With being a kid whose main priorities often consist of procrastinating and wasting important time on things that aren't your homework, you can safely say that topics such as deities and religion weren't exactly on your mind too muchโeven if your favorite book series of all time contained those very elements as a major part of its story.
However, when you die and somehow end up getting reborn into said series, you suppose that perhaps you could consider looking more into the myths, legends, and Gods you didn't care much for at first.
After all, you don't want to end up dying a second time, right?
You get a new addition to your family, and all is right with the world.
(Hopefully nothing from the next chapter ruins this for you haha.)
Watching Mum trip over herself to follow Mother around and tend to her every, little need was pretty funny at first.
But now you (unfortunately) have no right to laugh anymore, because as it turns out, learning that you're going to be an older sibling in just a few months really puts certain things into perspective, and now you're basically doing the same thing (although you at least had the dignity to be a lot more subtle about it, Mum.)
You don't know why, as you can't recall ever acting like this when your siblings from your first life came along, but everything just suddenly seems like a threat. For every sharp corner Mother passes by, you're quick to reach your hand over to cover it in case she gets close enough for contact. When you catch her going up or down the stairs, you're already rushing to her side to offer out a hand in support.
Yes, Mother of course laughs at all of this, and makes sure to tease you for doing the very things you laughed at your Mum for, but you can tell from the fondness in her smile and the bright twinkle in her eyes that she genuinely does appreciate all of the effort you and Mum were putting in to ensure her and the baby's comfort and safetyโeven if the measures Mum took could be pretty ... excessive.
("I can understand sanding down the corners of our dining table, but there is absolutely no way I'm letting you put carpets over the walls. I think Mother would actually kill me if I let you."
"You weren't there when it happened, [Y/n]! What if the next time she bumps into a wall, she pushes her baby bump back in?!"
"Mum of mine, I do not believe that is physically possible."
"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!"
"MAYBE BECAUSE ONE OF US WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO INHERIT THE INTELLIGENCE I CLEARLY DIDN'T GET FROM YOU!")
Yeah, just thinking of all the times you've had to be the voice of reason between you and your Mum despite being the actual child between the two of you was enough to give you a headache. And the more Mother's stomach grows, the worse it gets.
At this point, I'm starting to believe that someone's gonna have to hold Mum's hand when the baby comes.
The thought makes you pause, ponder for a bit, and then cringe.
Poor nurse.
Other than Mum's (and admittedly, yours) overprotective tendencies, though, you're happy to report that Mother's pregnancy is going fairly well. From the visits your little family makes to the hospital every now and then, your younger sibling seems to be developing fine, and has been repeatedly reported as quite healthy, to your family's relief, pride, and joy.
What gets you all feeling really joyful, however, is the doctor revealing that the baby's gender can finally be determined.
"Wait!" Mother stops him before he can say anything else. "Don't tell us just yet! I want it to be a surprise!" she insists.
"Whaโa surprise?" Mum repeats, clearly confused. "You didn't want it to be a surprise last time!" she complains.
Penelope rolls her eyes at the childish tone in her wife's voice and takes her hand. "I know, which is why I want it to be a surprise this time," she explains. "Besides, you wouldn't want to turn down a cake, would you?"
When Mum only answers with silence, it's pretty easy for you and the doctor to guess who won.
Three weeks of anticipation later, the gender reveal cake is delivered on your doorstep in a white box by a teenage girl with short, curly brown locks.
"Hope you folks like it," she says with a wink once the package is placed into your arms. "It took a whole lotta effort keeping it in tact, driving it all the way out here."
Her words cause a semi-guilty smile to grace your features. "Right. Sorry about that," you say, and you really do mean it; you couldn't imagine having to deliver a cake somewhere so far out in the country, especially with only a rusty old vespa as your noble steed.
The girl only laughs good-naturedly and ruffles your hair. "No need to apologize, kiddo. Hope ya'll enjoy the cake!" she says.
With that, she turns around to leave, but not before throwing back a quick, "Congratulations!" over her shoulder in reference of who exactly the cake was made for.
Thus, with the cake now in your possession, you bring it into the dining room, where Mother and Mum are already waiting in their designated seats at the table.
"She seemed nice," Mother comments, obviously referring to the delivery girl you'd just spoken to.
You hum, telling her, "She was," before setting the box down and opening it.
The cake is, as the delivery girl said, indeed in tact, and covered in frosting and all sorts of fruits to keep whatever flavor the cake itself was hidden.
"Oh, this is so exciting!" Mother says, clapping her hands with a giddy smile on her face. "Anyone already have any guesses?" she asks, looking over to her wife.
