Becoming capable of coherent thought, a nostalgic feeling of Darkness and helplessness enveloped me.

No, this is different.

Engulfing my negative feelings was an intimate warmth, comfortable, and embracing, completely unlike my cold and desolate prison. I can no longer recall when I got here or how long I have received such intimacy. However, I know it cannot last, as nothing good or peaceful truly ever does.

Then, as if to demonstrate my thoughts, my world began to tighten and contract. I feel myself being gently pushed and pulled from my world like waves on the seashore as the tightening of my surroundings urge me to leave. My time expired.

Perhaps without the memories of my imprisonment ingrained deeply within me, I may have resisted, not wanting to be deprived of such intimacy and warmth. Instead, accepting this urge, I allowed the feelings of contractions to take me, like surrendering myself to the waves of an overpowering, tremulous sea.

With almost no resistance, I first felt a rush of cold lucid air hit my head, then spread across my entire body as if all at once. Finally, a pair of warm, delicate hands brought me up and held me gently.

Cold, unusual, unknown these were the words that rushed into my mind as I felt myself being held in a new unfamiliar place. My limbs felt heavy and difficult to move as my brain just began to register they were operable.

”It's a healthy Baby girl, mistress,” an icy cold voice I had never heard before echoed into my ear, a tinge of softness at the edge of her tone.

I could hear panting from a short distance away as the voice's owner seemed to be regaining her breath.

“Please, let me see her, Lita,” a vibrant, feminine voice called out, the same voice that had been panting, still somewhat worn out in its tone.

“Yes, mistress,” The voice that seemed to originate from Lita replied.

I felt myself Being handed over to what appeared to be my mother as a pair of careful, loving hands embraced me.

“My baby,” Her voice as a signal. I tried slowly opening my eyes, then, as if recalling the motion, my eyelids slowly blinked open. A dizzying whiteness came into view, a stark contrast to my known experiences.

Then, like a dam suddenly released, a flood of colors penetrated my brain.

The first thing that entered my somewhat blurry vision was a remarkably beautiful woman. With cute symmetric features, her Straight, light-ashy blonde hair fell down below her neck as she looked at me with tender love and affection through her diamond-blue eyes.

This was my mother, I understood this instantly when we locked eyes, knowing the intimacy I felt originated from her.

Suddenly, I heard a loud slamming sound. “Is everything ok, Kara!” Then, I heard loud footsteps approaching as what appeared to be a loud, masculine voice reverberated through the air.

“Yes, it was an incredibly easy birth, young master. A baby girl,” a new feminine voice I had yet to hear resounded within the room. This voice sounded mature and venerable.

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The woman I now saw as my mother changed her gaze to the man now standing beside her, her gaze subtly changing from motherly love to affection of a different kind.

“Aurora's blessings!” Suddenly I felt myself being plucked from my mother's embrace and brought up to a higher level. In front of me stood a handsome man with short night sky black hair. He looked at me with eyes of a light gold hue.

“Her face resembles yours, Kara'' he said with pride plastered clearly across his face.

Giggling slightly, my mother replied, “And she has your hair and eyes.”

His actions more or less giving it away, I was also able to understand that this was probably my father.

“The cutting of the placenta, young master” The older, mature voice seemed to admonish the newly arrived young man.

“Oh, of course,” replied the man, who was more than likely my father.

As if appearing out of thin air, a small, beautifully crafted dagger shifted into my father's grasp as if the air itself materialized within his palm, sinking and distorting. The short void black blade had a mesmerizing glint to its sharpness. Engraved on the blade was a symbol of an eye absent of an eyelid surrounded by a rotating vortex.

The vortex seemed to rotate around the eye as the pupil gazed eerily at me.

Like the dagger was an extension of his body, one fluid movement from my father's wrist split the cord in two as if sweeping through empty air, the knife vanishing as suddenly as it appeared.

Regaining his posture, my father then held me, extended at full arm's length to his eye level.

Now able to observe the room behind him, I knew instantly.

This appears to be the room of an incredibly wealthy person, I thought to myself.

A cozy, open room appeared before me, lavishly decorated with what appeared to be expensive pieces of furniture as framed art hung on the dark, charred wooden walls. Four high cylindrical tables made of light wood, a stark contrast to the dark wood backdrop, decorated each sharp corner of the room. A unique and finely crafted glass vase sat comfortably atop each table.

Two polished chandeliers attached to the high ceiling above us shone with a diamond luster, still swaying slightly from my father's dynamic entrance.

The wall to my side held a sizeable tinted glass window, squarely shaped but curved like an ellipse at the top. Surging black patterns emanated from the wooden frame.

Those patterns seem similar to the one on my father's knife, but weaker?

A frosty, snowy landscape hid behind the tinged glass as I could just about make out blurry mountains made of ice and snow looming menacingly over the horizon, fragile sunlight tenaciously attempting to shift past the grey sky as the hazy white fog seemed to obscure the atmosphere, like sheets of fine cotton, blotting out the sun.

Falling, swirling snowflakes blended and melted into each other as they softly added to the snowy landscape hiding whatever greenery could have been and adding to the many layers of thick snow. The thick snowstorm made it increasingly difficult for me to see further into the distance, Minor details engulfed by an onslaught of white.

The howling of the wind or ratting of the glass was inaudible for unknown reasons.

Behind my father stood two people, both women.

The first woman wore a non-standard uniform resembling a maid’s but with black patterns or symbols embroidered across the white lace.

More of those symbols.

With neck-length snow-white hair cut low at one side, I couldn't help but notice her multiple sets of silver piercings littered against her long, pointy ears.

She glanced at me with what appeared to be warmth through her cloudy grey, piercing eyes.

The other woman looked to be in her early sixties and had short brown hair whitening at the edges, with light caramel brown eyes. Soft, almost unnoticeable wrinkles lightly decorated her dark, baggy eyes—a telling sign of late nights or overwork.

She wore a strange black robe over a simple white tunic, white patterns similar to the maids adorning it. Multiple rings decorated her fingers.

With a look of admonishment, she said, “Young master, can you please put the newborn down?”

A look of realization appeared across my father's face as he gently handed me back to my mother.

My mother giggled as she received me. “Dear, please keep your excitement contained. She's not going anywhere after all.”

My father cleared his throat as he attempted to regain his composure. An air of nobility seemed to return to him as he smiled at my mother and sat by her side. “What should we call her? As promised, since she's a girl, I'll leave the decision to you, dear,” my father said compassionately as he looked into my mother's eyes.

“Wow, after all those arguments we had this past year… you gave up rather easily, Samel,” my mother shared, followed by gentle, sparkling laughter reminiscent of tinkering bells.

Slightly red-faced, my father replied, “I know too well the responsibilities of being born a Renhart. I've also seen with my own eyes how hard you worked to overcome your own trials, Kara. I want us both to guide and raise our daughter to shoulder and prevail against her future trials…I trust you, Kara.”

Roles reversed, my mother's face began to redden up slightly. She then met my father's loving gaze with one of her own before directing it to me. “Tene,” she said softly, “to overcome, Tene Renhart, that's our daughter's name,” she said happily.

My father thought for a second, then nodded his head “Wonderful name Kara, fitting for our future daughter,” he responded pridefully.

Watching my parents' interactions, I was slightly perplexed.

Have I had parents like this in my past life?

Nonsensical and unruly at times yet joyful and peaceful at others, as I looked up at my two new parents, I couldn't help but feel a thread of warmth rise to fill up some of the emptiness that lived in my heart.

My father and mother looked down lovingly at me. “Welcome to our family Tene.”