Disclaimer: I'll put it just on the first chapter but of course it aplies to the whole story: I don't own POC. The only thing that belongs to me its my OC and I'm not getting any profit from writing this.

Screw adventure.

That was a repeating thought on my head as I died. Even my ears were burning, as I sunk deeper and deeper - not that I wasn't trying with all my strength to go back up, kicking and jumping without obtaining more than ache on my muscles, an ache people would expect to be insignificant when drowning and facing all different sorts of pain, but contrary to popular belief, I felt each single thing. After a minute that felt like an hour, I began to feel more dizzy and less in pain, I know I don't want to inhale and that the moment I do I'll be doomed, but after a few seconds more I just do it, not really wanting to, not really ordering my brain to but doing it anyway. Then everything gets much worse and the burn on my lungs as the salty water enters feels like the worst kind of pain a person can experience. I remember taking one second to think 'Oh my god, I am really dying' and then It went all calm, as if I were waking up from a nap. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, nothing was aching anymore and everything was clear and I could feel how the sun had warmt up the water and breathing wasn't necessary anymore; I was at a state I had never encountered before.

What's funny is that during all that struggle, as I battled for my last seconds of life, never did I lose grab of the locket. I wasn't aware of it right then, of course - perhaps If I had been I'd have thrown it far away, given that it was all in all the reason why I was in such a situation. It wasn't after weeks and months when I spent nights trying to recreate the events that lead to my death that I caught up on that funky detail. Was it even worth it? No, because after all the hell I went through for that rusty locket I have never seen it again. I guess at the moment it was pretty. Well, who am I lying? I may be pissed at it but it was gorgeous hence why I wanted to take it. It was nothing like I had seen before, not that I ever got to see much from my small town in the south of Western Australia; but despite the lack of other artifacts to compare it with, I knew that what I had just seen at the bottom of the sea resting on a rock, was quite unique. Its shape was a hybrid between heart and a crab, if that's even possible, and a beautiful face seemed to be in the middle of it. I think I just wanted something pretty for myself.

Anyway, allow me to continue with my story, just because I died doesn't mean It's finished.

I spent what felt like a short eternity in that state, floating out of time, out of the real world. Whatever thoughts I had then, they were all peaceful and they didn't come too often. I didn't feel any need to think at all, I was at ease. I did think about the fact that I was dead and that it really didn't bother me, not one bit and I believe that was my one single thought for even months. I was comfortable with spending the rest of eternity like that; In that place where I existed but no longer had a body, where never got dark and the water never got cold. After a while, every so often I'd hear muffled sounds, very soft and very distant, but I never paid any mind to that. It never occured to me that my time there, at that heaven-like place, was coming to an end until the moment it actually did come to it.

It came to me as a slight discomfort, a rare feeling that I was unable to give a name to, given that I had already forgotten what anything but pure nicety felt. From then on it only grew worse. In just one instant everything was dark and that warmness that had characterized the place where I thought I'd be spending the rest of my days at, was beginning to fade away slowly. I was able to remember then how I felt as I drowned and my lungs were on fire and involuntarily I compared both situations and decided that those were two completely different things - when I died I was drowning in pure agony and when I came back to life… I guess I was just uncomfortable. I could feel my limbs being tugged at everything getting squashed, that infinite space was suddenly beginning to feel smaller; I could feel everything go even colder and flashes of light returning, but unlike the soft brightness that had guarder me during all this time, the light I was getting now was fierce and unwelcoming; I could feel things coming to an end.

What I just described to you was childbirth; my own, but I didn't know that just yet.

I was breathing again, and confused, and I think I was crying. Voices could be heard, something I had forgotten as a concept. Colours were everywhere but everything was blurry and I could feel I was being managed around and that coldness I felt at the beginning was slowly fading away.

"It's a girl, Madam" a tired yet pleased near voice said, clear as water, but it meant nothing to me. It had been so long since I had heard actual words that weren't my own that I was in no state of understanding full sentences, worse yet, of knowing what a sentence was.

Soon, I was placed over something warm, finally and I clung to whatever it was instinctively, because if it was able to deliver such comfort, It oughta be good. I hoped it was good. It felt good. And, spoiler alert, it turned out to be good.

There were now two melodies cohabiting in the room, my weeping and that of steps, for someone was leaving the room - still, I knew I wasn't alone. As confused as I was, soon I was able to tell that the comforting heat was being delivered by a human, a woman, I didn't even need to look up to know that was the case. She was holding me tight to what I believe was her chest, and soon she caressed my temple with hands that felt soft and loving, and it reminded me of the time my aunt Cissy from the city had stayed with mum and I for a whole week one summer when I was eight, and she had allowed me to take a look at her clothes, very different from the ones one found in town, and she had this one blue dress made of silk, and that was the first time my rough hands ever touched anything like it; now these fingers were much softer.

I knew I had to look up; open my eyes and confirm what my other instics were telling me was going on, but it was all very difficult. For once, I tried not thinking of an explanation about whatever it was going on, instead distracting myself with things I could feel, like the warm and protective hold; things I could smell, something flowery and salty. It was hard, ignoring that recurring alert on my brain suggesting me that perhaps, this was not a temporary side effect of being death, something that'd go away just as the pain from the drowning had, and that I'd, perhaps, not go back to the calm state in which I had habitted for the last couple… whatever it was. I ignored that one voice telling me, 'You're small. Why are you small? Think about it, Rachel, your shape is very small' Yes, I ignored all that and focused on my crying, which was slowly dying down. Besides, the lights were too bright and it hurt.

