Race - Human
Sex - Female
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Level 1
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Str - 3
Agi - 4
Dex - 7
Con - 5
Int - 7
Wis - 7
Luc - 7
Chapter 2 - Presenting, Aubrey Hawthorne
I wake up with a jolt to the screaming of a young child. It takes me a moment to get my bearings in the new room. One moment I had been running for my life, the next in some black void and now this. Reincarnated. I move my limbs and stretch out, feeling how small I am. Those awful screams must be from my new one and a half year old brother. I wouldn’t be joining him in that childish endeavour, no matter how young my new body may be. Not only that, but my bedroom door is fully open. I suppose, as a four year old, I am not expected to need privacy quite yet.
He doesn’t sound as if he’s in pain, just not very happy.
I swing myself out of bed only to find that my feet don’t touch the floor, which is aggravating. I was a pretty tall woman for someone born when I was and to the people I was born to for my past life and now I’m now stuck in a child’s body. At least I’m still female. It would be strange to come back as a male.
I sit up slowly and quietly review my room. It looks like a childs bedroom, and it’s quite obvious for me because the name Aubrey is above my bed in big, pink bubble writing. Everything is so big and colourful. My new parents must have designed this room to fit a child. My body, on the other hand, seems too small for such a room. If I didn’t remember being in that void with The Game, I would assume I had been kidnapped by some strange Giant!
Inside my covers it’s nice and warm, and when I shove them off fully I am quickly reminded that it’s winter in this world. My curtains are closed, no light is filtering through and my room is illuminated by the hallway light.
I jump out of bed and stagger a little. I’m a tad short for my age, seeing as I have to reach up a bit to pull my covers back over my bed. I’m maybe an inch or so shorter than an average human four year old, at least as far as I can tell. Is there something wrong with me? I seem to be a good weight, upon looking down and reviewing myself, so I don’t think so. If anything, I still have some good baby-fat on me.
I suppose when I was reincarnated, my knowledge must have changed to reflect the Perks and Race I picked. It’s so strange to think, I feel as if I’ve forgotten so many things! Is this just the difference between a Human and Elf’s mind? How am I meant to find out what I know now? How do I even interact with The Game?
We are here, listening to you. You need only think to us
‘Thank you,’ I think to myself after a moment, directing the words at them. It feels unusual, but I can tell there is a connection in my mind to them. Some cord allowing us to talk. ‘Game, why do I feel so different?’
You are a new person. A child. Your Skills have changed, and as such, your knowledge and abilities have changed
‘What are my Skills?’
Skills -
Acrobatics (+) - Level 5
Acting (+) - Level 30
Archery (+) - Level 5
Art (Drawn) - Level 5
Art (Painting) (-) - Level 1
Art (Singing) - Level 5
Body Language - Level 30
Calligraphy (+) - Level 5
Climbing (+) - Level 5
Cooking (General) (+) - Level 5
Cosmetics (+) - Level 5
Crafting - Level 5
Daggers (+) - Level 5
Dancing (+) - Level 5
Deception (+) - Level 30
Gardening (+) - Level 5
Healing - Level 5
Investigation (+) - Level 30
Language (Common) - Level 100 (MAX)
Language (Elven) - Level 180 (MAX)
Language (English) - Level 102
Language (Parseltongue) - Level 120 (MAX)
Lock-Picking (+) - Level 5
Mathematics (+) - Level 55
Meditation (+) - Level 15
Perception (+) - Level 30
Performance (+) - Level 5
Persuasion (+) - Level 5
Running (+) - Level 5
Self-Care - Level 5
Sewing (+) - Level 5
Shadow Magic - Level 30
Stealth (+) - Level 30
Style - Level 5
Swimming (+) - Level 5
Weaving (+) - Level 5
Writing (+) - Level 5
That was unexpected to have pop up in front of my eyes but entirely useful! I’m so low on so many things. My Acting being so high is a boon, something I will need to convince people that I am an average enough child. My Shadow Magic and Stealth is from the Specialisation Perk I picked, as well as a few others. Mathematics and my Language Skills are clearly a mix of my past life, being put in a body with some language abilities already and my Parseltongue Perk.
