In shadows deep, where memories sleep,
The past and present dare to meet.
A voice from time, both strange and near,
Awakens truths we hold most dear.
"Ugh..."
The echo of too much sleep rattled through her skull, leaving Annabeth's head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. She groaned softly, pressing her palm to her temple as if it could chase away the fog clouding her mind. Her eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as she pried them open, only to squint in discomfort at the harsh sunlight flooding the room. The beams sliced through the gaps in the curtains, striking her vision like blinding knives. Everything seemed distorted and unreal.
A voice broke the silence, sweet yet trembling with anxiety, each word dripping with concern.
"Anna, are you okay? Are you uncomfortable? Please, you must tell Mommy, okay?"
Mommy?
The word stabbed through the haze, bringing a sudden rush of clarity. Mommy? But… Her mother had died in a car accident when she was just a child. The memory of her funeral was etched into her soul. How could her mother be standing here, alive, speaking to her now? Had death loosened its grip on her?
Annabeth's lips moved, but no words escaped. Her silence seemed to unravel the composure of the voice’s owner. Within seconds, she felt herself being lifted—yes, lifted—as though she weighed nothing. Up... up... until her body left the soft mattress entirely. Panic flared in her chest, sharp and hot.
Wait. Was she dreaming? There was no way she, a thirty-year-old woman, could be picked up so easily! And yet she was cradled in arms far stronger than they looked. Her heart raced as if trying to leap out of her chest.
Eyes wide with shock, Annabeth finally took in the sight of the woman who held her. Her breath hitched.
She was beautiful. No, scratch that—stunning. The kind of beauty that seemed too flawless to be real, like something crafted by a master artist. An oval face framed by silky black hair that cascaded over her shoulders like an inky waterfall. Her delicate and arched eyebrows formed a perfect line above her dark, luminous eyes, which glittered like polished obsidian. Her nose was straight and aristocratic, and her lips were naturally rosy, as if kissed by the morning sun. There was an undeniable elegance to her, a poise that reminded Annabeth of the literary beauty Jasmine. But this woman wasn’t fragile like Jasmine; she had a strength about her—a wisdom, independence, and fierce protectiveness. No trace of helplessness.
But now, those dazzling eyes shimmered with unshed tears, staring down at Annabeth with a desperate, almost frantic worry.
“Anna, please… Just say something.”
Annabeth swallowed, her throat dry as sandpaper. Who... who was this woman? Her heart pounded harder as she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory. Nothing added up. She couldn’t remember ever meeting someone so... perfect, and certainly not someone who would hold her with such tenderness. She desperately combed through her mind, grasping at the last thing she could recall before everything went dark.
The airport.
She had been on her way to the airport. And then—there it was. The sound of a gunshot. Sharp. Terrifying. Echoing in the distance, then darkness.
Her pulse raced. Was this some kind of afterlife? Had she been shot? The more she struggled to make sense of it, the more it eluded her.
Terror gnawed at her insides, twisting her gut into tight knots. Was this woman a figment of her imagination, or was something far more sinister at play? A life-and-death gamble she never asked to be part of?
Suddenly, the door burst open, and another figure stormed into the room, their faces shrouded in the shadows of the bright light behind them. A man’s silhouette, tall and imposing. His low and controlled voice carried a command that sent shivers down her spine.
“We need to leave. Now.”
The crack of gunshots wasn't unusual in my country. Public security had always been abysmal, and shootings occurred so frequently that they were almost a soundtrack to everyday life. Annabeth used to joke that she could enjoy her meals to the rhythm of gunfire. The danger was constant but numbing, so much so that when the shots rang out at the airport that day, she hadn't even flinched. Her flight was set to depart late, after all, and running seemed pointless.
But then... she remembered the sharp pain, a cold numbness spreading through her body. If her memory served her correctly, she must have been hit by a bullet. Right?
A soft hand touched her forehead, stroking gently as though trying to soothe her confusion. "Are you feeling alright? Should we go to the hospital?" The woman holding her—an ethereal beauty with a voice soft as silk—asked, her every word laced with concern. She cupped Annabeth's cheek with such tenderness that, for a moment, Annabeth felt reassured.
"Anna, please," the woman begged, "say something. Don’t scare Mommy like this. What happened? Tell me."
Mommy.
That word again. It sent a wave of disbelief coursing through Annabeth’s mind, leaving her stunned. Her eyes darted around, trying to piece together what was happening. Her brain was still foggy from sleep, or shock, or both. As she shifted slightly in the woman's arms, something felt horribly wrong.
She looked down at herself—small arms, tiny legs, her limbs soft and chubby. She clenched her little fist and held it up, staring at it in disbelief. There was no denying it—this plump, baby-like hand belonged to her. And her body, cradled so effortlessly by the woman, couldn’t have been more than 100 centimeters in height.
Her heart skipped a beat. She was in a child’s body.
Slowly, her gaze rose to the woman who had been holding her all this time. The stranger’s face was still tear-streaked, a wild mix of fear and relief swimming in her wide, jet-black eyes. Her features were almost unreal, so perfect and delicate—an oval face framed by waves of glossy, raven-black hair that cascaded down her back. Her skin was flawless, porcelain-like, with just the slightest hint of blush on her cheeks. The woman wore a flowing pastel dress, light fabric swirling around her like soft clouds. It shimmered slightly in the sunlight streaming through the large window, making her seem like a vision from another time.
The room itself felt surreal. The heavy curtains couldn’t keep the brightness of the day out. Warm, golden light flooded in, illuminating the space. Annabeth could hear the distant chirping of birds, and outside the window, there was a hint of blue sky peeking through. The air smelled fresh, almost sweet, like the aftertaste of rain after a summer shower. But the warm, pleasant weather seemed at odds with the storm of confusion and fear now raging in her chest.
She glanced back at the woman holding her, who seemed utterly devoted, gripping her tiny body as if afraid to let go. The reality sank in slowly, almost too heavy to comprehend. This beautiful woman, who spoke with such familiarity, had to be her mother. The very mother Annabeth had lost in a car accident so many years ago. And yet, here she was—alive and well. And Annabeth was in a child's body.
Fate, you really are a piece of work, Annabeth thought, biting her lip.
She, a 35-year-old woman who had built a successful career, who had worked tirelessly to live comfortably, who had just saved enough to pursue her dreams, was now trapped in a body no older than four or five. Fifteen years of persistence, of blood, sweat, and tears... gone. Just like that.
But as the shock settled, something else began to surface—acceptance, perhaps? Or even determination. Fine, she thought, if life was going to play this cruel trick, then she would simply start over. Her resilience kicked in. If fate was giving her a second chance, she would seize it.
Annabeth clenched her tiny fists again, her resolve solidifying. "Alright, then. It’s time for a fresh start."