I felt something soft and warmer pressing against my head, and it felt very close, almost as if whatever it was, was in direct contact with its actual skin, no hair or anything in between. Perhaps it was, as I soon came to understand some few seconds later, because I had no hair. The cries increased. I was slowly beginning to understand, even if I couldn't admit it even to myself just yet.

"May we get our Lord, madam?" a light voice asked, nervously, confirming me that in fact, there were several people in the room. It was very british.

"Yes, you may"

By the vibrations I felt coming off her chest and from how close the sound was I knew the person speaking was the one holding me. Besides, for some reason, one of which I still have no answer to but only wild guesses, a bit inside of me simply knew that such a gentle, slightly hoarse and yet silvery voice, belonged to that woman. 'Yes, that woman holding you. That woman who just birthed you' thoughts kept on bombarding me, and were more frequent and stronger each second it passed. It appeared that no matter how much I wished to dismiss the upcoming subject, It'd have to be dealt with.

I was able to hear footsteps again and I just knew someone else had entered the room. By the way the woman's body reacted ('the body that's holding you, because you're small and she's big and why are you so small Rachel?'), it was clear she was amicable with this person. I think I wasn't crying anymore, only sobbing a little, because I was able to hear with all clearness all the sounds that were being made right then. The man was pleased with what he saw, happy even, if one could trust the sounds emitted.

"Isn't she small?" he spoke softly, fondly, and I could feel him leaning over me, his breath getting close. It was also not difficult to notice he was talking about me. His accent was also English, as was the woman's when she answered.

"Very" the woman's voice was softer now than it was when answering to the other women from before. It was delicate and I remember trying to focus on the sweetness of it, for the truth was near to my understandment and I knew I'd need to clung onto something to keep myself sane for what I was about to accept.

"So it is an Anne, not a Charles" and as he said that he carefully laid a hand over my head. My bald, small head.

The woman didn't reply for a few seconds, and I tried thinking about how gentle this man's hand was and how sweet his voice sounded for a man, instead of wondering who this Anna was, because a part of me already knew that.

"Our Anne" she kissed the top of my head again, right next to where the man's hand laid.

"Elizabeth shall be most delighted with the announcement"

And as the man pulled away his hand and I no longer had something in which to focus but the words that were being spoken and the facts that my mind had been telling me until then: those there I was small, bald and on the arms of a strange yet familiar woman who spoke of me lovingly and kissed my temples with gentleness.

I accepted the reality I was now being introduced to, and of course, started crying again.

The first weeks were the worst.

Learning the fact that you had reincarnated and been born again was difficult because… well, it is difficult, as I'm sure you could understand without my explaining it. Back while I was alive, well, before I died, I had never given the 'life after death' a serious thought. I guess I simply had more important subjects to worry about. But had I believed in reincarnation, I'd have been inclined to believe that when one was born into another body, it'd only be natural for that person not to remember a thing about their previous life. It wasn't my case. I could remember just about the same things I was able to remember when I left my house for the beach on the day I drowned.

At first I had thought that maybe I could try speaking, explain to someone that I wasn't supposed to be there, that my name was Rachel Krominski and not Anne Swann (yes, I'm aware now that an infant saying such things would've done me no good, but I was desperate back then, so put yourself on my shoes) I had tried speaking early in the morning after my nap, for I was born late at night, but when I opened my mouth (with great effort, that was) no words came out; instead, a series of wordless sounds did, making the person holding me - who was not the same woman who had birthed me - mutter a long and soft 'aw'. It appeared that although I was able to form coherent sentences on my mind, I wouldn't be able to speak a word until the muscles meant to deliver the sound were at least over a day old.

Many things which I believed primal and had never given much thought to I was now unable to do on my own. Turning around, feeding, moving from one spot to the other- all of those things, I needed someone assisting me to achieve. What was worse, It seemed impossible for me to spend more than an hour in a row awake; I was asleep for most of the day but always woke up after two hours of actually falling asleep. I

I opened my eyes on the morning following my birth. I decided there was no use in keeping them closed; doing so wouldn't suddenly return me to my grown body - dead or not. It cost me a great deal since the blinds were open and the bright sunlight entered the room ruthlessly; a room I was unable to explore on that very same day, since the crib and my then current position only allowed me to take a look at the ceiling, which was white. Even moving my head to the sides was a struggle, so I didn't get to see much of the crib or my body either. I suppose I must've made some noise because after a few minutes I felt a person approaching.

A woman in her early twenties appeared before me, tired eyes but a soft smile on her lips. She had cornish blonde hair, much like the one I used to have, covered in a bonnet; an oval-like face with pale cheeks, and grey eyes. Not that I could see much of her clothes, but she seemed to be wearing an old fashioned modest dress, quite an odd choice - but then again, I had just died and been reborn, so I couldn't talk about strangeness. Once again, I can't tell for certain how I knew what I knew then, only speculate, but I was aware that wasn't the woman who had held me before, the one who was supposed to be my mother; and this woman confirmed me that by speaking on a completely different voice as she leaned to pick me up: "You've opened your eyes, little miss Anne" Yes, she spoke affectionately; babies inspire that kind of tone on people, but the tenderness wasn't nearly as close as the other woman's had been.