‘Game, what do those symbols mean?’
The (+) and (-) indicate slowed and fastened learning depending on if you enjoy a Skill, had the Skill in your past life, or if a Perk or Disadvange affects the Skill
Perks and Disadvantages have not yet been Unlocked. They are currently Hidden
I nod to the animal themed wall, still looking over the list. Presumably anything I don’t understand now will be Unlocked as I Level Up or learn around it in this body. How is it that I don’t have any Skills in sailing or management even though I remember doing both activities, though? The Game must have some way of deciding what I can only remember doing versus what I can actually do now, even if I can’t decipher it. I think back, ignoring the screams of my brother as he is taken downstairs by my new mother or father, and I don’t think I’m missing any memories. I realise it would be hard to know if I am, but the thought I’m not missing anything is at least comforting.
Why did I have to keep my Painting Skill? Ugh. I hate painting.
When I am satisfied I have taken as much information as I can from the tab, I close it and take a deep breath. It’s time to start acting. I tip-toe out of my room as quietly as I can and slowly work my way down the landing to the stairs. I almost trip and fall on the very first one going down as I didn’t expect them to be as steep as they are. Holding onto the banister bars, I make my way down one step at a time.
I move slowly, following the sounds of my brothers crying. The stairs end in an entryway. There is a big archway into the living room, and around the side of the stairs the entryway travels on to an open door into a large kitchen. I am sure my mother must be in there. I feel some desire to go find the woman. It feels necessary.
I stand in the doorway to look over the kitchen and dining area. My mother is in the kitchen, with the same curled brown hair and warm hazel eyes I now have. I hadn’t known I had those features until I saw her, but her presence triggers the details to fill my mind. It feels good that we look the same. It makes me feel important, special even, to look like my mother. From where I stand, I would put her at just over five feet tall and she’s a wonderful woman to my newfound knowledge, though I can’t bring myself to know more details. Right now, she’s cooking breakfast with a sleeping infant wrapped to her chest. It’s strange, as although I’ve never met this woman in my life, I feel a great love and admiration for her as if I had been raised by her from the start. Even her voice, hushing the baby to keep her asleep, is familiar.
My brother, still tiny with dark, dark brown hair and almost black eyes like our father, is screaming his head off on our father's shoulder as Papa sets up my brother's spot on the table so he can sit him down. I see he is in a blue baby grow, his little feet covered in it to keep him warm. My own feet feel cold on the tile floor.
With a wave of his wand, Papa has everything done and puts my brother in his chair as easily as my brother will allow. He isn’t tantruming, but he isn’t exactly helping. Such a casual use of magic is delightful for me to see.
Papa is at least a foot taller than Mama, with pale skin and some apparent stress lines. His features are the same as my brothers, but my brother has our mothers freckles while Papa has none - I have no idea if I have freckles or not. I’ll have to find a mirror. I think he works in the magic government, doing something. He works a lot, and the thought makes me sad, yet at least here, at the table, he seems happy and content. This makes me happy, the pure feeling of something good, something that’s just right.
My family is happy.
The childlike glee filling me is undeniable, taking me by surprise. I find myself bouncing right over to the table and flopping myself down in what I’m somehow sure is my normal spot, no hesitation in my step.
“Good morning!” I announce too loudly. My vocal control needs work for sure. Papa starts laughing at me and it takes me a moment to realise I was frowning as I internally critiqued my voice. More than that, I notice that my reaction and thinking speed is far lower than it was before this morning. Or before I died. Or before whatever happened. It’s all so strange! Meanwhile, Papa is clearly amused by my reactions, a stark contrast to my brother's now sniffling form. He’s looking right at me. Clearly, the child is happier in my presence. The joy of younger siblings.
“Good morning so far, Aub?” He asks me as he goes about waving his wand a few more times to finish setting everything into place for breakfast.