Mum hums and holds her chin in thought for a moment before eventually settling on: "Strawberry."
Nodding, Mother then turns to you and lifts her brows expectantly.
With an amused huff, you sit down in your own chair just as Mum rises out of her own to grab three plates and a knife. "You know what? I'm thinking strawberry, too," you decide.
Tilting her head curiously, Mother leans back in her seat and begins to caress her stomach. "May I ask why?" she inquires.
You shrug. "Just a feeling, I guess," you answer.
The conversation ends after that, as Mum is finally prepared to cut the cake.
"Alrighty, then," she begins once yours and Mother's attention is fully on her. "Here we go."
Setting the knife down for only a moment, Mum pulls the box's walls all the way downโnot just to make cutting the cake easier, but to also give you and Mother a clear view of it from your positions, as well.
With that said and done, Mum picks the knife back up and inhales deeply, obviously hyping herself up for what's about to come. It feels a little silly, getting this anxious over a cake, but there's still this sort of tightness in your chest that makes it only a little hard to breathe. Is it anticipation? Dread of the inevitable? A mix of both?
In the end, it doesn't matter, because then a knife is slicing right through frosting andโ
"Strawberry," Mum breathes, a triumphant grin slowly beginning to overtake her face. "Looks like we're gonna be welcoming a little girl into our family next."
You and Mother throw your hands into the air and cheer.
(Later that night, the bakery your cake had come from gets a call from you to let your delivery girl know that you folks did, indeed, enjoy the cake.)
It is midnight when Mother's water breaks and Mum practically throws you into the car to drive you all off to the hospital.
It is about three in the morning when you get to leave the waiting room at last and see the labor (pun intended) of your Mother's work.
The baby is smallโprobably the smallest person you've ever seenโand, unlike you, takes a lot after Mum with her dark skin and soft tufts of platinum blonde hair.
"Oh," you say out loud without meaning to, eyes wide as you take in the infant held in Mother's arms. I'm an older sibling.
You knew you would be one for a while now, of course, and actually were one in your previous life, too. But ... there was just something about this moment: about seeing the little person that's been growing in Mother's stomach finally out and about in the real world, her eyes closed and her face all scrunched up, that had your chest exploding with an overwhelming warmth and your eyes threatening to flood with tears that you were desperately trying to keep in.
(Spoiler alert: you fail. Badly.)
"Hello, little love," Mother says, sounding so exhausted but still so happy at the same time. "Would you like to hold your baby sister?" she asks.
Still in shock at the sight of her, you can only manage a nod and then stare dumbly as the baby's handed over to rest in your arms.
"Um." You blink, mouth slightly agape. "Oh, wow."
(Across from you, Willow snorts.)
You watch, absolutely captivated, as the infant's chest rises and falls with each breath she takes. But then her face twitches, and your eyes automatically lift to watch as it scrunches up. It awes you, almost, the way she seems to struggle simply opening her eyes, but then her stare meets yours and it's like a puzzle clicks into place.
"Hey there, little sister," you greet, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so happy to meet you."
Your sister babbles, unable to properly respond, obviously, and reaches up. Almost instinctually, you lift her higher, allowing her to reach your face and pat her small palms wherever she can, still babbling like you can understand every noise and gurgle.
You laugh and nod along anyway and pretend not to notice the tears you'd failed to hide.
Your newly acquired sister, Odette (named after one of Mother's favorite stories, Swan Lake) looks up at the sound of your voice and tilts her head. It's been two months since her birth, and in those short months, you've learned that although Ody (the nickname you proudly bestowed her with the moment you thought of it) takes a lot after Mum, she is most definitely every bit of Penelope's daughter just as you are without a doubt Willow's child.
While you had inherited most of Mum's, er ... impulsiveness, Odette had the good fortune of inheriting Mother's patented Stare of Judgementโข, which you had the honor of seeing it in action yourself ... because Odette had focused it on you and Mum when you both attempted to do something stupid that was very safe, creative, and fun.
(That's what you tried telling Mother, at least.
She didn't fall for it for even a second and the two of you got sent to timeout in the living room again.)
Odette babbles, snapping you out of your train of thought, and you smile down at her as you start running your hand through the platinum cloud that's been growing atop her head.
"Man, look at all this," you say, curling a strand of Odette's already curly hair around your finger. "At this point, your hair's gonna end up bigger than your head," you joke.
Odette babbles again in response and takes your free hand in between her smaller ones to play with your fingers, making your smile grow into a grin.
"Oh yeah; definitely queen of the world material." You nod. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to be there with you every step of the way. Who else's hands are you supposed to play with?" you ask.
"Ababa?" Odette blinks up at you.
