A/N: A Christmas present for you all! Sorry it took so long but I had exams and was then swamped with procrastinated projects and assignments. This is slightly longer than the previous ones. I'll post the next chapter in a couple of weeks.

NOTE: Those who have not read Chapter 2 in the last 72 hours, I have changed a very important detail. Daniella Callista Greenwood's BIRTH DATE IS 9TH SEPTEMBER, 1988 and EMANCIPATION DATE IS 3RD OCTOBER, 2002. Previously, I had miscalculated and put the years as 1989 and 2003, respectively. Please check once.

Disclaimer: Original characters belong to Stephanie Meyer. Other characters are mine.

Book I: Echoes of Infinity

The person in the photograph… was me.

Chapter 3: Small Steps… Or Giant Leaps?

Unknown Date, Unknown Place (continued…)

To say I was astonished was an understatement at the best.

Daniella Callista Greenwood looked exactly like me. I felt a strange mix of disbelief and dread—a visceral reaction to seeing my face staring back at me from someone else's photograph. And by 'exactly', I mean the very same eyes, same nose, same hair, same facial structure—everything was identical.

She looked exactly as I do. In the present tense. I was fourteen now, and, by her face, I would guess that she too was around fourteen or fifteen when the photograph was taken.

The photograph was identical to the one I had taken of myself for my ID card earlier this term. It wasn't just similar; it was a carbon copy, down to the background colour and the faint shadow on the left-hand side. The same expression, the same hairstyle, the same smile, the same look in the eyes, the same dimples, the same tilt of the head—even the patterns of the tie and the collar were identical! The same bloody background colour, as well!

A chill ran down my spine. My thoughts slowed down momentarily. How was it that this unknown girl, Daniella Greenwood, was my doppelgänger in every sense of the word, right down to the blackheads on my nose?

All of a sudden, I realised that the chill I felt was growing ever more pronounced. I shifted my thoughts from the mystery of Daniella to my current predicament in the woods. For now, I added in my thoughts.

I closed my eyes to focus on the now and what I should do about it. Until now, the shock of finding myself in a forest and the consequent mild adrenaline rush at discovering my regaining mobility, combined with my haste to find a way out, had saved me from feeling the cold which was now seeping through my bones.

I was still wearing the clothes I had worn to bed the night before – just a thin cotton half-sleeved t-shirt and a loose, cotton capris. It was still around thirty-two degrees Celsius in Kolkata in October, so we had no requirement for woollens yet. The incessant rain (which, for your information, still hadn't ceased) had drenched my current attire. Not to mention that I was covered from head to toe in mud.

The cold was acute. I had never experienced such a low temperature. The lowest I had ever faced was eleven degrees, that too bundled up in multiple layers of woollens. But, though I was unsure whether it was due to the rain, I could tell the temperature was well below seven degrees. There was a high chance of hypothermia if I stayed here like this for too long. But did I have any option?

Yes, a voice whispered in my mind. Yes, you do. All you need to do is think logically.

Stop wisecracking, I snapped back. What would you do if you were actually out here instead of inside there?

The same thing you would do, of course. The voice had a breezy quality, just like Sybill Trelawney. I am, after all, your subconscious.

Wonderful, I bit back. Now I'm speaking to a voice in my mind. First sign of going insane.

Great, it said sarcastically. If you're done bemoaning your loss of sanity, let's get back to the more urgent issue at hand, shall we?

Fine, I relented. The voice was right. All I had to do was think logically.

So you admit it, it crowed victoriously.

Shut up, smart-arse. Get over it, I said, irritated, and then returned to my quandary.

With the crisis growing, my first order of business was to navigate this forest and get out of here. But that required me to stand up and walk—two things which I was extremely doubtful and afraid of attempting. What if I fell? Crawling was the other option, though it was undoubtedly stupid. Not only would it limit my visibility range, but it was also practically impossible and completely foolish to navigate an unfamiliar landscape (both flora and terrain) on all fours.

I rechecked the bag and confirmed there was only one set of clothes in it. I tested the texture and found it was some sort of thick terry cot. I was more than inclined to wear them right now, except for my OCD-brain screaming that I was covered in mud and would ruin those fresh clothes.

Ah, damn it all to hell! Ultimately it really came down to two things—either change my attire, stand up, walk and try to find the way out, or be scared, do nothing and die, a prospect that didn't sound too appealing right now.