“Yes! Like, the best!” I exclaim. It does feel like the best morning I’ve had in a long time, despite how I’m sure it can’t be. I miss my family, my children, and yet I can’t control the excitement filling me up.
“Why’s that?” He asks, humouring what probably looks like an act of childish randomness.
“Well, you’re happy, Mama’s happy and my new sister is nice and quiet! It’s wonderful! And you know I love pancakes! That’s what Mama’s cooking, right?!” I ask as excitedly as any child would. Pancakes are divine. Why am I getting so loud and excited about them though?
Gods, it’s because of this body’s emotions. I am experiencing the remnants of the child I have now tossed from her existence so that I may inhabit her body. I know, logically, that The Game chose this, but the guilt of this sudden understanding almost cripples me.
Thankfully, Papa has already turned away and doesn’t notice me freeze up. “Your nose knows pancakes,” he chuckles, waving his wand and pulling a couple of child-size fresh pancakes onto my plate. I school my features back into a smile for him, choosing to stare at the pancakes rather than my father. With his hands, he takes a knife and puts a small dollop of butter on top for me.
My emotions, while still rolling from my realisation, somehow become lighter with food in front of me. Being a child can be like that, I suppose. They are naturally good at flipping between emotions. “Thank you,” I say, picking up my plastic child size knife and fork.
“Would you like some milk or juice?” He asks as he hops over the baby gate separating the kitchen and the dining room. Thank goodness for that debriefing - we’d had nothing like a fridge in my past life. Wizarding World appliances are truly a luxury to me.
“Juice!” I call back. “Orange juice!” That is my very favourite after all. No, it’s the now eradicated child's favourite, and her tastes are now mine. I am excited to experience the favourite food of a child I helped destroy, and I can’t control it! A look at my pancakes shows they have blueberries in them and my mouth waters. A part of what is actually me is still grateful for blueberry pancakes. Fruit was a luxury in my other life.
“Alright!” He calls back, pulling a large container labelled ‘Pure Smooth Orange Juice’ out of the fridge along with the milk. “What’ll you do after breakfast?” He steps aside to let Mama pass him. She quickly begins to cut up my brother's portion for him.
“I don’t know,” I say, quickly trying to think of something a child would want. “Could we go outside?” I ask, looking out the window to see the sun hadn’t even risen yet.
Papa nods and sits beside my brother. “Sure. It’s my day off so I can take you to the park if you like?” Mama smiles at his words and nods.
“Yes!” I shout. How do I feel so free? How can I feel such conflicting things so easily?
“Alright, alright, calm down and eat your pancakes before they get cold.”
I oblige, rapidly tearing through my food before being offered and taking a second serving. This stuff was beyond most meals in my former life. If this is a casual, quick breakfast, I want to know what a special occasion looks like! I may be feeling some guilt and pain, but The Game has expectations of me. I cannot risk my new parents noticing something is wrong or I may get punished.
An hour later, Papa, my brother and myself made it to the park. Seeing as I am a child, I reason on the walk over that I can ask a lot of questions and get away without causing any suspicion. My children, the ones I had adopted young at least, had asked constant repetitive questions. No doubt human children in this world do also.
“Here we are,” Papa says, opening the metal gate and putting my brother down. The boy instantly begins toddling away towards the swing set, caring as little for the cold air as I do. We’re both wrapped up warm. I don’t know his name yet and am waiting for one of my new parents to say it. That wasn’t something I think I’d get away with asking Mama or Papa. How is it that the memory of this child’s favourite food remained while the name of her brother and sister has been left blank?
“Papa, what is that?” I ask, pointing.
“That’s the playground. You know that,” he teases me.
I grin at him and run straight to it, a giggle slipping from my lips as the exhilaration takes over. It has a long bridge made of dirty wooden slats that separates two areas. One side has a ladder and a climbing wall leading up to a platform where it connects to one side of the bridge and a wide metal slide, and on the other side there is a very tall pole for sliding down and something else I didn’t know.
“What’s this?” I shout to Papa.
He looks up from putting my brother into a swing designed to contain toddlers. How ingenuitive. “That’s the monkey bars, hon.”