You nod once again. "Exactly!"
She stares at you for a moment, as if processing your words, and then looks away to return her full attention to your hand. You chuckle, amused by just how much personality Odette could convey despite not knowing how to properly speak yet.
"Man ..." Turning your head to gaze out the window, you smile as you watch the trees dance to the wind outside. "I didn't think it'd be possible, Ody, but I ... think I'm more than a little used to this life now, y'know?"
The infant blows a raspberry.
You laugh. "A wise queen, too!"
(Outside, the wind howls, and as it does, a single orange leaf falls to the forest floor.
So it appears, the seasons have finally begun to change.)
You vs. Your VERY EASILY Distracted Brain (feat. Mother being a schemer, because why wouldn't she be.)
The moment you're old enough, you basically dive head first into every Greek and Roman book you can find, whether it be on mythology or mystery.
For every chance you get when your parents decide to pay a visit to the library, you scrounge the shelves for anything you might have missed, and the moment your [E/c] eyes lock onto something that could have valuable information, it's free game and you're already dragging Mum over to the front desk.
Your moms are, understandably, a little concerned over your sudden obsession for almost anything Greek or Roman, but your Mother likes to soothe her wife's (and her own) worries by saying that maybe Willow's stories had more of an affect on you than they thought they would. It doesn't really do a lot to reassure your Mum, nor even Mother, to be frank, but your nose is usually stuck too far up in a book to care.
Of course, you don't like making your guardians worry, but your guilt over seeing their concerned gazes is unfortunately not enough to make you slow downโwhich is admittedly a bit of a surprise to you, as none of your teachers from your previous life could hardly ever get you to pick up their required text books of your own violation.
Oh, if only they could see you now. They'd probably think it was either a miracle or you'd gone insane (you have).
But then again, it's not like you were trying to be difficult on purpose or anything, back then; you'd just found it hard to really pay attention to anything those old school books were saying because they couldn't really ... connect with you, if that makes any sort of sense.
(Actually, does anything about this whole scenario make any sort of sense? It may have been yearsโeight years, to be exactโsince you've accepted your new circumstances, but would you really be surprised if you just woke up in a hospital one day and were told you'd been in a coma for a while?
... Yes, actually. And maybe a little disappointed, too, but only just a little.)
And you know, now that you think about it, you also lacked a lot of motivation to put any effort into studying, no matter how important it was. Maybe your past teachers should've told you that you'd start getting hunted down by monsters at a certain age. That probably would've been enough to make you wanna put more effort into their classes.
(That is a complete lie you would have laughed in their faces at the absurdity alone.)
Now that you are quite literally in the world of Percy Jackson (holy shit you still have to take a moment to think about this sometimes), though, the threat of monsters is an absolute guarantee, and you are not about to risk dying a second time.
So, for the first (and ONLY) time in both of your lives, you're willingly buckling down and genuinely trying to absorb as much information as you can. It is a process of trial and error, as you're pretty easily distracted, but your life is actually at risk even more so in this world than your old one, and you'd feel bad if you had to rely on your parents to protect you forever.
"This is getting ridiculous," Mum says on the day she finally gives into Mother's suggestion of buying you a bookshelf for your research.
You ignore the exasperation in her voice, naturally, and continue sliding all of the books you've collected over the years into your newly acquired piece of furniture, with Mother at your side and giggling at the look of genuine disbelief her wife gives you while you work.
"Close your mouth, dear," Penelope says, voice teasing and eyes tinkling playfully as she sends her lover a grin. "You'll catch flies."
Willow huffs and crosses her arms with a small roll of her eyes, but she still closes her mouth as her wife told her to nonetheless.
Mother giggles again, and you don't need to turn around to see the way Mum's face starts cosplaying that of a tomato at the sound.
Such a fact may seem irrelevant, but that would only be true in literally any other world that didn't have monsters in it.
You see, when you were gifted the game for Christmas and played it about three weeks later on your Switch, you played the Pacifist route first.
And then you didn't bother with the other two routes afterwards, because you decided to watch a Genocide playthrough beforehand. You didn't intend to finish it; you only wanted to get a feel for what the game would be like to prepare yourself before you actually played it on your own.
You got to Toriel's death, closed the video, and then cried into your pillow for the rest of the day.
Undertale made you sympathize with the monster, and this is how it affects your second go around:
When you read about Medusa, only a priestess with no where to run when Poseidon rises from the depths of his realm and offers his hand to her, and powerless when this act from her fellow God makes Athena's rage and curse Medusa into a monster for heroes to hunt with the promise of glory, you grip the book in your hands until your knuckles are white and feel your teeth grind together in a quiet anger.
