Chapter 21
A transparent screen was brought up displaying a profile, the system interface projecting information about my current state. I looked at the present information belonging to the body and what I had brought with me.
What I had brought over was not important, anyway, I had tried shortly after giving birth and it seemed to be impossible to access the space, which had me depressed for a while, but what the original owner—myself in this timeline—had, remained stubbornly fixed, which was not a bad thing. The memories were fragmented and disorganized, a jumbled mess of emotions and experiences, like trying to piece together a shattered mirror.
First, though, the rest of the memories must be properly digested and sorted so the fragmented mess can make some sense.
After concentrating a bit, my head ached less and everything seemed clearer.
The memories flowed in order, like a river carrying me through the currents of her life, allowing me to fully understand and compare, contrasting her experiences with my own and coming up with a plan to move forward instead of continuing to be half-blind. Snippets of childhood, then early adulthood and then shortly before my tragic appearance, the events leading up to the chandelier incident.
She was thirty-two, her fall from grace, the main house that has been abandoned for years, the mother—eh? Mother?
A living, breathing, present mother?
Not a ghost, not a memory, but an actual, living relative.
I was stunned for a moment because I usually kill off the parents to make the characters seem more tragic, to add a layer of both tragedy and mystery to their stories, but now the mother was still alive, wandering around somewhere.
I paused deep in thought for a moment because this information has changed many things, potentially altering the entire course of the story. It opens up possibilities I never considered.
I specifically remember writing that originally this body was supposed to live until it was fifty, a life of quiet contentment stretching out before her. A comfortable, predictable.
That was what I had written, right? I distinctly remember planning her death in a blaze of glory, ehm, starvation to save another girl who was hungry.
Of course, I made sure to describe how her body began feeding on itself and all other wonderfully gruesome part! The degradation of muscle tissue, the hollowed eyes, the slow, agonizing fade into oblivion.
I also remember how the readers said I was sick and after writing millions of words about this character, I simply killed her off as a stepping stone for a white lotus, green tea venemous snake. Among other insults.
Honestly, the original body in the book I published died in a satisfactory way, a poignant sacrifice that solidified her status as a tragic heroine, until I became her and appeared in the discarded drafts because I changed the ending to starvation instead of the common being shoved in a zombie pile.
As the author I remember the description to a T. How she was eaten, how she screamed, how she begged for death.
SHE DID NOT DIE IN A SATISFACTORY WAY AT ALL!
Who wants to be here?!
I dont want to be here! The thought echoed in my mind, a desperate plea for escape, a primal scream against the injustice of my situation.
In my mind space, I struggled not to hyperventilate, to maintain some semblance of control over my spiraling emotions. I mean, combine my first and second life, I am an old lady, burdened with the memories and experiences of centuries, and just for kicks, add the thirty-two of this one.
Now somewhat calm, I continued to go through the present plot of this life, sifting through the mundane details and searching for clues. I focused on the immediate threats and opportunities, pushing the existential dread to the back of my mind, at least for now.
The mother is still alive, where is she? Is she a loving parent, a source of support and guidance, or a manipulative monster, scheming to control my life for her own gain?
No idea. Completely MIA. No trace of her, no explanation for her absence. Well I am an adult now so it didn’t really matter much.
Moving on swiftly~.
There were more pressing matters to attend to.
Like how I only had until Christmas to be prepared for what is to happen later, the inevitable crisis that loomed on the horizon, but what if I suppress the memory and surprise myself?
Wipe my mind clean of the impending doom and experience it all anew?
Would that not be exciting?
It would be like watching my own story unfold, with me as the clueless protagonist, stumbling blindly towards disaster.
Would that not be exciting? No, probably not. More likely, it would be a recipe for disaster, leaving me vulnerable and unprepared when the shit hit the fan.
As a mother with a baby, life seems like a tragedy, but the body had those who served her well and the two pets that lurked in her shadow.
Were those people who served the original fully honest?
To make them serve faithfully, to ensure their unwavering obedience, it is best to make them fear me from the depths of their soul. A little fear goes a long way, a subtle reminder of the consequences of disobedience.
Would such thoughts not be beautiful?
A sinister smirk graced my lips, a fleeting glimpse of the darkness that lurked within. I tapped on the screen and patiently waited.
(Host the system is in self repair but your request for specific memory suppression can be enabled. After the system will continue to hibernate. Host will have to find other opportunities once the world ends to survive. Host is now a mere human with a little more strength.) The robotic voice echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of my diminished state.
“The world ending is so beautiful, such opportunities to play is so beautiful!”
I spoke softly, my voice filled with a chill. After composing my true self, I exited the mind space and sighed, looking at the sleeping thing. He stirred in his sleep, a soft gurgle escaping his lips.
Lolipops2Marsh 