I nod, looking up at them. They’re tall. This park is obviously best for older children at least six years old as the monkey bars start high up and even the last one at the bottom is still very high. I test my strength by going up the climbing wall, feeling my little arms straining. A small part of me, the part that demands success, is disgusted by my weak form. Yet another part of me wants this family life.
I very much doubt I’ll be able to do the monkey bars so instead I go down the slide, which feels exceptionally tall to me when I’m sitting at the top.
I didn’t realise how fast my small, light body would go and I slip halfway, slamming the back of my head against the metal. I lie at the bottom of the slide in shock for a moment, my legs hanging off the edge. How can I be so clumsy? I feel stupid.
“You alright Aub?” Papa calls.
My chest tightens and small, childlike sobs sneak their way out. Before I realise it, Papa has me held against his chest, my brother in his other arm.
“Aw, honey, what happened?”
I push my head into his shoulder, holding onto him tightly. My brother babbles and puts his little hand on my arm. “I hit my head Papa. I went down the slide and fell.”
“How did you fall on the slide?” He asks incredulously.
“I was sitting up but I should have been lying down. I hurt the back of my head,” I sniffle.
“It’s alright. You’re strong. You’re going to be alright,” he tells me softly, trying to put a laugh into his voice. Somehow, his cheerfulness helps me stop feeling as desperately hurt as I had been. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”
“Yeah,” I whimper.
“Alright, here, let’s put you down,” he says, putting me and my brother on the ground. “Where does it hurt?” I point and he kisses me. Touching it hurts but, like magic, I feel immediately better. “There. Are you alright now?”
“Yes,” I smile at him.
“Aub-y,” my brother whispers, looking up at me. When I look back he shuffles closer to me, obviously trying to be very gentle as he places an incredibly sloppy, wet kiss on my shoulder. “Love ‘ou.”
I smile and hug him back, his adorable voice melting my heart. “I love you too. Come on, do you want to play with me?”
.*****.
We stayed at the park for a little over two hours before Papa began herding us home. Papa would probably have taken us home earlier than that, except me and Adam - I learnt his name is Adam by quietly asking him behind the slide where Papa couldn’t see us - were playing so nicely together he didn’t seem to want to. Had the child he’d known before not been very playful with her siblings? That didn’t feel right, I have the urge to play with my new siblings very much. Then again, I had always played with my children when they were young. It’s not easy for me to be sure.
I didn’t see Papa do any magic while we were outside and I ask him about it as we’re walking, only to get hushed quickly. He reminded me about not talking about magic where Muggles could hear, and that is how I found out about Muggles and the area I now live in. We are in plain sight and yet hidden from view. Although there aren’t many houses around as we live in a small Muggle village in the middle of England. I learnt our location by asking as well. I also trip halfway through telling my brother not to run too far ahead and scrape up my hands like some lumber footed fool.
When we get home I throw off my shoes at the door and kick them to the side before running on tired legs and reckless abandon to go check on Mama and my sister.
“Hi Mama! We’re back!”
“I can see,” she says, smiling at me from the sofa. The baby is nursing from her. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah, me and Adam played for ages. Now I’m tired,” I say, lying back on the sofa. Truely, this new body is incredibly drained. Would I have to take a nap? I hadn’t had to take a nap in at least a decade, my children always joke - did always joke about how I have endless energy.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” She is amused. “Do you want a snack? I’ll get you something when I’m done feeding Jasmine,” she offers. So that’s my sister's name.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” Papa says, coming in and handing me a small plastic cup of something.
I smell it and find it has a really strange odor. I take a sip and grimace. “What is this?”
“It’s pumpkin juice.”
“It tastes weird!” I say, handing it back.
Papa takes the cup. “You liked it yesterday,” he tells me. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
He grunts and takes it through to the kitchen. “I’ll get you something else.”