Then you learn of Charybidis, unyielding in her loyalty to her father, even as he brings her into yet another petty feud between him and his brother, only for her to pay the price in having her body contorted and shaped into something indescribable and surely painful if it's sole purpose is meant to suck in as much water as possible and then spit it back out over and over again, you find yourself slamming the book shut and tossing it onto your bed to hit something.
And when you come upon the tale of the Minotaur, you finally give into the temptation and weep because you can't imagine being born into a world that calls you 'wrong' long before you even take your first breath. What was it like, you wonder, spending a childhood in a home that was never truly yours, where the denizens did nothing but look upon you with disdain and disgust. How old was he, you think, when the king deemed him a 'prize' and then threw him into a dark maze that only fed him when 'heroes' (not to him, never for him) sought out his blood?
Undertale made you sympathize with the monster, and you know, deep down, that that fact alone will one day cost you.
"Your birthday's coming up, little love," Mother says as she runs her fingers through your hair. You hum in acknowledgement, too distracted by the book in your hands, and Penelope releases a sighโan amused one, but still a sigh nonetheless.
"I bring this up," she begins, voice teasing as she abruptly boops your nose and makes you flinch back, blinking in surprise, "because I would like to know if there is anything else you'd like other than more books." She chuckles.
Still caught up in the suddenness of Mother's random assault on your face, you scrunch up your nose and lift your head up to meet her eyes, your brows furrowing.
"I ... don't know," you answer honestly. Then, with a small shrug of your shoulders, you add, "I don't think I really want anything else."
Mother hums, a thoughtful sound, but there's a familiar quirk at the corner of her lips and a twinkle in her [E/c] eyes that lets you know she's planning something, and it takes everything in you to stop yourself from gulping, because when Mother makes plans, she always pulls throughโfor better or worse.
Oh, God, you think, making sure to refer to Capital G God and not the Greek ones because you don't trust them. Maybe my birthday present can be skipping the day all together? Would that work?
(That was a rhetorical question; you knew it wouldn't, but it was nice to give into false hope every now and then.)
(You have to stop lying to yourself: false hope only leads to more suffering.)
Mum has been acting strange.
You first notice only a couple days after your birthday conversation with Mother, around the middle of dinner. Granted, everything had been relatively normal at firstโbut those were the two, key words: at first.
Spaghetti and salad had been served that night, with you eagerly digging into your pasta and garlic bread while Mother ate next to you with far more grace; pretty normal, except for the fact that Mumโa far more messier eater than youโwas taking bites of her salad slowly.
Maybe it was nothing. Mum could've just been feeling sick and didn't want to upset her stomach further, or maybe she was just tired.
But you saw the quick, repeated glances she kept sending her wife's way, and you knew at that moment that something was up.
The question was on what exactly that 'something' was.
You consider bringing it up to ask, but then figure out that if your parents had wanted you to know whatever secret they're pretending they don't have, they would've already told you.
So you watch, and then you bring out the last empty notepad you have to write your observations down, because your memory was apparently biased and seemed very picky on what you should and shouldn't remember.
(Unsurprisingly, this fact may be one of the key factors in you doing not so well in school, but. Anyway.)
- mum is hovering
It's the first thing you notice: Mum following Mother around like a lost puppy, eyes wide and begging, teeth sinking into her lower lip whenever Mother walks up and down the stairs and tries to do the basics of her everyday life. Months ago, Mum had no problem with Mother reaching for something on the top shelf, or crouching down to get something beneath the sink, but now the satyr looks like she's going to have a heart attack if Mother so much as leans down to get something from one of the bottom shelves of the fridge.
Watching it the first few times is kind of funny, honestly, because it's such a sudden switch up from Mum's usual confidence.
But then it lasts longer than two weeks, and that's when you begin to worry.
- mother appears to be sick???
It's the only explanation you could think of to understand Mum's constant hovering. That, and not long after you noticed Mum's constant trailing after her wife, you managed to clock in that Mother seemed rather ... fatigued, so to say.
Granted, it wasn't as noticeable as Mum's hovering, but it was still there in the way Mother would stumble backwards a little after reaching for something, or howโwhenever she'd bring you outside to join Mum at the barnโshe'd have to take a short break, sometimes even sitting down to catch her breath.
You'd fret, just a little, and ask if she was okay everytime, but she only smiled with that familiar twinkle in her eyesโso much brighter than your own despite being the same colorโand nod her head, telling you not to worry and that she was fine.
Weirdly enough, it was only that look in her eyes that made you believe herโeven if the concern still lingered in the back of your mind after she'd get back up, take your smaller hand into her own, and then lead you the rest of the way to your sun-kissed Mum.
