So this is a fanfiction that I have been thinking of for a very long time now. Don't flame, you will get a very honorable mention in the next chapter. I wrote this myself and I know I am a good writer. So expect genius.

It was a simple fact of life that if you were going to die, it would be from lack of oxygen. It was absolutely terrifying to think about it, but you should, because if I had given it a second thought, I might still be in my house reading my beloved Harry Potter books. But I didn't, and my cat had turned the oven on in the middle of the night and somehow pulled it open. Fire had set and the smoke had come rushing in. Did I mention the nearest fire station was an hour away?

Poor unfortunate me was still dreaming of rainbows and sparkles, snuggling into my bed, unaware that if I had just woken up a minute sooner, I wouldn't be six feet under. The smoke got to me before the fire could burn through my flesh. It had attacked the back of my throat, and it did wake me up, but it was already too late. I lived on the second floor, and the staircase was narrow and hazardous. Tears had dripped from my eyes, and the back of my throat basically was being tortured.

I didn't make it to the door before dropping like a brick.

Slowly regaining consciousness after dying, I imagine the immediate reaction would be to panic. To scream at the ghost pain of the burning smoke in your throat. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I wasn't able to find out how my body would react, due to the simple fact that I was unable to move, or to properly think. The only thing I was sure of at the time was the fact that wherever I currently was, was very warm, borderline burning, and very constricting. It felt like how I imagine it would if I were being slowly crushed in by walls from all sides.

I couldn't see anything. My eyes were glued shut. This was death. There was no light greeting me, my grandmother didn't welcome into the world of Heaven like I had been told she would. Emotions seemed to pour through my every being, anger at my stupidity, sadness for the thought of never seeing my family again, and the horror of being stuck here forever. This uncomfortable hell, for this is what it must be.

Until my demise, I never really tried to use my voice for important things. I used it for talking back to my parents, making sarcastic remarks, and just being a bitch. Most of the times I hardly used it at all. I miss talking to people. I miss my mother's laugh and my dad's stern grunt that somehow showed his affection. I had two younger sisters, thirteen and nine. What would they do without me? Who would be there to guide them and welcome them into the realm of highschool...Not me.

The thought of never seeing any of them again, of talking to them, or bantering with them, would have sent me into tears had I not been in this hellish void, incapable of anything. Even time here seemed to be skewed. I was unable to tell whether a month or a minute has passed since my Death. I was unaware if time even existed in this place. Sometimes I heard phantom voices, which seemed miles away. Cold voices, as if they were mocking me, for what I don't know. Maybe they too found my Death pitiful?

Slowly, but surely my senses came back. I could hear the loudest of things, and only those. One time I happened to hear the sound dogs, barking madly. I couldn't help but mock shudder, dogs were not my favorite animals. They weren't horrible, I just didn't enjoy them slobbering all over me. Sometimes if I listened closely, I could hear a woman's voice. I tended to think that it was just a hallucination from my lonely isolation.

It was like this for a very long time, until one day, it wasn't. The walls that surrounded me were moving, I was moving. I was born Madelina, Princess Madelina. It was strange to live your life in another modern world, and then be completely thrusted back into time. That wasn't supposed to happen was it?

Everything was blurry, but not unrecognizable. I was lifted up and placed in a set of arms. I was found staring up at a woman whose face was so close to mine that I could tell you what she looked like. She had long pale blonde hair that was currently sticking to her forehead, dripping with sweat. Her cold stormy grey eyes stared down at me with a look of disdain.

Seeing such eyes, almost dripping with disgust might've made me cry out to her, hoping that she would tell what I had done to her, which had caused such an ugly emotion within her. But that was before. Before that hell, which I now knew was the womb in which I had been carried. Being in that forsaken place was as if I were constantly dying over and over again, being suffocated by that smoke, and unable to breath.

Now... now I just felt.. disconnected? Almost as cold as the eyes which my new 'mother' looked at me with. Of course for some reason my hell, didn't end there. Now I was stuck being in a new body, with a feeble brain, utterly useless limbs, and eyes which could never seem to focus properly.

Never before had I ever felt so useless. So dependant. That had to change. I had not emotions for my new...mother. I'll probably never see her as my mother, my mother was an artistic feminist who had brown hair and deep meaningful green eyes that could create a fire within you. She didn't resemble ice, she resembled a firework. Perhaps I might get along with this woman. Perhaps, we'd be closer than I could ever imagine.
It was then, my blurry vision took in my surroundings. We were in a bed that had royal blue and red drapes. She was wearing a white cotton sleeping gown. The walls were made of stone, at least that's what it looked like. This wasn't like any hospital I'd ever known.

The worse had yet to come, as her mouth opened and her light voice was filled with utter boredom, as if I was worth nothing. "It's a girl. Pity."