I'd have liked to say I put more struggle when she attempted to feed me straight from her breast, but I was far too hungry and way too weak. Cries couldn't do much to stop a grown up woman from doing something. It surprised me when it was her the one feeding me, since I had been so sure the other one had been the one who birthed me, but that was all clarified when I was finished and taken to the room where I was born, where my 'mother' rested. I also wish I could say I saw a great deal of the house on my way from one room to the other, but being a baby is complicated and I must confess to have fallen asleep in the middle of feeding, only to have woken up while being moved from one pair of arms to others.

I'd also wish I could say that whoevers arms held me made no difference to me, that I resented both equally, but that was not true. Looking back, I can confirm that whenever Josephine Swann held me, I was most at ease.

"Opened her eyes this morning, you say, Stella?" she was running a finger over the bridge of my nose, and it was such a comfortable gesture that I almost fell back asleep, but I forced myself not to, willing to get as much information as I was able to. Still, I kept my eyes closed, since it was even brighter in this room and it scared me to look at this sweet woman with soft touch, for that would make everything much more real.

"Yes, ma'am. Babe was fed and then brought here, as you demanded"

"Good. I will be the one feeding her during the mornings, unless I shall have any other obligation. You shall do so during the night"

"Are you sure, ma'am? You just gave birth and should be regaining your strength. I shall not want to perturb you"

It seemed obvious that what my supposed mother was proposing wasn't something this Stella girl approved of, and it was also clear that Stella found it difficult to contradict her. It appeared now that Stella, the woman who had breast feeded me, was an employer.

"It's no perturbation. I did the same thing with Elizabeth and quite enjoyed it. Isn't that right, Mrs. Cartwright?"

"Indeed" another woman, a voice that sounded to be further than the other two, answered. Helen Cartwright was fixing the curtains and trying very hard not to let her real opinion on the matter show through her words. Her opinion was that she thought , although lovely, was obstinate wanting to feed her own children - the reason I know of this, is because I'd hear her later talking about it with Miss Stella as she carried me back to my chambers. She then added: "I'll bring your morning meal now, Mrs. Swann. I hadn't expected you to be up so early after last night"

"That shall be alright. Has Mr. Swann already left for parliament?"

"I believe he was gone about twenty minutes ago"

"Yes, he came over to the nursery and kissed Miss Anne goodbye" Stella added, most delighted "He seems to dote on her already, don't you think so Mrs. Swann?"

That was sweet, I had to admit, even back then. Although I held no wishes on being an infant and having these people as parents, It pleased me to see when affection was shown from a father to a child, since it was always quite rare, especially when it came to me.

"He is an excellent father" I could feel she was smiling."Is Elizabeth awake yet?"

"Not yet, ma'am. I was waiting until 8:00 o'clock, since the governess' still indisposed" Mrs. Cartwright apologized "I shall wake her immediately if you allow me"

"That's quite alright, Mrs. Cartwright. Wake her and tell her to come here, she can have her morning meal in bed with us" a few seconds of tense silence passed, then I felt her chest vibrating, for she was chuckling, a graceful laugh that not many people managed to acquire during their lives "Don't' look so aggrieved, dear . It shall only be this one time. Do consider that if not brought up here immediately, she shall keep on asking about the babe; she was restless last night"

"That you are right, ma'am" the now slightly softened voice of Mrs. Cartwright said "I shall do as you asked me. Come, Stella"

Soon they were gone and I could feel there were now only two other people left in the room, that being myself and the woman who held me. I could tell she was staring at me so instinctively I clenched my eyes shut, as if to prevent them from opening by accident - she giggled at that, and once again I realized what an almost magical sound that was. She caressed my head after that, and then, a few seconds later she drew her face closer to mine. I could feel her breath and her nose touching my forehead slightly. Then, almost on a whisper, as she was sharing a secret with me, she said "I shall forever be in love with you"

And I don't know how that was possible, but I could physically feel that she was telling the truth and that scared me, because I liked it. I don't think I've ever been loved with such a force, and I am damn sure that up until that point no one had said those words to me: no boys, no family, not even weirdos on the internet. That was my first time having someone to tell me they were in love with me and despite the situation, it felt kind of nice.

She kept me on an embrace for a few more minutes, as my mind reprimanded itself saying it'd be of no help liking such things when I should be worrying about the fact that I was a one day old infant who before that was a dead fifteen year old girl with a different name, in a different place and definitely with a different (thought not better) mother.

Door opening, feet walking quickly, and I could feel the woman smiling at that. The newly arrived made its way towards the bed, and when it was close enough to grab at it, I was able to hear her voice, which was obviously that of a curious child:

"Is that it?"