- they both keep giving me these "subtle" (they really REALLY aren't) looks
You're more than used to your mothers sending you 'looks', whether they be warnings like, Hey, get away from that, it's dangerous or, What are you doing? and, most importantly of all, Wanna learn another way to mess with your mom?
Those looks are what you're most familiar with, naturally, so when your mothers start giving you ones you've never seen before, you take note of them in an instant, and now you're trying to decipher that in hopes you'll be able to decipher the layer above it and finally know what's got your Mum Mother Henning Mother and Mother sending you a look that borders on mischievous everytime you send her a suspicious look at the dinner table.
Not knowing, in truth, sometimes make you only a little uncomfortable. Not knowing when you feel like you should, though, is absolutely driving you insane because you can't help but feel like the answer is right there and yet you're missing it for some reason andโ
Mother decides to drop the bomb right when your ninth birthday's over and you're all stuffed on cake.
"I'm pregnant," she says, shrugging like it's the most casual thing in the world and smiling because she knows she just tipped yours upside down. "You're going to be an older sibling, [Y/n]."
Mum chokes on her drink just as your jaw practically hits the table.
"Iโ" You blink, suddenly thinking back to everything you've jotted down in pursuit of learning your parents' secret, and then feel your face warm once you see the knowing look and amused smile on your Mother's face.
Now that you've sort of finally accepted your new circumstances, you take the opportunity of being a baby to stare because you know no one's gonna call you a creep for it (this time).
Penelope is 'Mother', you eventually decide.
You take a lot after her, you realize whenever she decides to hold you up to a mirror one day to show you the newest onesie (cow-themed, this time) she's bought for you. You share her skin tone and eye color, and you're fairly sure you see tufts of [H/c] hair growing in.
Those similarities, however, are the only ones you share with her, for she still looks different from you in plenty of other ways.
Penelope Ophelia is tallโalmost reaching up to six feet, you're pretty sureโand thin, her body shape a perfect hour glass. Her hair is straight, but cascades into curls where it ends just beneath her butt, and her eyes are fox-like and almost luminescent when the moon or sun hits them just right. Honestly, had it not been for the fact that she was your Mother, you would have been terrified of her as a stranger.
But it is because of the fact that she is your Mother, though, that you know her appearance is exactly just that: an appearance, and nothing more. Despite the sharpness of her eyes and how cool her skin feels against your own, there is a softness to Penelope that pulls you in and makes you unafraid to curl your small hands into the fabric of her clothes and nuzzle your face into the spot that sits between her neck and her shoulder. She coos everytime you do and always makes sure to nuzzle you back, and it fills your insides with warmth.
She likes to bake in her free time, and is pretty damn good at it if the mouth watering smell of bread or whatever other pastry Penelope decides to bless the Ophelia household with is anything to go by. You unfortunately can't really eat a lot of her pastries due to being a baby that's yet to grow their teeth in, but you've learned long ago that patience is, in fact, a virtue, and you will happily reap your reward once the time finally comes.
(For now, though, you can only suffer in silence as you watch Willow scarf down the best looking cheesecake you've ever seen while Penelope airplanes baby food into your mouth.)
The woman you get your horns and slowly growing goat ears and tail from is Willow Ophelia, now also dubbed 'Mum'.
She's about a head shorter than Mother, but for what she lacks in height, she makes up for in muscle. Due to her apparent appreciation for crop tops, you've already seen just how toned her stomach is, and her armsโwhile not too bigโclearly have a lot of power, though you're sure that's what tending to a farm filled with crops and animals does to you.
Mum's skin is dark and littered with lighter patches (vitiligo, you think?), and her eyes are round and colored forest green. What mainly draws you into her, however, has to be the fluffy cloud of platinum blonde hair that sits atop her head, with goat ears colored the same coming out from the sides and thick, birch-like horns protruding from the top and curling backwards in a way that kind of reminded you of that one old goat from Hoodwinked.
When you see Mother and Mum together, it is then that you finally start to believe the old saying, "Opposites attract."
While Penelope looks and feels cold on the outside despite the pure warmth she freely gives to those she loves and cares for, Willow's appearance is all it takes to hide the fact thatโeven with the chill, almost goofy demeanor she likes to wear around other peopleโshe is a force to be reckoned with the moment you earn her ire.
Firm, stubborn, and determined, Willow loves fiercely and therefore protects her family with the rage of a soldier. You know that she genuinely does actually like working on the farm, but you also know it serves as something to keep her in shape and ready for a fight, too.
