Rebirth
A sharp pain in his rear brings Alexander back to full consciousness. Compulsively, he opens his mouth, takes a deep breath and yells in pain.
“Waaaaah!”
But instead of the shout he intends, he hears a scream; in shock, Alexander blinks as memory returns to him.
Distantly, he recognises that the scream, which sounds like it could only have come from a baby, is his.
That was right; he was a baby now, wasn’t he?
A flash of memory passes behind his eyes, a memory of his body and head being squeezed through a—he crushes the memory ruthlessly. There are some things man is not meant to remember, and that is certainly one of them.
Alexander looks up at the face of a stunning woman with silver hair as he feels powerful arms firmly holding him. She looks down at him, smiling knowingly, and he can’t help but notice that her eyes too are silver.
‘Mother?’ He briefly thinks to himself but then decides against it. Unless women in this place can stand immediately after giving birth, the person before him cannot be his mother. A nurse then? He shakes his head, dismissing the thought.
Instead, he tries to inspect the room, his eyes sweeping back and forth, trying to make sense of what is happening to him. He searches for something to anchor his focus, allowing him to better ignore the horror he has endured.
The room that Alexander sees is an archaic one; he observes the rough stone walls, an arched but permanently open window with no glass in sight, and a massive, towered bed. Some of these things, he knows, are more suited to the room of a medieval noble than to the modern era, suggesting that the world he now inhabits is centuries behind Earth.
Alexander attempts to bite his inner cheek as he concludes that the room of a medieval noble is likely exactly where he is right now.
Inhaling deeply, Alexander quickly recognises that this must be a room of a castle, a fortress, or perhaps a noble's manor. He had visited several castles, fortresses, and noble manors in the virtual worlds available on the internet, as well as a few of the remaining ruins in the physical world.
However, instead of being a ruin, it is clearly in active use and appears to be in excellent repair.
It now seems certain that he is no longer on Earth, for Alexander cannot imagine that even a masquerade situation on Earth would have such a primitive-looking room.
The occupants of the room are just as strange to him.
He sees what can only be half a dozen maids, each and every one of them stunning enough to feature in a virtual advert.
Alexander frowns in confusion. The frills on their dresses are immediately recognisable as those of French maids. If he were in a different world, why would there be such identifiable outfits?
He briefly watches them and instantly realises that they are cleaning up after his birth, cleaning up wet and dirty sheets, rearranging furniture and removing other unmentionable things. The beautiful silver-haired woman who is holding him is also, he now notices, dressed as a maid and not a nurse.
An equal number of strangely dressed older men stand alongside the maids; given the presence of the maids in the room, it seems likely that these men might be some type of butler.
But why then were the butlers standing around doing nothing while the maids did all of the work? Actually, they seemed to be watching the maids with open disdain instead of helping them.
‘What is going on?’ Alexander thinks to himself in confusion.
Next, he looks at what he believes might be some sort of priest, although this priest was dressed more like he was from some sort of battle-fantasy anime than a real-world clergyman. He shines with a strange type of light; upon reflection, perhaps what Alexander is seeing is his first encounter with so-called divine magic?
Even so, the priest also seems to radiate disapproval at anything remotely female in the room; to Alexander's dismay, this clearly included him.
Close by, Alexander sees a supremely handsome young man; considering the apparently medieval setting, he is wearing what Alexander supposes are the finest clothes that are available, complete with encrusted jewels and frills.
Alexander is certain that he can only be some sort of noble. Worryingly, Alexander notices that the nobleman is looking at him with a strange and yet inscrutable look in his eyes.
‘My new father perhaps? But what is that look in his eyes?’
Before Alexander could inspect him further, the nobleman seemed to briefly look away, and when their eyes met again, the man was looking at Alexander with a gut-wrenching look of disgust.
Alexander blinks in confusion at that. Why would he be disgusted? Did he want a son so badly that having a daughter is revolting? Alexander figuratively shakes his head and moves on, continuing his inspection of the rooms' occupants.
Next, he looks at a man in what he can only describe as Gandalf cosplay; in his right hand is a glowing staff, and on his head is an inappropriately cliché pointy hat. Considering what Alexander had learned in the womb, perhaps the figure is some sort of wizard or mage?
The mage stands to the side, seeming to look over the woman in the bed below; worryingly, he is holding his glowing staff in a position just adjacent to the woman’s head. Faint runic circles appear to spark off the staff's tip.
But that woman is the one who truly catches Alexander's attention, because she is clearly his new mother.