“Thanks Papa!” I chirp tiredly, letting out a big yawn. The pumpkin juice ends up being transferred to a cup with dancing Gnomes on it at my brother's insistence before he’ll drink it, and I am given some apple juice. After drinking at speed, I gasp and breath heavily for a moment before I hand the cup back to my amused father, who hadn’t even bothered sitting as he likely knew what I was going to do.
Finished with my sitting, I slid off the couch to go look around the house.
The first place I go is up to my bedroom. No one follows me upstairs. I live in a small cottage and I feel like I have some small knowledge of my new family. I know that I often get what I ask for - or the other child had gotten what she had asked for - and that we all have our own bedrooms. The baby’s room used to be Mama’s painting room. My bedroom is the second biggest in the house as I am the oldest child.
My door is still open, which is how I left it this morning. I look around, taking in the moving cute animal print wallpaper, the bedsheets with moving stars and planets, the toys and books all over. It’s not a large room by any means, but it is a nice size.
I go over to my new books. They are all for children, and I know that the old child used to be read to before she went to bed. Most of them have a magic theme to them. The Ice Prince, Jinx’s in the Jungle and Running Rabbit rest on one shelf, and I notice a book on the floor called Queen of the West with little toy animals set up around it. The girl must have been reading it to her toys only yesterday.
My heart constricts in pain for her. I turn from the scene and look over to the window. There is a little stool that I move and stand on so I can see outside. The window looks out onto the fields beyond. In the distance there are some sheep lying close to each other for warmth, and in our garden there’s a swing set like at the park. This one only has one seat though, and not the type to contain toddlers. Foliage covers the perimeter of the garden, tall and ready to sprout new growth come spring. I wonder if that’s to stop people from seeing into the house.
Slowly, I turn back to the room. With the extra foot of height, I feel only slightly more comfortable. It is exceptionally difficult to see when I am so short, I feel almost vulnerable when everything and everyone is so much larger than me. Not only that, but I feel as if some of the furniture could fall on me if I climb it, and I very much doubt I’m strong enough to crawl out from under any of the pieces.
Shaking off that emotion, I go and sit on my bed and grab the old, honey coloured bear from next to the pillow, holding it tightly. I kiss its forehead and feel as if I’m somehow lighter. The toy is like a comfort item. That makes some sense to me, I suppose. I really, really hope I can get more used to being a child soon.
I listen as my young brother comes toddling up the stairs, Papa following behind him. He gets to the top, grunts as he assumably stands, and I see as he turns into my bedroom.
His face splits into a chubby grin and I know even without my new body’s feelings attached, I am absolutely in love with this child.
“Aub-y!” He squeals, running to me. He wraps his arms around me as best he can. “Play?”
“Yeah, we can play,” I tell him. “What do you want to play?”
He babbles faster than I can understand, then pauses as he waits for an answer I can’t give.After a moment, he repeats, “Play?”
“Yeah you just said that,” I smile. “What do you want to play?”
He grins and starts jumping up and down. “Play, play!” He then runs from the room as fast as he can, squealing happily.
I look to Papa for help.
“Snitch and Seeker,” he winks at me. The concept of the game quickly fills my mind, so the former child obviously played this often. “Do you want to count or should I?”
“You count!” I say quickly, jumping from my place and abandoning the toy bear. I tear from the room even faster than my brother did and run into the first room I see. It’s my sister's bedroom.
There isn’t much here. The ceiling is magicked to be a night sky, there’s a green cot with no sheets on it, and a very small old chest of drawers. It’s a closet room, exceptionally small. I run straight back out and go into the next room.
This one is my parents room, and it has far more in it. There’s a large four poster bed with deep purple sheets on it, a beige rug on the floor, two wardrobes, and a small bassinet for my sister. Clothes and towels were strung around, messing up the room. Having had to raise a child from newborn before, I was empathetic to their struggle.
But that struggle didn’t stop me from using it to my advantage. As quietly as I can so my father won’t hear my steps as he counts down the last few numbers, I wedge myself into the small gap between the wall and one of the wardrobes. A chair is in front of the crack with piles of laundry on top, helping to mask my position. It’s a good place to hide.