Like with Penelope, however, you can't find yourself feeling any sort of fear for her, and perhaps that is because, as her childโthe culmination of hers and Penelope's loveโyou have only ever known Willow's strength in the form of her strong arms holding you like they're meant to shield you from the dangers of the world and willing to do anything to keep you from harm, no matter the cost. Willow's rage is only for those who deserve it, and already, somehow, you know thatโin her eyes, at leastโyou never will.
In the night, Mother reads fairy tales to you from an old book she tells you was gifted to her from her grandfather before his passing.
With a rocking chair next to your crib and you safely secured in her lap, positioned so that you could lay against her stomach, Penelope makes sure to hold the book on her lap in a way that allows you to see the pictures that color the pages not littered with words. Her voice is regal, but also possesses an almost rumbly quality to it that makes her chest vibrate enough to where you can feel it, and that alone is nearly enough to send your eye lids fluttering shut.
Mother likes happy endings. She tells you herself after she finishes reading Cinderella to you, one night (a night that you're very proud of because you didn't immediately fall asleep like you usually do when she reads to you), and tucks you into bed.
"The world is nothing like the ones I read to you, little love," she says, the soft smile that had been gracing her delicate features at the time growing at the sight of your small yawn. "I still like to believe that there is a happy ending for everyone, though, and I hope that someday, you will find yours."
She had ended the brief moment off with a kiss to your forehead, and then left you to dream of the daring princes, kind princesses, and fearsome beasts from the stories she had weaved into your mind with her romantic tales.
Mum's stories come in the day. They aren't as frequent as Mother's, but that only makes them all the more special.
When it's time for those moments, no matter how long or short they may turn out to be, Mum likes to take you away from the house and sit near the lake, where you can watch all the little frogs and dragon flies go about their business amongst the lily pads beneath the blue, cloudy sky.
It is in those moments, then, where it is only the two of you, Mum speaks of no fairy tales or happy endings. Instead, she tells you of divine beings greater than you could ever know; beings who envy the very mortals they look down upon because they can feel things they will never be able to fully replicate, and monsters born from people forced into a world and punished for mistakes not even their own. She whispers about the wilds; about how different this world used to be before humanity's advancements. She doesn't blame all of them for their ambition, for wanting to create an easier world for the generations to come, but you don't miss the sad, almost mournful look that flickers through her shiny eyes, looking as if she'd been pulled back into memories from long before.
And when that happens, all you can do is lean back into her and hope that your presence is enough to bring her home.
You were going to walk today, and no one could stop you.
(A fact that you were very right about, as the only two people who could stop you wouldn't even want to, as any parent's child's first steps is a sacred memory.)
Furrowing your brows in concentration, you shakily lift a hand and place it against the counter next to you for support as you slowly push yourself up onto your feet, a determined frown painting your lips.
Okay. You inhale deeply and try to straighten your back out. Okay, I'm standing up. It's going well so far. Now ...
Narrowing your [E/c] eyes, you begin to look around the room, pondering: Where should I walk to?
As if on cue, Mother steps into the room, and she gaspsโloudly.
"Willow!" She turns to yell up the stairs. "Willow get the camera and come quick!"
You hear something clatter from above, but you pay it no mind and instead focus on the the long, white sundress your Mother had decided to wear today.
Bingo.
Taking another deep breath to hype yourself up, you slowly, but surely, take a small step. The action, of course, has your Mother returning her gaze to you faster than anyone can blink, and she gasps again.
"WILLOW! HURRY, LOVE!!"
"I'M HURRYING, I'M HURRYING!!"
Stumbling down the stairs, Mum slides over to Mother's side and nearly drops the camera she's holding in the processโboth from the fact that her entrance had almost led to her landing flat on her face, and the shock of seeing you trying to walk.
Choosing to focus on your goal instead of the two women standing in front of you, their eyes filling with tears, you keep your eyes glued to your feet as you carefully take another step, and another one, and another one ...
"Look at you go, kid!" Willow whoops from behind the camera as she takes pictures.
Standing next to her wife, Penelope beams at you and claps her hand, practically glowing the pride. "That's it, little love! Keep going!" she cheers.
Soon enough, the counter is no longer there to support you, and you look up just in time to give your moms a gummy smile as your little legs take you stumbling forward into Mother's legs. The women cheer, and Willow takes one last picture of you hugging Penelope's legs like a koala before setting the camera aside and picking you up, grinning widely.
"That was amazing, kiddo!" She holds you between Mother and herself so they can both smother you with kisses. "Does this mean you're gonna be talking soon, too?"
You giggle, the sound high pitched and bright, and it makes your moms snuggle you even more.
