She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her chest felt tight, nervous, uneasy.
Telling the first people she encountered in this world about her truth was a leap she didn't expect to take so soon.
She knew almost nothing about Elioudra. This moment was a gamble, a fragile thread of trust. She wasn't looking for redemption or even comfort—maybe just someone to listen. She didn't want to be too vague, but she feared being too detailed.
Still, to live this third life honestly, she had to start somewhere. That meant being truthful not just with herself, but with anyone who might share this new beginning with her.
"You're right," she admitted quietly.
"I don't know how much of this you'll believe, but…"
She paused, hesitated.
Then, with a voice low but steady, she met their gaze and said:
"I have lived, and died… not once, but twice."
The elderly couple listened in silence as she spoke. Her voice trembled at first, but found its rhythm as she recalled her first life—one that never saw the light. An unborn twin, half-alive in darkness.
She kept her eyes lowered to the steaming cup of ginger root tea in her hands, unable to meet their gaze.
When she began to describe her second life, a weak chuckle escaped her. Bitterness clung to it. Despite the opportunities she was given then, her choices had been steeped in regret. It felt absurd, tragic even, that she had squandered the gift of a full life.
"I can't let this third one mirror the last two," she admitted, her voice low. "Not again."
She tried to lighten the heavy energy that had filled the room, forcing a small smile. She knew for a fact, her truth was a pill that was hard to swallow.
"Imagine my shock—two lives as a man, and now I wake up in a woman's body. Third time's... weirder, I guess."
She slowly lifted her gaze from her teacup to meet the confused—perhaps curious—eyes of the old couple who had been quiet and respectful all throughout her story.
But as soon as she looked at them, the warmth she had felt since meeting them was gone.
Their silence had shifted.
Vien's face had drained of color, her hands trembling. Orthan, who was sitting beside her, placed both hands gently on Vien's shoulders; a silent, grounding gesture, as if urging her to stay calm. Protective, steady.
Her heart sank at the sight of the old couple's grim expressions. They wouldn't meet her gaze. Vien stared at the floor, lips pressed tightly together, fear etched across her face. The air had turned heavy, suffocating.
A cold sweat trickled down her temple as she contemplated.
Why?
Why do they look scared?
What's happening here?
The silence dragged, stretching painfully between them until Vien finally broke it, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Oh dear… that was… certainly something." Struggling to find the right words to say.
There was no warmth in her tone.
No sweetness or thoughtful expression on Vien's face. Only dread. Orthan kept his gaze lowered, avoiding her puzzled expression.
She felt it in her bones—the disgust, the horror she hadn't anticipated.
She wasn't just misunderstood—she was shunned.
Before she could utter a reply or get clarity for their reaction, Orthan stood abruptly.
"Child," he said, his voice flat, formal, "I'll give you something to help you adjust here in Azarette. In return, I must ask that you no longer associate with us. And if you ever find your way out of Silvershroud Forest…and I hope you do so, soon, please don't mention us to anyone."
He looked away.
"This is for our safety. We wish you luck in whatever journey lies ahead of you."
It was a dismissal.
Polite only on the surface.
The words cut deeper than any cruelty could have.
He turned and disappeared into their room. Vien followed hastily, clearly unwilling to remain near her a moment longer.
The house felt colder now. Silent.
She remained seated. Still.
Unable to move or to reason.
She had expected confusion, perhaps even curiosity. But this. This was unexpected.
After what felt like an eternity, Orthan returned, a sealed envelope in hand. Without a word, he placed the envelope on the table in front of her.
He didn't even bother placing it in her hands. He gently placed it down and nudged it towards her.
Then, his hands raised, and he gestured toward the door.
From watching Orthan to slowly lowering her gaze to the envelope, she slowly reached for it, her fingers trembling. She shoved it into her pocket and turned toward the exit with slow, heavy steps.
Her hand brushed against something in her pocket; the small pendants she had carved the day before. She paused. Turned.
Carefully, she placed them on top of the couple's coffee table.
"I made these for you both yesterday," she said softly. "I wanted to apologize for how I acted. You don't have to keep them... but I wanted to leave them here as a parting gift for the kindness you have shown me."
She stepped back and bowed low, the gesture instinctive, customary from her second life.
Just as she turned to open the door, a flicker caught her eye.
Orthan had tossed the pendants into the fireplace.
No hesitation. Not even a glance.
They burned instantly.
She froze at the sight.
Tears spilled from her eyes before she realized she was crying.
A surge of questions tore through her mind, dark and unrelenting, like a wave that didn't recede.
Why are they scared?
Why was I rejected?
What did I do wrong?
Was honesty too much?
Why? Why? Why?
No answers came.
It was already dark out before she even realized. She walked away from the old couple's cabin and towards hers. She stumbled out into the night, the cold biting harder than before. The world outside was silent, but not peaceful. Isolating. Cruel.
Why was I brought here, to Azarette? Why Silvershroud, of all places?
Why was I given a third life… only to be cast away again?
Why did I have to meet them in the first place? Why would they come to my cabin? Why invite me to dinner if you're just going to shun me after I tell you about myself? WHY!
Her mind spiraled with questions she had no words for.
All she wanted was to live—fully, deeply—with no regrets.
All she dreamed of in the vast expanse of darkness and nothingness, all those twelve thousand years, was the chance to feel connected. To feel wanted. To belong.
But here in Elioudra, in this strange forest, surrounded by mystery and silence...
She felt lonelier than ever before.
She hadn't realized how deeply she yearned for connection until it was denied to her.
That night, she curled up on her bed, clutching the clothes the old couple had given her.
And for the first time since awakening in this new world, quiet, hollow sobs echoed through her room as she cried herself to sleep.