My 'mother' patted the bed with her free hand and I could feel the child struggling a bit to get up, pulling on the sheets and covers, and the woman had to shift a little in order to help her. Once she was up, I could feel how her face was over me, because it provided a shadow. Now, I'm not an idiot and knew that this little girl was supposed to be my new sister, and I grew curious too, almost as much as she was about me. It occurred to me then that maybe she was in the same situation as I was; perhaps this family had a thing with birthing reincarnated girls; maybe this new 'sister' of mine could help me. So I opened my eyes.

"See, she's observing you, Elizabeth"

She was staring intensely, as if studying if I was of her interest or not. Her neck was crooked to the side, so her head could be in the same line as mine, and she had a frown, which was funny considering she was a little girl and seemed to be taking the whole 'examining the stranger' quite seriously.

However, I was aware pretty soon that those were the eyes of a child and a child only, so my chances of her being in the same situation as I was were pretty much destroyed. Instead of focusing too much on the very slim opportunity I had just lost, I decided to observe her instead, not wanting to upset myself and instead keep my mind busy and perhaps, give me a hint of what I looked like - assuming I had also lost my looks, as I had my life, skill to walk by myself and name.

No older than five, that was for sure. Then again, I didn't know much about kids since I hadn't had siblings back when I was Rachel Krominski, nor cousins, nor many neighbors. But still her little face couldn't have belonged to anyone older than that. She had fair skin, narrowed brown eyes and dark blonde locks, and appeared to be wearing a white linen-like nightgown. Altogether, she seemed like a healthy child that was well taken care of, which was comforting, to a certain degree.

"She has eyes like mine" she suddenly said, turning her head to look at her mother, as if that was all she had gotten from me; which to be fair, was understandable - how many things could you learn from a boring baby by just looking at it?

Following her example, without even realizing it, I allowed my eyes to wander over to the face of her mother. I wasn't able to see much, since moving my head was too difficult and from the angle I was at I could only see so much, but the moment I saw her, I was able to confirm what without knowing for sure I had already adopted as a fact: she was beautiful, as simple as that.

Josephine Swann was the representation of what those people spending thousands of dollars on plastic surgery and cosmetics expected to look like once all their procedures were finished. She had long wavy blonde hair, a few shades darker than Elizabeth's, and while a bit messy because she was still in bed, it didn't lose its charm. The fairest of skin, not a mark nor a dark spot to be found, and she also had admirable facial bone structure. Her eyes were a soft brown, same as both her daughters's. Around her lips, small lines formed when she smiled. All together in the morning light, she looked like an angel.

"Indeed she does" She said plasedly "This is Anne, Elizabeth. You're a big sister now"

"Are you a big sister too?"

"No, I am her mother, as am yours" she explained calmly.

"No, before, when you were like me"

"When I was four like you?" Elizabeth nodded "No, I have always been a little sister, like Anne. Your aunt Mary was my big sister, and your uncle George my big brother"

"Then how are you going to teach me?" she asked furrowing her forehead, making her mother nod, finally understanding where her older daughter was heading to with her inquiries.

"You shall learn on your own" she said, extending a hand over to her face and pinching one of her fat cheeks with fondness "But foremost, you have got to take care of her"

"Because she's so little?"

"Yes, and because she looks up to you"

"Oh"

After she said that, looking as if she finally understood all that being an older sister was about, she leaned over, steading herself up with her arms, and taking a last look at my face, she kissed me around the nose. It was a sloppy, innocent kiss and it kind of felt like a promise. Despite the situation, I felt moved.

Breakfast arrived after on big trails and I had to do my best not to drool over the bread, or the fruit, or that warm tea. Milk wasn't too bad if one didn't think about the means which had helped me acquire it, but it still wasn't as good as real, solid, food. Still, I was aware that being a newborn, food such as that one wouldn't be handed to me, and even if it were, considering I didn't even have the strength not skill to speak, I'd surely not be able to swallow big chunks of it.

As the person who was supposed to be my new mother said before, that was the only time Elizabeth ever had breakfast in bed in our company, whereas mother stayed in her room for another week and two days, recovering from birth. I was brought there every morning, as she had requested, and she'd be the one in charge of feeding most of the time while Stella took charge of the matter during the nights (yes, being a baby meant that my hunger was recurrent, waking me up every three or four hours with luck).

Father was a busy man and worked for the government, or so it seemed, but he was also very in love with his wife and worried constantly about his two daughters. Each day, he'd go over to mother's room and they'd talk affectionately and he'd always kiss my head goodbye as Stella took me to my own chambers so I could get some rest and allow my mother to do the same. I didn't have much experience with good men back from my old life, I believed those creatures were myths only shown on movies or tvs but never in real life; Weatherby Swann had proved to be the exception.

My new 'older' sister came by to my crib every single morning. She obviously managed to wake up earlier than I did, for she was always on her nightgowns and unaccompanied when she showed up and had I not been giving my mind a hard time overthinking situations and enjoying the few moments of peace while Stella slept, I'd have missed her, for she was as careful and silent as a mouse. Being quite short due to her age, she naturally wouldn't have been able to reach the crib on her own, so each morning she grabbed one of the packages someone must've given before my birth; she'd tumble it on the floor, and then step on it; once she was high enough that most of her face would show from the white wood, she'd stare at me for a few seconds, making sure everything was well, then she'd lean over and plant a quick kiss on my forehead and then get everything to be just as it was before she came in, leaving before anyone could tell her off. True to her promise, she made sure I was alright, and that, despite my frustration due to my unusual situation, made my heart feel warm and jolly. Besides that, anytime she had free from her studies or any arrangements a four year old could have, she'd go over to her mother's chambers and spend her time there with the both of us.