The Ophelia household is warm for the rest of the day, and you can't help but hope it'll stay that way for the rest of your second life.
You find out reincarnation actually exists the hard way and sort of maybe go through the five stages of grief?
Your death comes to you in the most embarrassing way on your thirteenth birthday.
On your way home from school, you had decided to take the long route and found yourself walking across the edge of a bridge, arms held out to help you keep balance and your mind somewhere far away.
Unfortunately for you, though, your far away thoughts cost you your focus, so you failed to remember that it had rained last night, and the bridge was still wet from the storm's assault in result.
All in all, your realization came too late in the form of you slipping and falling into dark, deep, rushing water that sung with triumph when your form fell into its embrace and sunk into its depths.
Death didn't last long, luckily enough, but that was only because you somehow opened your eyes just after closing them in acceptance of your inevitable end.
Needless to say, when you woke upโexpecting either the gates of Heaven, the fiery pits of Hell, or perhaps nothingโto find yourself staring up into the eyes of two women you had never seen before in your life, you were pretty confused.
One of the women, who just so happened to be holding you, for some reason, had [S/t] skin, long, [H/c] hair, and fox-like [E/c] eyes that stared down at you with such pure adoration, you nearly did a double take to see if maybe your eyes weren't working as well as they used to due to, you know ... dying.
The other woman was quick to take your focus from the other one, though, and that was probably because of the fact that she had horns and goat ears??
Maybe you were right about your eye sight, after all. It clearly must've had something wrong with it now, if you were starting to see people with horns and goat ears.
"[Y/n] ..." The whisper of your name makes you return your attention to the woman holding you, and she smiles down at you, emitting a sort of warmth that had you snuggling closer to her before you could even think of stopping yourself. The action seems to please her, because her smile grows and she pulls you closer, placing a kiss atop your head.
You hear the other woman chuckle, the noise fond and just as warm as the presence of the one holding you, and then watch her from the corner of your eye as she draws closer and slips her arm beneath you, wanting to cradle you as well.
"Welcome to our world, little one," you hear her say, and with their combined warmth, you can only keep your eyes open for so long before exhaustion consumes you once again.
(In the back of your mind, the horned woman's words echo; "Welcome to our world"โsomething meant only to be a greeting to the new being they've brought to life, yet despite this, you can't help but feel as though it also alludes to something deeper.
But for now, sleep comes first, and you promise yourself that you'll only feel semi-disappointed when you wake up and learn this was all only a dream.)
You end up balling your eyes out for hours. The two women you had thought to be mere figments of your imagination (your new parents, apparently) panic throughout the entire ordeal and do everything they can to get you to stop, but for as bad as you feel for making them worry, you just can't stop because you were dead you were supposed to be dead how is this even possibleโ
The only peace they get is when you're asleep, but even then, those moments can only last for so long before the nightmaresโthe memories have your eyes shooting open to fill with tears in seconds, and then the cycle starts all over again.
Your parents (no they're not they can't be yours and you can't be theirs oh god do they even know what's happened to you back home what happened to your body) are, understandably, very concerned. Since coming home, you've done nothing but cry and cry and cry, and nothing they do can get you to stop. They've already tried taking you to the doctor, believing for a horrifying moment that you must have been painfully ill, but the appointment only ended with the manโeyes filled with sympathy for the coupleโtelling them that you're actually perfectly healthy.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that there isn't anything that I can do to help you," he'd said, your cries just as loud as ever and making the [E/c]-eyed woman holding youโPenelope Opheliaโgather you up from where you were sitting on her lap to rock you gently in her arms in a desperate attempt to soothe you.
"Really?" Penelope's lover, the woman the horns (that the doctor doesn't seem to notice, mind you), sent the doctor a pained, frustrated look. "Nothing at all?" she asked.
He only shook his and apologized again.
You don't know how long it's been, nor do you care. All you know is that you were dead, and then you weren't, and now all you've ever known most likely doesn't matter, because who knows if you'll ever see it again?
But then one day, as if your world couldn't be turned upside down anymore than it already has, you manage to catch Penelope's loud gasp above your crying, and thenโ
"Willow! I think I know why [Y/n]'s been crying!" she says, suddenly rushing over to you and lifting you up for a closer look at your head. "They have horns coming in!"
You hear someoneโWillow, obviouslyโspit their drink out from the other room, and the shock you feel at Penelope's words turns out to be all it takes for you to finally stop crying.
'Horns'? Did you hear that right?
Clearly taking your stunned silence as a sign for whatever reason, Penelope begins to coo at you and bring you close to caress your head and kiss it, andโOh. Oh.