I grin excitedly as Papa shouts, “Ready or not, here I come!”
I am as good as holding my breath as Papa leaves my bedroom, the floor creaking under his feet. My brother, somewhere else in the upstairs area, laughs excitedly and I hear him run out to greet Papa, not yet understanding the game yet loving the excitement. I have to hold my breath to stop myself from laughing.
“I found you!” Papa cries, making Adam squeal happily. He might be tickling him. “Ah, you silly boy. Come on, let’s find Aubrey together. Go on, you start.”
I hear Adam’s heavy footed steps run around, not yet coming into our parents room. For someone so young and small, he is very loud when he moves. Papa is following behind him, telling him to look under and behind things, encouraging him along.
“In here Adam,” I hear Papa finally say from the door to his own bedroom. “Come, let’s look in here.”
I almost stop breathing, trying to keep myself utterly silent. I’m sure I’m not doing very well, I’m certain I was better at this just yesterday, but Papa doesn’t immediately seem to notice me. Not that I can see around the chair.
Adam begins slowly looking around the room, running from place to place and then frustratingly slowly looking. I think that’s what’s happening anyway. It sounds like it.
“Look over here Adam,” Papa whispers. “Look.”
I hold still as I hear Adam stomp closer. I hear as he gets on all fours.
Papa is holding back a laugh. “No, not underneath, look here. Oh, Adam,” Papa says, holding in more laughter. I see his hand point directly towards me from above the chair and know I’ve been found.
I listen to Adam awkwardly stand and take a few steps over to look between the crack. His face splits into a massive grin and he shrieks happily.
“You found me!” I grin for him, shuffling from my place. I hug him. “Wow, Papa, that was so fast!”
He shrugs. “I’m just a masterful Seeker, don’t you know. You’ll have to try harder than that next time.”
“I will!” I declare. “You’ll never find me again! I’ll disappear!”
His smile drops ever so slightly before he laughs. I barely noticed the movement. “Oh, I’m sure!” He says. “Do you two want a snack now? I was thinking we’d have apple and banana.”
Immediately casting his expression to the side, I cheer and help Adam down the stairs.
.*****.
We all had some apple and banana as a snack before Adam was put down for a nap. Jasmine followed but stayed downstairs on Mama’s chest while Adam slept in his bed. Now with my parents' full attention, I decide I need to take advantage.
“Mama?” I ask, staring at the window looking out onto the front garden. “Why don’t we live near other people?”
“Because the house isn’t near other houses,” she tells me easily.
“Yes, but why don’t we live near other people,” I clarify without clarifying.
She turns to me, resting her head against the back of the sofa. “We have to make sure no one can see us use magic, so we live far from other people,” she explains, understanding me. “And this house was given to us by magic Grandmother and Grandfather. Why, would you rather live near people? We wouldn’t be able to have magic things if we did.”
I shrug. “I was just wondering.” I think up my next question. “Where do magic Grandmother and Grandfather live?”
“Well, they have the manor, but they are always on holiday, aren’t they,” Mama tells me. I don’t have any memories or feelings to do with whoever magic Grandmother and Grandfather are - presumably they’re one of my parents' parents, but I don’t know whose. “You’ll see them again at Yule and they’ll be able to tell you all about where they’ve been.”
“Why are they called magic Grandmother and Grandfather?” I ask, frowning at her.
She chuckles tiredly. Looking at her, she seems sleepless. Having a newborn does that. “Because they have magic, and your Granny and Grandpa don’t.”
“Hu,” I say, now looking at my sister's head peeking out from under her blankets. “How old is the baby now?”
“She’s three weeks old,” Mama says, with some happiness in her voice. She looks down at the baby as she speaks. “She’s growing big and strong, like you did. You were a big baby.”
I force myself to smile even as my stomach knots. “I was?”
“You were such a sweetie. Adam was a small baby but he was always fussy. Do you remember when Adam was born?”
I try to dissect the memories and feelings I have. “No, I don’t think so,” I say. “I would have been little when he was born.”
“You were, you were two years old. You’re a big girl now though.”