During the afternoons some people would come over for visit, to meet the new baby and bring presents. They'd all chatter around the room, muttering congratulations on a healthy child. To me, it was terribly clear that mother was uncomfortable with it, but that was only because I'd be there to witness the relief bathing her face as soon as the last one of them would leave, but she could've passed as a convincing actress for to everyone else, she didn't show anything but a charming smile full of gratitude.

It took me some whole three days to accept the fact that I was not in the twenty-first century anymore. Which year exactly was it, I could not tell, for my historical knowledge had never been very accurate, but I was certain that It was not even a near to 2017 - the year when I had died. What gave that information away was a series of things which I managed to find a mediocre explanation each time they'd be presented to me, because anything's better than to admit that you're now stuck about 200 or 300 years in the past; to name only a few: the way everyone dressed: lace caps, gowns and petticoats for women and wigs, waistcoats and even fashionable canes which were obviously of no real use for them; the fact Elizabeth made use of a governess and I of a 'wet nurse' as had called Stella; the mentioning of a 'Queen Anne' and the rumour that as a result of the act of settlement and the fact that Her Majesty was childless, soon she shall be succeeded by a cousin from the house of Hanover; most importantly, the fact that there was no electricity.

Had I not just been reborn after drowning, I'd have been far more shocked by it, but It still wounded me to some degree. Before realizing it, I had thought of somehow managing to escape and perhaps meet with some of my friends, that although weren't many, I knew were loyal enough to help me out shall I need it - the fact that it'd be another two hundred years at least for them to be born made things a bit difficult. I cried a lot during the succeeding days, and I was beginning to get into everyone's nerves; everyone's but Josephine Swann's. Two different doctors who weren't able to find not a single thing wrong with me delivered those news to the Swanns, and I still wouldn't stop.

I believed it was my sixth or seventh day of crying non stop from the moment I opened my eyes to the second I closed them to have brief sessions of sleep, that I was laying on my back over the comfortable bed while mother brushed Elizabeth's hair and the little one observed me - without my awareness, because I was far too focused on drying my eyes out.

"Why is Anne always crying, mama?"

That made Josephine Swann stop for a short second with what she was doing, slight worry visible on her face, but soon she easily continued with the brushing and put on a calm, assuring smile. My attention was also partly in their conversation.

"I think is because she misses all the other angels"

"Was Anne an angel, mama?"

"Yes, and a precious one she was, that's why she was placed in the home of another dear angel" she said kissing Elizabeth's cheek as she finished with her hair.

"Is that other angel me, mama?" the little one asked eagerly, finding the whole idea very exciting. I must admit, I found it that way too.

Mother was unable to give an answer, for something else had caught Elizabeth's attention and she was soon pointing at it, changing the subject as she cried with happiness: "Look, mama! She is not crying anymore"

After that day I didn't cry as often. I don't know what did it, perhaps it was the sweetness in which Josephine Swann had explained the whole subject; could have been that flash of worry I had seen mar her face and heard on Elizabeth's voice, making me feel guilty for provoking such a feeling in people who had been nothing but overly nice to me; or maybe I was simply running out of tears and coming down with the fact that it was what it was and I wouldn't be able to change it.

Little by little, I accepted what I was offered. On those first few weeks, I remember thinking 'Well, it could be worse' and indeed it could, for I had been presented with the best kind of life one could have in the early 18th century, as I had come to learn the year was: I had not only a good name, but also wealth and health, and most importantly, I had a very loving family. About two years later, I started to think of it as a second opportunity, one in which I could be happy, for God knew I hadn't had any of the things mentioned before in my old life. Living four hundred years in the past wasn't ideal, but soon I began to love it - I had always been a romantic soul, finding past times full of surprises and very welcoming for adventure, truth is that if asked, I'd have chosen to live during the 1970s, live the whole rock and roll madness or perhaps the roaring 20s, but the 17th Century had its own charms, and I learnt them day by day.

It was in September of 1716 when I realized I was much happier with this life than I was with the previous one, despite the obstacles this one presented; that day was one I still remember as clear as water.

Mama, who I no longer referred as anything but that or 'mother', had fallen ill with severe pneumonia that doctors had simply called lungs infection, a disease that back in my own time It could've been almost easily treated with antibiotics, but that here made everyone think of my mother as a doomed woman already. Elizabeth and I had both been forbidden from entering her chambers, in fears we might catch the disease as well, so we were left to worry about mother without even sharing a sweet word or embrace with her. Josephine Swann had been in bed for over two weeks, and judging by the face my father carried on the rare times when we'd see him, it was likely she wouldn't be able to survive the night. Elizabeth, who was 8 at the time, had grabbed me by the hand and rushed me towards Mrs. Cartwright, who also seemed deeply affected by the situation.

"We desire to help mother" she had demanded for the both of us, leaving me to nod eagerly. She had wanted to break into her chambers when the nurses had left to rest, but I had convinced her otherwise, knowing how contagious pneumonia was and that nothing would break our father's heart more than having his two daughters in the same situation as his wife. Instead, I suggested my sister we should try helping mother some other way, and thankfully, she decided to listen to her four-year-old sister.

