Even though I was only a tiny being at that time of my births, and I was unable to understand anything, my subconscious kept all the marks of my pain, it carried in it the indelible imprints of a torture of sacrilege. At my third birth, in my memory struggling to work, I remembered seeing a star burning with bluish flames, and a light but icy wind brushing my face.
Blood was running down my body, it was still warm, probably from my last mother.
But I never knew her, like all the others. I will never know anything about them except their beauty and their anger.
They left a huge weight of resentment on my life.
But it is time that made me understand it.