Alexander admits that his mother is a supernaturally beautiful woman, surpassing any woman he has seen before, whether on the internet, on Earth, or during his currently brief stay in this place. Perhaps that is not a surprise given the apparent existence of magic, as surely there would be all sorts of benefits to it being prevalent in a world.
But nonetheless, she is stunning in a way that he cannot properly describe. On Earth it is possible to be made superhumanly attractive thanks to the widespread network of gene clinics; between inherited gene treatments and the bio-sculpting that is widely available, all but the poorest of people can look exactly how they wish. As such, true ugliness is a thing of the past for essentially the entire population.
However, her beauty is truly exceptional.
Even now, while bedridden, she is finely dressed and ethereal.
She is wearing an almost cliché jewel-studded white ensemble that shines with what must be magical runes. Those runes have clearly been stitched directly into the dress, and instead of ruining the elegant dress, they instead form elegant, embroidered patterns not out of place in the most expensive of clothes Alexander can remember.
On her brow is a silver tiara; embedded within it, he sees a stunning array of gems. As he looks closer, he can see that the tiara and gems also shine with an almost blinding magic.
He looks closer at her and immediately notices that the bright energy that he is now certain is mana lingers just beneath her skin, enhancing her already amazing features.
Shining golden hair cascades down her shoulders, and perfect alabaster skin glows with an impossible brightness. Her figure is so impossibly full that not even the most expensive gene treatments could explain it, and her features are so sharp that he can only question the integrity of her bone structure… yet for all her stunning beauty, something about it seems strangely hollow.
What catches his attention, the thing he has been staring at since he saw her, are her eyes. It is not their amazing gem-like quality that he is paying the most attention to, although he is forced to admit that they finish the look of an otherworldly Scandinavian beauty, as they appear to be an outrageously stunning sapphire blue.
What truly captures his attention is the deadness in her eyes. Those eyes that should be shining with life instead emit an all-encompassing darkness, an abyss that has been drawing him in since he caught sight of them.
He tries to grimace as he takes in her face but finds that his muscle control is not properly there.
Her face and eyes are completely blank; not a single spark of life can be found in either of them. There are no signs of the struggle she has undergone; there is no pride, no happiness or relief. Despite all evidence to the contrary, this, Alexander reflects, does not look like a woman who has just given birth.
Alexander looks at his new mother; he sees the slow rise and fall of her shoulders and chest, proving beyond doubt that she is still breathing. As he watches on, she blinks her eyes and stares at what feels like right at him, but he does not see any coherent thoughts in those eyes, only a disturbing stillness not suited to the living.
Taking it all in, he cannot help but conclude that he is looking at a living corpse.
Carefully he focuses on his new mother; instinctively he knows that he must avoid using the [Observe] ability he discovered in the womb; with so many witnesses around, it would be catastrophic if it should activate and they noticed.
As he looks closer, Alexander could swear that he could see a type of mana that does not belong within her; he sees that it is concentrated around his mother's head. The more he inspects her, the more his instincts tell him that the mana he is seeing is not the same as hers. Even more worryingly, the mana streams within her increasingly seem to conflict with each other; the mana that matches his mother’s seems to batter and attack the other invading mana streams.
Grimly, he wonders to himself if the situation could explain the deadness in her eyes or the strange hollowness in her features. And if that is the case, what could it mean for his future? His mind instantly goes to his experience just prior to his death. Is it possible that his mother is being controlled as he was back then?
Before he could think on the matter further, he heard a voice from the man dressed as a priest.
“Once again the heir to the throne is a daughter; this is a disappointing outcome, Prince Consort.” the priest says to the nobleman derisively.
‘Prince Consort, is it? So, my mother is the current heir to the throne, and I am her daughter then?’ Alexander frowns: the priest is speaking a strange and archaic version of English. He forces himself to concentrate, trying to understand what is being said. But without his cyberware, he is certain that he will miss much of the context.
“I can try again. We will require your help next time as well; Elizabeth’s tendency to miscarry is troubling.” the nobleman responds.
‘Elizabeth? Is that my new mother's name? And what is this about miscarrying?’ Alexander looks between the two interlocutors before looking again at his mother, an apparent princess.
'Considering that dead look in her eyes, I can’t say I’m surprised by miscarriages. What have you bastards been doing to her?’ Alexander thinks derisively.
“Hmph. Perhaps so. This thing will need a name. Would you like to register it now? Or would you prefer that His Majesty name it instead?” the priest continues, his dismissive tone gaining a malicious twinge.