Mrs. Cartwright had looked the most touched by our demand, her eyes filled with tears and looking as if she had grown older during those past few weeks. During my years at the house I came to learn that Mrs. Helen Cartwright was over fifty, and had started working for the family when Mr. and Mrs. Swann had just gotten married, which had been at least ten years before Elizabeth's birth. Although stern and at times scary, Mrs. Cartwright worried immensely about the whole family, and considered my mother to be the closest thing to a child to her, for all of hers had died at war. For the first time ever, she looked fragile and scared, and kneeling down to be on the same level as us, she said with a strange soft voice:

"If you want to do something for our Mrs. Josephine, you shall both go up to your chambers and pray to our Lord in Heaven for her health, for she is very ill. Think of one very dear thing you would be willing to abandon for your mother's well-being. That shall be all you can do now, my dears"

And so we did, we prayed all night. Back in my old life, I hadn't been very religious myself. Although I had been born as the daughter of a jewish man, I wasn't one myself, for my mother wasn't either and never worried too much about involving me in that sort of things. I always believed there was something else in there, even if It didn't always help me, but never gave it too much thought. In my new life, religion was a bigger deal than it had been, and I must admit that I enjoyed the reassurance that a superior being was watching over me and my loved ones, it put my mind at ease. Still, I kept some doubts. During that night, as my beloved mother laid dying in her bed, I prayed hard. I thought of how I would choose to give up any other life I may have had before that one, if that meant that Josephine Swann would open her eyes one day more.

I realized then, that I prefered everything in this life over the old one. Being treated as an infant, despite the fact that my mind was older suddenly didn't bother me in the least; the lack of electricity or freedom to go where I pleased neither did. I was much happy with things as they were then, and wished them to keep on being that way.

From that day on, my faith in God also grew stronger, because the next morning, a miracle had occurred: Mrs. Swann seemed to be recovering, or so the doctor had said; he believed it had been the medicine, Elizabeth and I knew it had been our prayers.

Mother lived with relative good health for the next couple of years, being as loving and understanding as always, and I can say with fair certainty that we enjoyed each second we all spent together as a family and that I tried my hardest to learn from mother, for she truly was the woman I most looked up to. The day she passed was very sour, but I felt as if she left in peace; we cried her for days, the entire household, but felt her touch each time the sun would touch our skins - she passed away in 1721, when I was aged nine and she was forty two. Although awfully young for 21st century standards, I was aware that my mother had lived a long enough life for the time. Anger had stricken me, because I thought it rather unfair that such a good person as herself would live for such a short among of time, whereas people like my real mother and her multiple boyfriends would be likely to outlive her at least twice - but that, was a thought that remained a secret from everyone else.

My father's promotion couldn't have arrived at a better time, in that we all agreed. Although London had been the home of the Swann family for many generations, it seemed too blue, too cold and too crowded after Josephine's passing, and the house as well seemed to have lost a bit of its magic and warmth after that dreadful day. By appointment of the new king, George I, my father was made Governor of Port Royal and meant to sail as soon as possible with the rest of his family.

Because my geography wasn't nearly as bad as my history, I knew Port Royal was in Jamaica and soon, despite the grieve of losing the only person I cared to call a mother, I grew excited. Back in my old life, I had lived next to the ocean and learnt to love it; even if it took my life, the ocean was still a magical place my heart longed to return - with my new family, we payed visit to the coasts a few times, but during all of those I was under strict supervision, since I was nothing but a young child whose swimming skills were believed to be at best non-existent. Besides, It had always been a dream of mine to travel overseas; I'd even go as far as saying, that had been my main goal all those years back when I went by the name of Rachel.

We sailed to Port Royal November 1771, a full seven months since my mother's passing. Father had been very nervous, I remember it quite well, but he tried hard to hide that from Elizabeth and I, not wanting to unnerve any of us - I made it my task to hug him tightly as we left the London port behind, resting my cheek over his chest, while Elizabeth lost herself with all the oddities a boat provided - that was her first time in one, and was beyond excited; father ran his arm around my shoulders, holding me with fondness.

"Are you afraid, Annie?" he asked, making use of the family nickname I was given a long time ago.

"No, I am with you" and I meant it.

He caressed my hair after, and looked down on me with immense fondness, and I hoped my words may have given him the strength he needed.

The ride to Port Royal took seven long weeks, and each time one passed our excitement to arrive grew stronger. I considered myself inmensibly lucky I counted with Elizabeth on board, for if not, I'd have died out of boredom since most conversations in the ship were about politics when it came to the officers, or rather unappropriated ones if it involved the sailors. Although unwanted by some members of the crew, since we were women (or on our way to being so) Elizabeth and I managed to spend our days at the ship mostly unbothered, finding ways to play games and talking about the most random topics. When things were starting to get a bit boring, and that was around week number four, something happened, which lead to two other things, and those two things kept us entertained

Elizabeth and I were caught singing about pirates, a song we had learnt two years back from one of our parents' friends' children; how they came to learn about that song, I wouldn't know. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to do while on a navy ship, but we were growing bored and we wanted to take a look at the blue sea, and one thing lead to another, next thing we know, Mr. Gibbs is grabbing my sister by the shoulder, telling us not to do such thing.

