STORY SUMMARY: Being reborn into a Japanese story was bad enough. Being reborn as the twin sister to a certain notorious mass murderer, was another thing entirely. Told in a series of drabbles. Warning: Mild incest themes.
Rating: T (Subject to change)
GENERAL DISCLAIMER: It's not my sandbox. I'm just playing in it.
AN: A BIG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED!
Destroy She Said
Chapter Four : Adaption
It was an easy decision to play dumb. I didn't need my new parents getting suspicious if their oddball daughter didn't participate in the many baby rituals expected of the typical four month old. Cluelessness was simple enough. That was pretty much my go-to response for everything these days. Next was the giggling—gurgling—waking up at the butt-crack of dawn to scream my face off—and drooling. Lots of drooling.
Then repeat.
It became a routine, and I adapted well. Admittedly, I was following my brother's lead. I'd never spent too much time around children my own age so while my act wasn't perfect, it was a hell of a lot more believable then it would've been had I not a prime example of baby etiquette sleeping three feet away.
oooo
I got over my reservations towards breastfeeding fairly quickly. It would have caused problems otherwise. I mainly just zoned out—consuming far less than my twin which probably attributed to our growing difference in size. It was a welcome relief when our maternal benefactor (mother-dearest) began integrating other foods into our diet. Never had I been so happy to eat a crushed pear.
oooo
Despite the language barrier, I picked up on names and small words like nobody's business. Predominantly, because when I wasn't nodding off or trying my darnedest to impersonate a guppy, I observed everything. I scrutinized the conversations between my parents and the visitors that came by the house. I made mental charts and categories, dialoging the most minute details. Which words were most often associated with which people and vise-versa. It was a slow, grueling process. Thankfully, I'd been pretty good at memorization in my last life and the talent seemed to have had carried over to this one. Though, because I'd previously never had much exposure to the Japanese dialect, I often became frustrated with just how dissimilar the speech patterns were compared to English.
Nevertheless, I wasn't giving up. Any free time, in which I wasn't being watched, I practiced. Sounding out my vowels and doing finger exercises in the hope of improving my dexterity. And because I had come to discover that an infant's internal clock ran about four times slower than the average adult, I had a lot of free time. So it's a good thing I'd gotten a hobby—I'm sure boredom would have eaten away my brain if hadn't.
oooo
My vision cleared up around the second month. It was nothing spectacular yet but still leaps and bounds better than the hazard of blotches I'd been dealing with before. I used this newly honed skill to spy on my family. Light, as my twin had been aptly named, was a beautiful child. And because I was his genetic duplicate, (mostly) I figured we had that in common. It was hard to say without a mirror. Light possessed a small, round face, with milky skin and wide expressive eyes. They'd been darkening for weeks and were now a lovely shade of amber. He also had the most adorable tuff of brown hair sprouting out from the center of his temple. As my fingers investigated my head, I realized I had a tuff of my own. For whatever reason, this made me happy.
oooo
Light and I got along swimmingly. We'd often roll around on the tatami mats, tugging on each other's clothes and feet. In the beginning, I was mostly just humoring him. But I eventually came to enjoy our time together. Sachiko, my new mother—not fake (because she did go through the trouble of birthing me—and I give respect where it's due) had pillows crammed all over the place for that exact purpose. Apparently, she got a kick out of watching her children wrestle. Light usually dominated but I didn't mind the rough-housing. Even when he decided gumming on my cheek was a good idea.
oooo
I still mourned sometimes. For the life I'd left behind and the people in it. But it was only at night, after I was sure the household was asleep, that I allowed a few mutinous tears to spill out. Besides then, I no longer cried. Sure, on occasion I screamed and ranted; (as was part of my job description) once in a while even throwing an obligatory tantrum to keep up the charade—but my parents never saw me weep. My tears were precious; and pitifully the only thing I had left that was entirely my own.
oooo
I don't know whether it was because of our bizarre connection or if Light was just tremendously perceptive—but sometimes in the dead of night, while I was in the midst of throwing myself a pity party; he'd stretch a tiny fist out through his cradle bars, grasping for me. Times like those I wished I was grown enough to reach back.
AN: I know this seems like a filler chapter, but bear with me. There will (probably) be a time skip soon. No promises. I take things at my own pace. Anyway, let me know what you think!