New
I died. I know that much.
The last thing I remembered was the feeling of cold pavement beneath my fingers, my ribs fractured from the fall, and the coppery tang of blood pooling in my mouth. I had fallen — no, been pushed — off a bridge. I remembered the distant sound of horrified gasps, the dull hum of city traffic, some beeping sounds and the crying of two girls around, and then... nothing.
Only blackness.
But this wasn’t death. It wasn’t the eternal void I had been promised. Instead, I felt the distinct sensation of warmth — suffocating, wrapping warmth — that clung to my small form like a second skin. I felt heavy, sluggish, and impossibly fragile. Something was wrong.
My eyes fluttered open, only to be blinded by a wash of pale morning light. My mouth opened, intending to speak — to ask where I was — but only a helpless, newborn wail emerged. The sound of it shocked me into silence.
What in the hell?
WHAT THE HELL.
I struggled, trying to command my limbs to move, but they were weak and uncoordinated. My fists curled into impossibly tiny balls, and I realized with bone-deep horror that my body was not my own. Or it was. I was too garbled up with confusion and panic at the same time, trying to process it all. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
But the soft, lilting voice of a woman soon shattered that illusion. "Oh, she’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, isn’t she, Lyall?"
A figure leaned over me — a woman with kind, honey-colored eyes and golden hair that fell in delicate waves. She looked ethereal, her warmth bleeding into the very air around her. Her face was flushed with exertion, but her smile was radiant as she looked down at me.
Lyall — my father, presumably — appeared a moment later, his graying hair and lined face betraying a life of hardship, but his eyes shone with gentle pride. "Aye," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "She’s got the Moonglass eyes, though. Strange, isn’t it?" His gaze flickered toward my face, and I caught the first glimpse of my reflection in the glass cabinet beside them.
My heart plummeted.
I had impossibly large, hauntingly dark lavender eyes — eyes that were so rare to be seen in real life. Eyes that held too much memory for a newborn. I froze. Moonglass. That name stirred something deep within me, though I couldn’t place it.
The woman — my mother — smiled again, not seeming perturbed by my unusual features. "She’ll grow into them," she reassured softly, brushing her thumb along my chubby cheek. "She’s perfect. Our little Astraea."
Astraea. The name settled over me like a ghost’s touch, sending a shiver down my spine.
I couldn’t explain it, but it felt right.
Like the universe had been waiting for me to bear it. But then I heard Lyall murmur something lowly, something that nearly stopped my newborn heart. "Astraea Moonglass. She’s going to be extraordinary, isn’t she?" And then, after a pregnant pause: "The bloodline still lingers, you know. I just hope she doesn’t... inherit it."
I froze. The bloodline? What bloodline? My mind, still foggy from death and rebirth, tried to claw through the pieces.
And then my mother laughed lightly. "Oh, Lyall, you worry too much. She’s perfect. And she’s ours."
But my father didn’t laugh. His grip on my tiny hand lingered for a moment longer, and his smile held the shadow of something old and buried. I could feel it. I didn’t understand it — not yet — but I felt it. Like a shroud over my tiny, helpless form.
And as I lay there, stunned in my infant body, two things became achingly clear:
I had been reborn into another life.
Oh Merlin help me.