I really didn't know what possessed me, but I grew incredibly scared; now, a few years later I think I can give it a name. Back in my old life, I had been used to corporal punishment, not that I got beaten up, but more often than not some of my mother's boyfriends would perhaps pull my arm a bit too harsh, or squeeze a bit too strongly. Ever since I had been Anne Swann, the closest thing I had ever been from any sort of harsh treatment to my physical body was when one bratty child, son of a Lord, had pushed me at dinner once; only to have Elizabeth to defend me after by pushing him back. I guess seeing it again, after so many years, must have started me, so when I head a rebuking voice from behind and saw my father standing behind a lieutenant, I ran towards him with eyes wide from fear and my small heart beating as fast as ever, and clung to his waist as I hid my face on his chest - I was able to see lieutenant Norrington giving me a curious look before returning to lecturing Mr. Gibbs. My father, who rarely saw me scared of anything, wrapped his arms around me and gave me a worried look.

"They were singing about pirates!" the old man accused with a finger "Bad luck to be singing about pirates on this unnatural fog. Mark my words"

"Consider them marked" The young lieutenant said, almost dismissively "On your way"

"Aye, Lieutenant" and as he left, I could hear him muttering some other things. I assumed nothing we hadn't heard before, about how bad luck bringing women into the boat was.

I didn't show my face off from my father's chest until I heard Elizabeth' voice. Good thing I did, because father was starting to grow worried.

"I think I'd be rather exciting to meet a pirate"

"Think again, Miss Swann" Lieutenant Norrington said as he walked closer to the edge, hands together on his back "Vile and dissolute creatures the lot of them. I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves: a short drop and a sudden stop"

Both Elizabeth and I were unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of Mr. Gibbs making a hanging mimic when none of the adults were looking at him; an action that sent chills down my spine and made my sister gasp. Father obviously noticed both things, and quickly, hand still on my back, he walked closer to Lieutenant Norrington.

"Lieutenant Norrington, I appreciate your fervor but I'm… I'm concerned about the effects this subject will have upon my daughters"

"My apologies, Governor Swann" the young man said as he walked away.

My head was still half buried in my father's chest as Elizabeth claimed she found the whole pirates deal quite fascinating, slowly helping me return back to reality and leave that odd rush of fear behind. That was a very Elizabeth thing to say, and it made me smile, despite father's clear distaste for it. Just after informing his oldest daughter about his discomfort with her subject of interest, he lowered his view down to me, worry visible in his brown eyes.

"Are you quite alright, Anne dear?"

I offered him a smile and a nod, although that wasn't quite the case yet, for I still felt a little dizzy and not fully recovered. I had clearly upsetted him and that I regretted. He nodded at me after studying me for a bit, trying to decide If I was lying to him or telling the truth (deciding for the latest), and then walked away to attend some other matters.

Elizabeth grabbed my hand straight away, and we returned to the same we had been doing before Mr. Gibbs interruption - minus the singing, that is - we weren't so reckless and disrespectful as to do that. I'm not sure which one of us saw it first, but what I know is that it caused a very different reaction on the two of us.

"Look, a boy! There's a boy in the water!" my sister shouted, as I felt very lightheaded and everything spinning a bit too fast.

I am aware a commotion was taking place around me, obviously all inspired by that boy both my sister and I saw laying on the sea, but I wasn't able to be an active part of it, for I felt my body give away. Not the best of places to faint I had chosen, but it seemed as if there was no stopping it: had a strong hand not caught me right then.

Last thing I saw before everything turned black was Lieutenant Norrington's frowned face, as he said 'Careful there, Miss Swann".

My father ran to where I laid as soon as he realized what had been of me, scolding himself for even believing me when I said I was alright. I wasn't out for too long, and once I recovered consciousness my father's face looked bathed in relief. I was taken to my cabin after that, advised by my father to get some sleep, but I just simply couldn't do that. Instead, I began thinking about two things: Pirates and Lieutenant Norrington, each as intriguing as the other.

Up until that point, I had never cared to give pirates much thought. After all, it wasn't a subject discussed around children around mine or Elizabeth's age. Altogether, it wasn't a subject much discussed around gentle houses as my own. What I knew of them, I knew it from my other life, and I was positive most things I had heard back then, along with many others about different subjects, were wrong. Pretty much my basic understanding of them was that they were dangerous and barbaric, and while many stories and movies and shows tried to show them a great deal better than they were, in reality they were muttiners, murderers and sometimes, people who damaged women in many more ways than physical. My opinion on then, from that day on, was a negative one.

Regarding Lieutenant Norrington, my opinion was far different. It had been many moons since I had last taken interest in a man. Back when I wasn't Anne Swann, I had never fallen in love or had anyone fall in love with me, and all the boys I ever was interested in were either famous movie stars or people who I knew would never give me the hour of the day - when I died, at fifteen, I had yet to be kissed. When I was reborn as Anne, I worried that perhaps my older mind would make me fall in love with men its age, but that wasn't the case; although I was never anything but bored with boys my age I had neither found any interest on older gentlemen, for I had many other things to worry about and my mind, thought older, somehow molded into that of the age I currently was. The closest thing I had ever gotten to fancying someone, was when I admitted to Elizabeth to find Mr. Cardinal, aged seventeen, was rather handsome when asked about who I would hope to marry if given the choice, sending her into a fit of laughter, for I was only eight and it seemed so comic. Perhaps it was silly, but I thought the way Lieutenant Norrington had defended us earlier with Gibbs and the way he saved me from falling into sea was rather romantic, and on top of that, he was what many people would consider attractive, not older than 19, I believe.

