I woke up feeling warm and cozy, wrapped in the softest blanket ever. The air smelled sweet, like flowers but different. It made my head spin. I blinked, trying to focus. Lacy curtains filtered sunlight, making everything look magical.
But something was off. Really off.
I looked down at my hands. They weren't mine. They were tiny baby hands! Chubby little fingers and all. I freaked out. How could this be happening? I'd just died, right? I remembered being in the street, and now... I was a baby?
I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn't cooperate. It felt weird, like it wasn't mine. I started flailing around, heart pounding. This couldn't be a dream - it felt too real. My old life was fading away like a half-forgotten movie.
Then I heard a voice. "Shh, little one. It's okay. Mama's here."
It was the sweetest voice I'd ever heard. I turned my head and saw her. A woman with hair like sunshine and eyes that sparkled like the ocean. She was smiling down at me, so kind.
I wanted to say "Mama," but couldn't. I just felt this overwhelming need to reach out to her, to understand what was going on.
She must've known because she picked me up and held me close. I could hear her heartbeat, steady and calming. "There, there, Thalia. Everything is alright," she whispered. Thalia. Was that my name? I couldn't remember.
Tears filled my eyes. I was so confused, needing answers. Before I knew it, I was crying my eyes out.
"Shh, shh," the woman said, rocking me gently. "It's alright, my sweet. You're safe now."
As I lay there, my brain was racing. I felt my knowledge fading slowly, like the last moments of a dream slipping away. I had a feeling I was losing something important. But I couldn't remember what it was anymore.
Time passed. I learned to crawl, then walk. Our little cottage was cozy, full of paintings and old stuff that seemed familiar somehow. But there was always this feeling, like I shouldn't be here.
I'd have nightmares and hear whispers about someone. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father. Father.
At eight months old, I surprised the woman by asking about Father. I heard her scream that babies weren't supposed to talk at that age.
By one year old, I was already reading books. I loved stories, though I didn't know why. I had this feeling I should know something that I didn't.
"Thalia darling, quit reading that."
"Thalia, honey, come practice your martial arts lessons."
"Thalia, we're moving."
Those were the three most common sentences spoken by that woman. Three, then five, and later eight years passed. We moved to over 40 different houses. News was forbidden. TV was forbidden. We were running from something, but I didn't know what or why.
Two years ago, when I was eight, that woman suddenly handed me a pair of daggers. She looked worried and told me to hide and fight. To not let them take me. Who? I wanted to ask. Why? I wanted to scream. But questions were forbidden.
That was the day I first saw them. Aliens. Deep purple skin, light green markings. Four pairs of eyes, mouths lined with teeth. Some had tentacles, others had wings. All of them were hungry. And they ate humans. I was human.
I fought like a madwoman that day, all the training making me a fury. I never realized I was being trained for this, to kill aliens.
"You'll be more powerful on your tenth birthday, Thalia," she'd said once.
"This training is to complement your choice, Thalia."
I didn't know what she meant by that. I hadn't met another human except that woman.
I felt the daggers pierce through the three hearts of an alien, then another, and another fell.
"Your name isn't Thalia," spoke one.
"You aren't from here," chanted another.
"Elara," gasped the last.
Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara. Elara.
That was my name. I was Elara. 30 years old. I loved history. I loved books. I loved Father. And I was dead. Was I? I didn't feel dead. I felt alive and covered in a strange purple goo.
"Thalia, come back inside darling. The sun is rising. Remember, today is your 10th birthday."
I hated birthdays. That woman never celebrated them, always telling me to keep practicing instead. "Birthdays are just a countdown to your death," she'd say.
But today, my 10th birthday, she seemed oddly happy. She rushed me inside, not bothering to wipe off the alien grime and goo from my body.
"Sit down, Thalia," she said, pulling out a chair for me. Weird. I usually did that for her. Always.
"Choose the best statue, Thalia," she continued, her voice urgent. "The most powerful one, you hear me?"
What were these statues? Why did I have to choose? Why didn't she call me by my real name, Elara? Where were the schools, the other people? Where was Father?
I stayed quiet, nodding slightly. She hummed happily, twirling around the small abandoned house, closing the blinds tightly and locking all exits. This was to keep the aliens out. Something told me it was to keep me in.
The little pendulum clock ticked, announcing it was 6 a.m. The hour of my birth. Suddenly, I felt tired, dazed. My vision swam as a bright light invaded my senses. The air changed, everything changed.
And I felt my head hit the table.