New beginning
Water surrounded her. It’s not supposed to be. Where’s the void she’s been drifting in? It’s warm, and comfy, and it doesn’t feel like she needs to breathe… and there’s another warmth beside her. It pressed against her, and for once, it didn’t feel claustrophobic, a problem she suffered from Before. A welcomed touch. From exposure or just simply distracted? Clara didn’t know. She didn’t think about it when she drifted again.
The other warmth was distracting. Clara was trying to form thoughts over here, and she just seemed to melt when the other touched her. It’s reassuring that she isn’t alone. That she would be with a companion for life, with no one who could deny their bonds. Someone who would be hers. Clara decided she likes the thought. She drifted.
Clara determined she was unborn by the ninth or tenth time she woke. She can’t say she’s surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time she read some books about reincarnation and transmigration. But experiencing it… well, it’s a good thing this is the first time she died. Or remember dying. Did she have another past life without knowing? Possibilities, possibilities…
Besides, it’s a bit exciting. She has a twin, this time around. She likes that.
Something itches rather fiercely within her. It’s weird. Around her chest, starting from where her heart should be. It unfurls out to her… limbs. Does she have legs and arms, or is she not human anymore? Questions for later, surely. The warmth beside her is nice. They’re touchy. Wonder if she’ll get a sister or brother? Is she even a she anymore?
The itch was irritating. She wants to scream, but she can’t actually do that, so she settles for kicking. Which… in hindsight, isn’t nice. But the warmth next to her did the same, so she doesn’t feel bad. Much. Clara remembered how much being kicked hurts. She shouldn’t do it. But then someone outside put their hand on the spot, and so she kicks again. They seemed delighted by it, and never once moved their hand away. It’s fun. Whoever that is outside, they give her a fuzzy feeling. The itch continues, but the other warmth seems to develop it too, because they move around more than usual. Is the itch bad? She doesn’t think it is, but she can’t quite get the warmth out of her head now. Even when they’re not touching, she can make a guess at the direction they’re in.
It’s not bad. Annoying, sure, to feel so uncomfortable, but she can deal with it. The warmth doesn’t seem to mind the itch either. Clara wonders if she is even Clara anymore and drifts again.
Being birthed is… awful, to say the least. The comfortable space she is used to is no more, as the mother’s stomach contracted. The water broke, and then the walls tightened on us. Clara-but-no-more really wanted to kick something, but she settled down and waited out the storm.
Being pushed through the tight canal known as a woman’s womb is not fun. It sucked. It was tight and pressed onto her from all angles. Pressure built and built and the floatiness that was the void faded away to nothing. Clara-but-not doesn’t like being forced back into reality. Not through the quite frankly disturbing and gory process known as birth, at least.
But the warmth-sibling-blood is humming so close to her, she just doesn’t complain. And then there’s the bigger hum, soft-blood-birth-tired, on her… left? She’s not touching them, and that’s not right, and so she cried out.
The shrillness of her own voice surprised Clara-not-Clara, but she needed to touch them, to be close to them. The air is so cold, and her warmth-blood-sibling isn’t near, and the other tired-blood-birth isn’t either, and Clara-not-Clara wants.
Whoever handled her cleaning was rough, the towel pulling at her sensitive skin, irritating it. But then she was deposited into tired-blood-birth’s arm, and her warmth-sibling-blood was right there.
She feels warm and fuzzy and calm, because what’s hers is here, and everything is right. The bumbling noises around doesn’t bother her, and the words out of their mother’s mouth are indiscernible… She can’t understand it at all.
Her eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand tonnes, as she tries to flutter it open. Her efforts are rewarded with the sight of a distinguished beauty. Now, Clara-not-Clara is not one for flatter, but her-their, she has a twin now-mother’s beauty was unprecedented. She finds herself linking her to models in Before. Red hair like the dawn, tinted with gold from candle lights. Green almond eyes that look so kind it aches. A tired smile that makes her heart beat faster. An almost ethereal beauty, their mother is.
Clara-not-Clara falls asleep feeling content for the first time in years.