You can feel them: the horns, small bumps on your head (for now), everytime Penelope's delicate hands brush over them. The movements are gentle and careful, obviously out of fear of accidentally hurting you and setting your constant crying off once more, and your mind is so caught up trying to piece together an explanation forโfor all of thisโthat you don't even notice Willow coming into the room, a bright grin on her face as she takes in the small nubs growing from your crown and says:
"Would you look at that?" She laughs and takes you from Penelop's grasp to hold you up in the air like that monkey from The Lion King did. "Looks like I win the bet after all! Ay, little satyr?"
Willow laughs again when she sees her wife playfully roll her eyes, and youโfor the first time since you've been brought to their homeโremain silent while your entire world crumbles around you.
The Percy Jackson series was a gift to you from your grandparents on your eleventh birthday, and you've been obsessed with it ever since.
When you found yourself sighing over the boring, mundane life you lived, you would open the books and get lost in the world of Camp Half-Blood: imagining yourself as a camper, wondering who your Godly parent would be, and grinning at the idea of getting to befriend the main cast and join them on their adventures. While you were stuck inside doing homework, Percy and his friends were out fighting monsters and meeting Gods, and a part of youโthe part that always longed for something moreโwould wish you could reach out and join them.
And now here you were, in a world clearly not like your own, and one of your new mother's is apparently a satyr.
(You are, too, but you're not really ready to process that just yet.)
It wasn't possibleโit couldn't be possible. It's not like satyrs were only relevant in Percy Jackson, after all; there are plenty of stories out there that included the mythological race! You couldn't have possibly just so happened to get reborn into the world of the book series you've adored for two years! It justโit wouldn't make sense! Clearly, one of your new guardians being a satyr was a mere coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Chiron wrote to me, recently," sighs Willow as she plops down onto the couch Penelope had decided to read a book to you on. "Looks like the camp's satyr situation is a lot more serious than I thought, if he's sending me letters and asking me to help out again."
You choke on your own spit and have Penelope frantically patting your back before the woman can even respond to what her wife just revealed.
Then, when that whole ordeal's finished, Penelope lays you down in your crib after her and Willow take turns kissing your forehead, and now you're left alone to stare up at the canopy painted to the ceiling, losing yourself to your thoughts.
This ... isn't a dream. Yeah, that's been pretty obvious for a while now, but the assurance made your shoulders feel a little lighter. This isn't a dream and ... it's a lot.
You ... What should you do? You don't know how you got here, and you honestly doubt that there's a way out, so ... Again, what should you do?
Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and decide, for now, to just go over what you do know:
1. You've been reborn (no duh, but sometimes you just have to repeat that to yourself to properly get it through your head).
2. Your 'parents' are two women by the name of Penelope and Willow Ophelia. Willow is a satyr, and Penelope (as far as you know) is a human.
3. Again, you've been reborn, and into the world of Percy Jackson of all places.
The bigger, more logical part of you kind of wants to start crying again. Out of literally anyone in the worldโyour worldโwhy was this happening to you? Everyone you've ever known, all you've ever known, are suddenly gone, and all because you decided you wanted to walk along the edge of a stupid, slippery bridge.
It's just ... so frustrating. You were never perfect, you never wanted to be perfect, but you liked to think you were a good person, at least. What could you have done to deserve this? Who could have thought you deserved this?!
Yet, still, for as badly as you want to freak out (to cry, scream, break something) you can't deny that there's a small part of youโthe part of you that always knew, even if you didn't want to fully admit it to yourself, that you could never conform to what society expected from you, that wanted nothing more than to just jump into the pages of your beloved books and live out the rest of your days in Camp Half-Blood, fighting monsters and challenging Godsโthat feels just a little bit ... giddy about this. Because for as much your old family tried, for as much as they loved you, they just couldn't understand why you were the way you were; couldn't make you feel seen in the way Percy, Annabeth, Nico, and all of the other demigods did.
And, Gods, that was just the biggest part of it, wasn't it?
Even after everything they'd gone throughโthe ignorance of adults not willing to understand, the apathy of other kids who thought lesser of those not like them, the loneliness and confusion because you didn't know what was wrong with youโthey had still found a place to belong. Found people to belong to. And ... and ...
And you wanted that. More than anything in the world, back then.
But this was not your world anymore. This was theirs.
And now that you've thought about it, you realize that there's one more thing you can add to the list of 'Things I Know':
4. You've been reborn into the world of Percy Jackson, and you've already read a step-by-step guide on how to live in it.
(That morning, when Willow comes into your room to bring you down for breakfast, her forest green eyes swell with tears.
Your smile was just as beautiful as her and Penelope knew it'd be.)
