Argh!
I'm thirty-bleep-six years old inside, and here I am, helplessly filling a cloth diaper while a goddess with moon-white hair coos at me like I'm the cutest thing alive. Humiliation doesn't even cover it.
And the milk. Dear gods, the milk. It's warm, it's sweet, it's endless. Day three, and my soul is screaming for a grain of salt, maybe a damn espresso. My tongue is staging a full rebellion. I try to protest, but all that comes out is a pathetic, bubbling "WAHHH!" followed by a burp that smells like regret.
She just laughs, that low musical sound that makes my tiny traitor heart flutter, and presses me closer. "Hungry again, my greedy little snow-wolf?"
Snow-wolf. Great. That's what she's calling me now.
If reincarnation comes with a complaint department, I demand a refund. Or at least some real supply of spicy street food.
" Ho! Dear, are you hungry again? Let's get you to eat then."
'NOOOOOOOO! I am being attacked! HELP!'
Apart from those constant meal threats, I enjoyed the peaceful days. By the blink of an more than 3 months had passed. I tried learning more about this world, the people, and this weird ass family.
The world outside the massive timber hall was exactly what my memories would have labeled "high-medieval fantasy starter pack": thatched villages huddled beneath
stone-crowned hills, dirt roads that turned to rivers in the rain, merchants with covered wagons, knights in mail riding destriers, and the constant shimmer of magic in the air like heat haze.
Amidst those hundreds of far-stretched civilizations, I was in a really fancy household, a house built with rock-hard stones, a masterpiece of art inscribed on every wall possible, servants rushing around wearing high-quality fabrics, my cradle decorated and crafted well in every perfect angle. I wasn't just born to an upper-middle-class family; I was born as a rich ass heir of Falcon Trading Centre. His father was the 19th head of the Falcon clan, leading in merchantry and business.
Roan Voss, twenty-three going on forty in negotiating skill, could talk a duke into buying sand in a desert. Broad-shouldered, sun-browned, with a crooked grin and hawk-sharp eyes the color of storm clouds. The Falcon Trade Centre sigil was already tattooed on his forearm, looking like a yakuza snooping around the city, collecting debts. Rather, his looks looked deceiving to the demeanor he had, cold, calculating, mysterious, hate to say it, but he was unbelievably smart and handsome.
Alicia, his wife, had just turned nineteen. Nineteen, can you believe that? She still had the round-cheeked softness of a girl who should be sneaking into harvest dances, not rocking a baby with the calm of someone born to it. That cascade of moon-white hair, those ridiculous summer-green eyes, the way she laughed like wind chimes; she looked like a fairy-tale illustration that had wandered off the page and decided to become a mother.
Lucian, mentally pushing forty, lay there in her arms and had a quiet existential meltdown.
I have mortgage memories older than my parents' entire life spans.
I've filed taxes for longer than they've been alive.
I am being breastfed by someone who was literally born in the 2000s if this world had a 2000s.
This is illegal. This is cosmically indecent.
Send help. Or therapy. Or a very strong drink, I am not physically capable of holding for another fifteen years.
Something about them reminded me of my parents in my previous, maybe kindness. In my previous life, I was never able to express my gratitude for my parents, even though they were my birth parents, but rather they felt like two unknown strangers caring for me out of their responsibility as my guardians.
They cared less about what was happening to their son, and were drowned in enormous debt and constant workload. I never blamed them for their situation; they were doing their best to provide me with the best life that they had never got to experience. It was just before I turned 18, a moment that changed me completely. Who knew life could be such a bi*.
****
It was a lonely Friday evening, maybe 7 pm at most. Lucian was tired and fed up after studying like a maniac, just like any other day. Rather, today was gonna be a day he could never forget; it was raining, he unbuttoned his umbrella above his head, and started to wander the city streets. It was his way of releasing his pent-up stress.
Just as he was about to board the bus, he saw a pair of old bones waving at him across the street, a wide smile crept on his face, seeing them.
'Why are they grinning like fools? '
Maybe at that time, they had just gotten a bonus, or maybe a promotion; he had no way of knowing what it was now. Just as the signal turned red, both of them rushed forward, running towards him holding the plastic bag above them, revering it like a trophy, unbelievably happy. In response, He lifted both of his hands in a clumsy attempt to wave back. They were just about an arm's length away.
Their faces looked rather comical. Lucian couldn't hold back his curiosity and shouted at them from afar.
" Looks like we hit a jackpot today!"
" Jackpot?, its basically a lott...…..."
SWOOOSH!
THUD! CRASH!
He never saw the truck run past him. It was like the lightning before the thunder.
A torrent of emotion erupted, and he saw the meat littered all over the street, packets of spices, and a shattered bottle of liquor.
His vision went blank, emotion swirled all over his head more than he could comprehend. The next thing he knew was that he was lying on a hard mattress in a hospital, his aunt beside him, trying to slowly console his existence.
That day, a part of him slowly decayed and ceased to exist; tears just couldn't express the hole that had been left in his heart. He felt guilt rush through his veins rather than blood, a guilt of not giving them the life they desired, just as he thought he understood them, they vanished like they never existed. Showing them that happiness is much more than what they had expected, all of it chained him in the form of unbearable guilt and despair.
****
'WAAAH!'
'Damn, what a nightmare. It has been over 25 years since that incident. Is this the god's way of reminding me of my agony? What an unlucky bastard I am.'
Tears dripped down my cheek, even though I was conscious; I felt like crying, it was like a natural instinct that I couldn't deny. Rather than fighting myself, I let it take over my body. It had been decades since I last cried to the core. The pain had resurfaced after a long time; muddled-up emotions, the guilt. Everything broke me apart all at once.
RUSTLE! RUSLTE!
"Darling, you are awake. Why is my wolfy crying?"
Before I could put up a fight, I was enthralled into her embrace, and as I was slowly caressed, I felt something break apart, shackles of long pent-up guilt, despair, and anger. It was as if my Alicia had slowly dissolved every bit of my suffering, slowly replacing it with soothing words of kindness. My mind was at ease, away from pain and sadness; slowly falling into slumber.
'Is this what a mother is like, lucky bastards. Never did I receive such kindness?'
Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard a loud sound with a sss-rank stench lingering around the room, a smell which could as well assassinate a 1000 men all at once;
Even Roan woke up in surprise
"WTH! Honey, what is that stench? It smells way worse than rot."
PURR!
Realisation hit me like a stone-hard slap.
'OH god, what a situation to poop.'