One of the two things that changed that day, was the fact that I developed an awkward, silly, childish crush on the Lieutenant. I'd flush whenever he'd pass by, and would spend the rest of my days on the ship observing him and making sure no one noticed I was doing such a thing, for that'd have been most embarrassing. Whenever he did notice me looking, he'd send a respectful smile my way, and instead of feeling heartbroken by those (because it was very obvious he did so to be polite and nothing else) I found myself rather liking the gesture, for it'd be creepy if he did intent anything else given that I had the body of a child (and mind too, to a certain degree) and also, because the fact that he was kind enough to acknowledge my existence without actually having to when my father wasn't around, spoke greatly about the kind of man he was.

The longest we ever interacted after he saved me from falling off the ship was this one morning when most people were still asleep and I had decided to go overboard to play with my cat pet, Sage, who had been a present from mother on my sixth birthday and the only reason I had been allowed to bring aboard was because It could help get rid of the rats (or so had the sailors said). I was sitting on the floor, taking advantage of the fact that most people who could've told me off for doing such an unlady like thing were still fast asleep, and I was moving around a chord of wool and she was entertaining herself trying to take hold of it when she slipped due to the dew on the floors, sending her spinning for a meter or two; it was quite a fun thing to witness, since I knew she couldn't get hurt from that. What stopped dear Sage from keep advancing a meter or two more, were two large feet; looking up, I saw those belonged to lieutenant Norrington. Immediately, I went crimson as I got up from that very unlady-like position I was in. He paid no mind to my indecorous behaviour, instead leaning down to pick up the animal with a spark of amusement on his eyes. He held her with one hand as I walked in front of him

"I believe this little beast to be yours, Miss Swann" he announced, as he suppressed a smile. Perhaps had I been a regular child, I wouldn't have noticed that, but I was able to tell he was diverted from the situation and not at all mad about it, unlike many other gentlemen or sailors, who would have told her off in no time.

"Yes, that's my Sage. I apology, Lieutenant Norrington. I shall be more careful in the future" I said clearly as I hoped the redness from my cheeks would be leaving by then.

Doing something very good natured, he chuckled, surprising me. Almost instantly, he returned to his usual seriousness, for he was still a Lieutenant and had a reputation to maintain. Still, although he appeared serious on the surface, I could tell his words held the same amount of amusement as he was feeling.

"Indeed you and your Sage should, miss Swann"

He handed the ginger cat to me then, and along he left. Unfortunately for him, that action did nothing but remind me what a good natured person Lieutenant Norrington was.

The other thing that changed that day, was the fact that Elizabeth and I had gained a new friend abroad, and his name was William Turner. He had been the boy we saw on the sea, and apparently father had commanded my sister to look after him. He was the most kind, a very good natured individual and in that, he reminded me of my mother. Besides that, he was also very fun to be around with, and since he didn't have much option around, whenever he wasn't scrubbing floors or washing decks, he never turned down an occasion to play with Elizabeth and I. Before him, I never really found much interest on playing with people around my age, confiding my amusement to Elizabeth and my parents, but Will certainly had a way to making games interesting.

Life at Port Royal was kind to us, and I feel we deserved it. Not once did any of us fall ill, and we often received loving letters from Mrs. Cartwright, who had decided to stay in England to look after her sister. The city was small and nothing like London; warm all year around and with a magical touch about it. Elizabeth and I certainly favoured Jamaica over England, and father didn't mind that much for as long as we were happy.

My crush on the now Captain Norrington, I must say, unlike my beliefs of it dying down the minute we reached earth, grew only stronger and a bit less silly and a bit more serious. It got the point of being almost ridiculous during my early teenage years when I'd blush uncontrollably and do the silliest things to gain his attention, with no success on my part.

But not everything revolved around men. It hadn't been that way in 2017 and I had decided not to make it so in the 1720s. In Port Royal I managed to gain back many of the hobbies I had pursued during my first life, as well as continue with many others I had gained during my young years in London. Although not greatly approved by my father, I managed to convince him every so often to allow me to visit the beach, on his company or appropriate one, of course - although I simply couldn't go in for a swim, for that's not only be inappropriate but also dangerous, I contempted myself with the touch of my feet on the sand (besides, I'm not really sure I was prepared to swim at open ocean after what happened last time). I continued with my mother's passion for music, and every single day, I managed to practise with the piano, which I knew filled my father's heart with joy, for it reminded him of mama. At last, I continued to read a lot, firstly because I enjoyed it, secondly because father encouraged it, thirdy because sometimes there wasn't much to do and finally, and only a small part of it, because I wanted to be smarter, more intelligent and simply be prepared to impress James Norrington during a conversation, shall it happen to take place at any point.