Good evening/morning/whatever everyone!

First of all, I apologize, I wanted to publish earlier but well. Too exhausted and too much real life to get things done.
Merry Christmas? ^^
But now the chapter is here, and from now on I'll try to publish once a week until we'll catch up with the French version (depending on my mood and motivation I might publish faster xD)

A big thanks to the people who let me a review, I hope you'll enjoy the second chapter.

Reacting with a vivacity I'd never have expected from her, Mrs Winston catches my arm and violently pulls me towards her just when the truck was about to run over me. I fall on my back and the baby inside of me starts crying by reflex. I let go, too shocked myself to do anything. Somewhere in my head I'm blessing this natural reflex that will contribute to make this look like an accident. Who would imagine that a three years old is trying to kill herself, anyway? Mrs Winston, panicked, hugs me tight. I hate her touch, but the frantic beats of her heart allow me to get my head together. I set myself in autopilot, I don't have time to really collect my thoughts for now. Eventually, she lets me go and examinate me. I scraped my arm when I fell. She reprimands me, then tries to carry me home. I don't let her do, and move in every direction until she lets me go back to the ground and walk on my too short legs. This time I can't escape her hand, that holds mine gently but firmly.

Once we're home, she disinfects my wound and puts a band-aid without me saying against it. Which toddler would? She congratulates me for my bravery, because I didn't cry. Then she repeats me a last time to be careful before installing me in front of the TV to watch cartoons. After ten minutes of a series "for little good girls" full of candy pink, dolls and old men that are certainly paedophiles I'm sure of one thing: Mrs Winston is an evil being fully dedicated to make this… second life hell. Apparently preventing me from dying wasn't enough for her. After fifteen minutes she brings me a snack formed of big glass of milk and a banana. I eat everything, then tell her I don't want to watch the TV any more. She offers to read me a story, but I ask her if I can draw instead. She brings me paper sheets and coloured pencils, and I spend two good hours trying to control my right hand, than the left one, and find out that even if I feel more comfortable with the right one, there's no huge difference. Perfect! I can become ambidextrous if I train! I shake my head at that thought. As if I'd live for long… But instantly, another though, chilling, imposes itself on me: If I didn't die the first time, what grants me the second attempt will work?

Mrs Winston isn't far, so I push this thought back with the others, in a corner of my head. I'll think about it later, when I'll be alone. My parents aren't coming tonight, and at some point I can finally lie down in my bed, exhausted from fighting the governess to be allowed to wash myself alone. She insisted on verifying, and I really hope what she saw convinced her that I could manage alone in the future. I try really hard to forget what I felt, naked while she was examining me and rather focus on the most important, respectively my unpleasant and unplanned resurrection.

For what I know, no matter how absurd this sentence is, I was born on the very same day I killed myself. I don't remember anything after the moment I jumped from the roof. I was never interested in all those reincarnation stories, never was fascinated by eternal life. I know vaguely the karma stories, but I doubt it makes sense in my case. I don't see how my deeds, in my previous life, could have allowed me to reincarnate richer and here, for instance. I don't know if what happened to me is a first, but in any case it's in the best case extremely rare. I wasn't really interested in the topic, that's right, but the world would know if people would remember living another life before in full detail. Oh, I'll have to check by the way if the life I remember really existed. I don't really doubt it, but a quick internet search would allow me to be certain. In any case, I didn't have such memories in my first life, and I never met anyone in my case. So I guess I have good odds to succeed to die at my next attempt, as long as I plan it a bit instead of panicking as I did earlier. Unless I'm special and can't die at all. In that case I could work on fry my brain until I can't have a conscious thought any more. Well, if I was resuscitating again, I'd maybe have three quiet years before having to remember again, that's already something.

For now anyway, I don't want to tempt fate at the risk to resurrect again and lose years before being able to make my researches. Although if after some time I don't find anything then I could as well try again. I won't bear the memories and the nightmares for a lifetime. I'm strong enough to do it all over again. First thing to do is checking if my memories are real. Then, do research on reincarnation and resurrection myths and look for testimonies, see if someone already lived (and re-lived) similar things. I don't plan on talking about all of this to anyone: if no one was trustworthy in my first life, how could I confide in anyone now, especially with this body and this background?

« Mes parents m'ont appelée Aurore, ils auraient dû m'appeler Crépuscule. L'aurore, c'est le début de quelque chose de brillant, c'est l'éblouissant recommencement du jour. Alors que moi, je ne fais que m'éteindre, et je n'aspire à rien. Et même si dans la nuit les étoiles brillent, elles sont froides et figées, comme ce qu'il reste de moi. Elles finiront dans une explosion, elle disparaîtront. Comme moi. Oh, ces lueurs si lointaines qu'il me faudrait encore saisir, si ce sont les espoirs que les gens louent ! Mais l'espoir est toxique, l'espoir est l'Ennemi. Je suis Crépuscule. La lumière qui disparaît, le silence qui s'installe. La promesse d'une nuit sombre, et le repos, enfin »

-Extract from a notebook belonging to Aurore Berger, written three months before her death-

*"My parents called me Aurore (Dawn), they should have called me Crépuscule (Dusk). Dawn, it's the beginning of something bright, it's the blinding new start of the day. While me, I'm just shutting down, and I'm not striving at anything. And even if the stars are shinning in the night, they're cold and frozen, like what's left of me. They will end up in an explosion, they'll dissapear. Like me. Oh, those distant glimmers that I should still be catching, if they're those hopes that people are worshiping! But hope is toxic, hope is the Foe. I am Dusk. The light fading away, the silence settling in. The promise of a dark night, and sleep, eventually."

So, that's it!
Let me know if you'd find another option better for the translation. As my character was born French in her first life, you'll see some things in her original language, sometimes. I'll always translate it, but for a better immersion I want to let it in French in the text, the way I did for the English parts in the French version.

Hope you enjoyed, and that you'll let me things to read xD

Take care,

A giant blueberry that is able to fly!