I smile more happily, the idea of being a big girl incredibly important to me. “Of course I am!”
She chuckles and Papa comes into the room from putting Adam down. “Are you excited for school in the morning?”
I go to school? “Yes!” I cry, excited. “Mama?”
“Yes Aubrey?”
“Why do I go to school?”
Papa chuckles and answers for Mama. “Because big girls go to school. Have you done your homework?”
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully.
“Well, let’s do that and let Mama rest,” he says, getting back up. “Come on. We can do your flashcards.”
I have no idea what flashcards are, or I don’t until they are shown to me. At the dining room table, Papa gets out a purple folder full of papers and takes an elasticated band wrapped set of cards out. “Okay,” he begins, shuffling the cards. He presents one to me.
“Y,” I told him. Is this how children are taught in this world? Repetition? I had taught my children through practical experience, sending them to work with trusted friends in the areas they wanted to specialise. It has worked well and resulted in adults that were competent and happy. Teaching with repetition isn’t time-effective. Forcing people, especially children in my experience, to learn through this teaching method isn’t practical nor does it usually result in anything positive. It’s why I had never sent my children to any schools.
It happens that I do well with book learning, but simply writing repetitive lines or words does not work for me purely because it bores me.
“Right,” he says, presenting another random card.
“B.” I’m shown them all in random order, getting them all quickly. It’s at first slightly entertaining but quickly, on the second repetition, even, it becomes boring.
“All done,” he cheers at the end of the fifth repetition of flawless answers. “You did really well today. You didn’t even get confused with V.”
“I’m just so smart,” I smirk at him.
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t disagree. “Let’s do your writing next.”
The writing activity is, naturally, slightly harder. It’s repetition again, just writing out a letter over and over and over to get it perfect. I know how to write in such a way, but my dexterity prevents my handwriting from being neat. Wobbly lines marr my otherwise perfect homework. Also, the pencil I use hurts my hand.
“I don’t like this,” I tell Papa.
“I know you don’t,” he says sympathetically. “When you’re bigger it won’t hurt as much.”
“Can’t I have a smaller pencil?”
He opens his mouth and then closes it and pulls his wand out. A flick and my pencil has shrunk to a better size for my tiny hands. “Try that.”
I grab a blank piece of paper and write out a few letters, my handwriting slightly neater. “This is better.”
“Alright, I’ll shrink some pencils and you can use them at school,” he tells me. “I can’t let the evil pencil’s hurt my princess!”
He picks me up and I shriek happily, laughing as he throws me towards the ceiling a few times. There’s a bang from upstairs.
“Oops,” Papa says, holding me to his chest. “We woke Adam up.”
I wriggle from his hands and run to greet my brother.
.*****.
Throughout the day, I come to the conclusion that children aren’t allowed to use magic. This is normal to me as magic was dangerous for children in my other life also. However, during my evening bath that night, I am struck suddenly by how many magic things I am allowed to play with while not being allowed to use magic itself.
“Papa?” I ask, up to my waist in bubbles. The bath is wonderfully warm. “Why can’t I use magic?”
“What do you mean?” He frowns. “Of course you can use magic. You’re a witch.”
“Yes, but why can’t I use magic now?”
“Because you’re still little,” he smiles, gently batting a flying rubber duck back towards the bath. It quacks indignantly, it’s escape plan foiled. Big bubbles are flying around the bathroom. “Children aren’t allowed to use magic. You have to be bigger.”
“Why do I have to be bigger to use magic?”
“There’s this thing called Magic Control,” he tells me gently. “When you’re little, you don’t have much of it. When you're bigger, you’ll have more and you’ll be able to learn. And anyway, you do use magic.”
This is news to me. “I do? When?”
He laughs at me. “When you do Accidental Magic, that’s still magic!”
“Why do I do Accidental Magic?”
He smiles as he frowns at me. “This is lots of questions. You do Accidental Magic when you have big emotions. All young witches and wizards do. It’s a good thing.”
