~~~~ CLAIRE ~~~~

Bright light. Loud sounds. Strange faces and hands touching me; my skin's sensitivity extremely high. The air suddenly becoming cold. My lungs breathe air instead of fluid; it feels dry and rough.

I'm scared.
I'm confused.
I cry.

I am still cold, but a cloth is folded around me, the texture coarse against my soft skin. The voices are still loud and the light is still bright, but I am adjusting. Many faces gaze upon me, their words unknown to me.

But there is one face where I stop crying.

I don't know it's words, but I know its voice. I heard it for a while when I was inside still. It smiles at me; it speaks softly. Then it cries, but is still smiling. Another voice next to it; I recognize it as well. It cries and smiles too.

I feel calm.

I'm happy.

Then the strange faces take me again, and I cry again. I want to be with the ones who smile! They do not understand me, they take me away from the nice looking people.

They prick my heel and it hurts, and they put drops of liquid in my eyes, which comfort me, and they wash me; it feels good to be wet again. They dry me off and put clothes on me, all so bizarre and rough.

I've cried a lot; water leaks from my eyes, alarming me, and I cry even more, not understanding. I want to go back where I was; where I was warm and safe and heard friendly voices all around me. I want to go back to those voices!

Then I hear one of the voices. And another. Another, another, and another.

The one who cried first is still in that room, but it is holding me now. It smiles again, and its face touches mine, a soft feeling is left on my cheek, and I touch it curiously. The other one is holding its hand, and it lifts one up to me. I grasp a finger with my tiny hand; it curls and the face smiles.

A face appears. Then two more. A smaller face peeks between the bigger faces, and it speaks. I know that voice too. It holds the hands of two smaller faces, which look at me and speak too. I know those voices!
I'm happy again. I'm with the voices.

A big face appears. It talks to the bigger faces, and the one holding me speaks. I don't know what it means, but it's,

"Claire"

And for some reason, I laugh.

I like how it sounds.

My birth.

Most people have no memory of it.

They hear the story and see the pictures, and of course they believe it, but the memory is not theirs. They feel cheated.

Not me. I remember it.

No one knows why.
Mother says it is a gift from the Harvest Queen; Father says it is a sign from the Harvest King.
My siblings have different ideas. James claims it's nothing but a brain error; Jack thinks it's a curse from the Witch Princess; Jill thinks it's the beginning of a power from the Harvest Goddess.

Whatever it is, I don't think it matters.

It never affected my life before. So what if I could remember my first moment of independent life? It didn't make me smarter; I wasn't faster or stronger than the rest.

I was just Claire Olivia Royale; tomboy, youngest of four, only child with golden blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes.

And I'm a Harvester.

If my deities had been the cause of my memory; if there is a reason for it; then it would have been revealed, wouldn't it?

…Wouldn't it?

~~~~ GRAY ~~~~

I pound on the door. A gruff, familiar voice calls back to me. "Come in," it tells me, taking on the business persona. It doesn't know its grandson is the one outside.

And he's not here for a visit.

I open the door. Step inside. His bushy gray eyebrows lift up enough to see his eyes; shock and joy light them up.
It hurts to know that light will die in a moment.

"Gray," he says, leaving his work as it is, the forge firing and the metal burning on the counter. He comes up to me, hugs me. I hug back.

I can't let go.

"Gray?" he asks warily, as tremors begin to shake my tall frame. I can't let him see me cry; I never said anything against hearing it.

"Boy, what is it?" his shouts, holding me up as I lose strength at my knees. I can't stop the tears now; the hole has been ripped open again, and it's too late to patch it enough to get by.

"She's gone, Gramps," I tell him through my sobs. I look into his grayed eyes with my cerulean blue ones, their color brighter against the red. My UMA hat falls from my tousled auburn hair to the ground.

"She's gone," I repeat. I pound my fists against the ground, screaming at the pain. Gramps steps back, frightened and confused.

"The Witch stole her from me!" I cry, my screams echoing all throughout the town. The silence is deafening as I continue to tear at my soul.