When you're alone and in danger, with nobody or anything else to consider, and you have a will to survive, self-preservation comes naturally. You fall into a focused mindset where you'd do whatever it takes to live (except morally questionable activities, of course). You become much more willing to take risks that you probably wouldn't take in normal circumstances. And that is exactly what happened to me.

- EoI -

I came to a decision—not a really difficult one, when you come to think about it, but a profound one nevertheless.

The best way to get out of this forest, find where I am, and how I came to be here (I had quite a few interesting speculations) was to walk. And so, I steeled myself, took a few deep breaths and tried to summon every ounce of courage I had.

The cold was worsening by the minute. It crept into my skin like icy fingers, making my muscles feel stiff and uncooperative. I doubted even the terry cot fabric would be enough to fight it, but maybe, just maybe, the insulation would help a little.

Now, I faced another problem, which might seem ridiculous to anyone watching. But I assure you, it was not.

Oh my God... A crash course on "Steps to Put on a T-Shirt" is so what I need right now. Note to self: Invent a step-by-step t-shirt manual for future emergencies, I thought wryly.

"Okay," I told myself, taking deep breaths. "Calm down. You can do this. It's just basic instincts, not some twisted Physics numerical on Work, Power and Energy."

I kept the passport back in the bag and pulled out the t-shirt and slacks. The pale blue long-sleeved tee felt soft against my fingers, though it wasn't much to look at. The dark slacks weren't much better. Practical but utterly uninspiring. Not that they needed to be anything else at that moment. I was still kneeling on the damp forest floor, and though the rain had tempered itself to a drizzle momentarily, the chill was seeping into my knees.

I set the slacks aside for later. I held up the t-shirt, staring at it as though it were a complex puzzle. The sleeves dangled limply, and the neck hole seemed suspiciously small, like it was mocking me.

I frowned at it, my eyebrows furrowing, as I thought back to how I had seen my father putting on his shirts—scrunch it up, arms first, then the head. Sounds simple, right? Well, I was about to find out.

I scrunched the t-shirt into a bundle, holding it by its neck and hooking my thumbs under the bottom hem. One arm went in first, then the other. So far, so good. My arms emerged from the sleeves, waving around like I was signalling for help.

Now, the tricky part: getting my head through the neck hole.

I tugged at the fabric, trying to widen the opening. It stretched slightly but felt annoyingly tight. For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if I should try a different approach. But no, I was already halfway in.

"Here goes nothing," I muttered, leaning forward.

I pressed my face into the opening, the fabric bunching against my cheeks in the dark. The elastic edge clung stubbornly, snagging on my forehead as I pushed. My breath came faster, a mix of determination and frustration. "Come on, come on," I whispered.

Forget survival skills—I'm officially a champion in competitive shirt wrestling, I thought exasperatedly.

With a final shove, the fabric slid over my head, tugging awkwardly at my ears as it went. My hair fell into my eyes, and I blinked at the sudden brightness.

"Yes!" I gasped, triumphant, though my voice echoed strangely in the quiet forest. I adjusted the neckline and the shoulders, tugging it into place until it sat properly on my shoulders. The rest of the t-shirt fell naturally, its soft warmth wrapping around me like a second skin. Though it was sopping wet by this time—blame the forest or my sweaty battle with the shirt, pun fully intended.

It wasn't perfect—the sleeves were a bit too short, and the fit wasn't quite right—but it was a vast improvement over being cold and miserable. At least the shirt had decided to join me in embracing the great outdoors…literally.

I paused for a moment, catching my breath. A small smile crept onto my face. I'd done it. No outside help, no instructions, just sheer determination.

"One small step for humanity," I smiled and said softly, "One giant leap for me putting on a shirt. Mission accomplished." I did an internal fist pump.

The slacks lay on the ground, waiting for their turn. I sighed, already bracing for another round of acrobatics. But for now, I let myself savour the victory.

I shifted my weight, bringing my legs out from under my body and stretching them out in front of me, and leaned back on my hands for a moment. I closed my eyes for a minute and breathed deeply to gather my energy again

I grabbed the slacks next, hoping they'd be a little easier. Spoiler alert: They weren't.

- EoI -

The slacks were deceptively simple-looking, as though mocking my earlier triumph. At least they weren't soaking wet.

I scrunched them up the way I'd seen people do in movies, holding the waistband open and sliding my legs through one at a time. Left leg first, then right—because apparently, that's how I'd decided this particular dance went.

