Jupiter Jones understands she was someone before at a very early age.

It wasn't even remembering exactly- it wasn't that simple for her. If she had remembered she wouldn't be Jupiter, no matter what her mother called her. If she had really remembered, things would have been different. If it had been, life would have made more sense. No. At four, she has… A feeling. Deep in her heart. A certainty that no one would be able to shake of she spoke out loud. She remembers no details, not at first. Just small things.

But it is enough for her to understand.

She remembers being taller. Looking down at people while now all she can do is look up and up. It wasn't just height. It wasn't just the understanding she had been older. It was bigger than that. It was authority, it had been her place to be taller.

People were beneath her.

And she remembers liking that, how people had scrambled to meet her wants and needs. How she never had to even question that authority. As Jupiter, she hates it. Wants to sob and ache at that feeling of… Being more than someone else. Because being Jupiter was enough for her, more than enough. But it lingers, the truth that Jupiter was not the first person she had been.

She gets moments- scattered and vague- of who she had been.

And she understands that before Jupiter, life had been easier. People she remembers, funny looking and not, had treated her well. Had taken her height and authority with a frightful sort of awe that turns her stomach. At how… Unfeeling she had been towards people who did her every whim and want. At how tired she had been of it all, of how disgusted she remembers feeling.

Her family, loud and emotional, does not treat her like that. They have neither the time nor the patience to cater to the whims of a little girl as young as she is… And somehow, she likes it better. She loves it. Likes that she no longer has to look down at people, that she can reach out and grab things as she wants as she needs instead of everyone handing it to her. That people, especially her mother can tell her no. She thinks the person she had been before had never had anyone tell her no. She likes it. The temperance of it, the limitations of it. She is not tall- she is small and it isn't up to her to make decisions. The independence, the freedom and she likes that she is not looked and looked at for every little thing.

She likes reaching with her own two hands. She likes being told no. Understanding the need for no.

She likes who she was now, not who she had been.