I nod slowly. A bubble floats in front of my face and I clap it, unable to stop myself. “How old will I be when I can use real magic?”
“Eleven,” he says. “Are you feeling alright honey?”
I look down at the water, not wanting to give anything away. “I’m fine Papa. I’m happy.”
“You’re not feeling sick or anything? Is your head hurting or something wrong? It’s okay if you’re not okay.”
I look up at him and see concern in his eyes. “I’m okay Papa. I promise. I love you.”
He smiles at me but the concern doesn’t leave his eyes. “Alright. Let’s get you finished here.”
The conversation is dropped and I’m grateful for it. I’ll have to be more careful with the questions I ask from now on, even if the information I get is very useful to me. Papa washes my hair and wraps me in a big fluffy towel, dries me off and dresses me in pink pyjamas with puppies and kittens playing on them. When I’m done with brushing my teeth and having my hair brushed, Papa picks me up and shows me outside my bedroom window where it has begun to snow.
“Are you looking forward to seeing your friends tomorrow? It’s your last week of school before the Yule holidays.”
“Yes,” I say softly. “The snow is pretty.”
“It is. You remember you can’t tell anyone about magic, yes?”
“I do. Promise.”
“Good. Do you want to read a book before bed?”
The idea is comforting even though I am warring with myself over the guilt of taking this man's child from him. I hate to see him worry over his child. “Yes please.”
“Okay. Go pick one. Quickly, it’s almost past your bedtime.”
I pick out a book from the collection, choosing Queen of the West from the floor as this seems to be a favourite. He smiles when he sees it, tucks me into bed, and begins to read.
I listen to his voice, feeling as my body begins to drift off. I don’t entirely notice as he stops his reading when I am falling asleep. The squeaking of the floorboards under his weight wakes me back up only moments later, leaving me alone with just the light from the hallway illuminating my room.
In the darkened room, I stare up at the ceiling. Little magic birds fly around up there, settling onto magic branches to sleep for the night. I chose this. I chose this body, this family, out of all of those I could. I have taken this child from her parents, and they seem to be able to tell. Papa certainly seems to be worried for me. Not me, his true daughter. He knows something is different. It’s no surprise, I would know if one of my children suddenly changed overnight.
Why must the gods do this to a child, to loving parents? It makes no sense to me. No god of good I’ve met would offer reincarnation if the cost is erasing a child. The masters of this Game have to be cruel to do such a thing.
‘Unless,’ a thought pokes into my mind, ‘they didn’t erase anyone.’
I frown. That is a possibility. Perhaps there had been no child here before I was reincarnated. Perhaps my new parents simply think they birthed and raised me. The idea has some substance. It would not be hard to convince a person of anything with enough magic and power. They could have woken up just as I did, certain they have always had another daughter. It would explain why I was allowed to pick my first name. If I was not a new body, a new person, I wouldn’t have been able to choose my first name. This makes sense to me.
This could be a positive thing. I’ve adopted twenty-six children in total, and eleven teenagers that needed a loving home. I love them all equally, even in this new life with new emotions battling to find their place next to my own, and now that we are seperated I love them all the more. They believe me dead. They must be grieving me and will never know that I am alive and well.
I wish I could tell them I love them one last time. I wasted so much of my life as an assassin, but being a mother, protecting and providing for them, it was what I had lived for in the end. I’m grateful I found them. I don’t want to imagine what I would have done if I hadn’t found their love when I did.
All these things I’m experiencing that feel as if they’re from some before must be a result of the magic. I know about The Game, so these feelings must be more detached for me than they are for my parents. They are certain of me because these new feelings aren’t detached. My acting outside of those created memories are going to confuse them just as much as if I had replaced their child because to them, those memories are real. It’s my job to maintain those as a part of my role in this Game.
I may not have been chosen by my parents to adopt, but I will be the best child I can for them. I’ll help take care of my siblings and be a good sister. Gods know I wasn’t a good sibling on my first chance. In this life I will live better. I will live for me and for my family. I have every option open to me. They may never know the truth about where I have come from, but they’ll never have to question my love for them.