The first part wasn't too bad. I bent my legs slightly, and the slacks made it up to my knees without much complaint. Okay… So there was no way I could pull them on completely while sitting. Than meant…damn.

That meant that I had to stand up. I reiterate, that meant I had to stand up—the most daunting challenge of all. It wasn't just standing; it was defying the limitations I'd always lived with.

I glanced at my legs, bent awkwardly in front of me, then at the tree nearby.

"Okay," I muttered, brushing dirt off my hands, "What's the first rule of standing up? You need, uh… Leverage? Stability? Gravity to stop being a jerk?"

I pressed my palms flat into the ground and gave a little push, testing my weight. My arms trembled immediately at the sudden load. I flopped back down.

"Well, that was anti-climactic," I sighed. "Alright, Debashree. Think. How do toddlers do it? You've seen enough YouTube videos of adorable kids trying to walk; this can't be that different… Right? Right?"

I turned my body towards the side and braced my palms again, this time trying to use my bent legs for a little extra push. Nothing. My bare feet just slid out from under me like they'd forgotten the entire concept of friction.

"Okay. New strategy," I muttered crossly.

I shuffled forward a bit, pulling my legs closer until my feet were planted flat on the ground. That felt… sturdier, maybe?

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Alright. Three, two, one—"

I pushed up with my legs and arms together this time, trying to heave my body upward. I rose a couple of inches off the ground before gravity yanked me back down, leaving me sprawled and annoyed.

"Great," I muttered. "Gravity is officially my number one nemesis. The earth and I are getting way too close for comfort."

My eyes landed on the tree again, its rough bark looking like the ultimate stabilising force. It wasn't elegant, but it might just work.

I scooted over, careful not to knock myself off balance, and leaned sideways to grip the trunk. It was rough and solid—exactly what I needed.

Using the tree as a stabiliser, I planted my feet again and pushed with all my might. My knees wobbled like jelly, not used to such concentration of weight, and I had to pause halfway, clinging desperately to the bark. My arms screamed in protest, and my legs weren't much happier, but I was upright.

Well, sort of. I was crouched awkwardly, like a cricket trying to decide if it wanted to jump or stay put. Ha ha.

"Alright, next step," I panted, squinting at the ground. "Straighten up. Should be easy enough."

Spoiler: It wasn't.

I tried shifting my weight, pressing harder against the tree as I slowly unbent my knees. It felt like trying to unfold a particularly stubborn lawn chair. My legs wanted to give up. I kept repeating my old mantra in my mind—I can do it, I will do it, I have to do it. My thighs burned, and my ankles wobbled, but inch by inch, I finally managed to straighten out.

I was standing.

I. Was. Standing.

For the first time, entirely on my own, no one had helped me up. No hands holding me from the back, no heavy final pull to straighten me after my initiation. Just me, my willpower and a very patient tree.

The realisation hit me like a tidal wave. My chest swelled with pride, and for a moment, I forgot all about the cold, the dampness, the aching muscles. I was standing.

I let out a shaky laugh, half disbelieving. "Well, how about that? Take that, gravity."

Of course, I wasn't entirely done. The slacks still needed to be pulled all the way up, but at this point, I felt like I could wrestle a bear if I had to.

I leaned heavily on the tree with one arm, steadying myself as I wrestled with the waistband, tugging it over my hips in awkward, jerking motions. It wasn't exactly graceful—there was a lot of wobbling and adjusting and a few muttered utterly unladylike curses—but eventually, they settled into place.

I stepped back from the tree carefully, testing my balance. My legs felt like they might give out at any second, but I managed to stay upright.

"Well," I said, grinning to myself, "that only took all the coordination of a circus act. Or a magic show. Or…whatever."

I knew I still had to manage a way out of this greenhouse. Ever thought of calling a forest a greenhouse? Technically, it makes sense, I contemplated. Technically. There's they…uh…canopy for the roof, sunlight peeking through, the soil for absorption and radiation…

I shook my head. Now was definitely not the time for biological contemplations. I still had to find a civilisation and figure out my location.

For now, though, I leaned back against my new friend (the tree) and let myself bask in my second hard-won victory of the day.

A/N: So, readers... How was it? Was it interesting or lacked enough content? Did it live up to your expectations? Do you want more? Please review and let me know, because I will only be able to improve my writing and satisfy you all if I get feedback.

But... I need a minimum of TEN REVIEWS before I agree to post the next chapter. Ten reviews is not too much to ask, is it? Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on the top?

Love y'all!
~Supernatural159