‘Thing? It?!’ Alexander thinks in disbelief, 'No, really, what is wrong with you people?’
Had Alexander not been looking, he would not have seen the strange look of disgusted malice that appeared on his apparent father's face. The man turned those disgusted eyes once again to Alexander and named him.
“Mary. Mary of Midgard.” said the man masquerading as Alexander's father.
Alexander rushes to conceal a flinch as mana begins to swirl around him; he watches grimly as the mana that had seemingly appeared out of the ether starts to slowly seep into him her. He She blinks as he she realises that something about his her inner monologue had immediately shifted, still concealing his her mounting panic as he she realises that something about him herself has irrevocably changed.
Briefly, Alexander Mary tries to deny it and struggles terribly in doing so. He She is finding it increasingly difficult to think of himself/herself as Alexander; only by thinking in the past tense can Alexander Mary seem to think about who he she once was. Despite her efforts, Alexander Mary struggles to experience sadness at this new violation of her psyche, but even that seems to elude him her.
‘… I suppose I will have to get used to being a girl from now on.’ Alexander Mary reluctantly concedes, before a malicious thought crosses his her mind.
‘But I promise you this, if I ever meet you again, Leslie… Eldritch powers be damned, you’ll regret it.’ Alexander Mary swears to his herself.
“Princess Mary, then," the priest says with a sneer. "Hopefully she proves less troublesome than her mother was.”
“Should the Goddess will it," his her father replies sardonically. “However, the line of Midgard has always been a magically strong one. Being descended from a hero is the reason why this kingdom exists after all.”
‘I’m sorry, what? A Goddess? Considering the tone being used… how?!’ Alexander Mary thinks to him herself in disbelief.
“Then you should ensure that Mary is raised properly, instead of indulging her as Elizabeth was. Being a descendant of a Sacred Hero is no excuse. Midgard would have been damned thrice over if the reformers had gained her hand.” the priest replies in a sharp, rebuking tone.
‘Reformers?’
“She’ll be raised entirely by controlled maids. Nothing will be left to chance.” Her father explains, gesturing to the maids who have continued to clean the room as the conversation progresses.
When attention shifts towards them, they all simultaneously halt their work, leaving sheets half folded and surfaces half cleaned. Mary watches on grimly as she notices the swirl of energy around their heads; it surprises her less than it should have when, with disturbing and robotic grace, the maids stand up straight, turning towards the prince and priest.
“We are honoured to raise the princess to Your Highness's specifications.” The maids say these words with seemingly practiced synchronicity, dropping into a perfect curtsy.
However, as Mary looks closer, she notices something else about these maids. Unlike her mother, whom she has likened to a living corpse, these women still have light in their eyes, and considering the context, Mary finds herself worried at the eagerness she sees hidden beneath their submissive facade.
‘Are you that eager to groom me into a compliant princess?' she thinks to herself in disgust.
“Is this your plan? Common women cannot be trusted with such matters." The priest lets out a scoff of disdain. “Better to entrust it to the butlers.” He gestures to the half dozen men present in the room.
“Elizabeth's ongoing miscarriages stem from her poor health, which is ultimately a consequence of her depression. Human enchantment cannot efficiently affect mental states; as such, it is better that controlled maids with a firm educational plan raise Mary instead of independent butlers who might have ideas of their own.” interrupts the mage who had been standing silently until now.
“I have utmost faith in the crowns' butlers, of course. But the maids should be capable of training Mary into a more appropriate form.” the prince responds with finality.
“Hmph, the Church won’t open our coffers for a master-tier suppression again. If Mary gains ideas above her station, as Elizabeth did, then it will be the Royal Family that will have to pay for the suppression instead.” the priest finishes, dramatically gesturing towards the mage that had been standing to the side.
‘Master-tier suppression… Controlled maids. This type of magic is exactly what it sounds like, isn’t it?’ Alexander Mary thinks to herself in despair. Upon closer inspection, the apparent mage is the most luminous person in the room; even the possibly holy priest falls far short of him. In fact, the only person in the room who can almost match his luminosity is Mary's mother.
And yet the mage's energy is disturbingly similar to what is currently battling her mother's own mana. Mary tries to swallow her fear, finally realising that this man has apparently enchanted her mother, a princess, and everyone is seemingly fine with it.
“There will be no need for suppression this time, I am sure of it.” The prince responds with a smile, “I trust the maids will do their jobs to the best of their ability.”
“See that they do.” responds the priest. He gestures to the mage before he begins to rudely stomp out of the room, the mage following him.
“Get her to her room. You know what to do.” commands the prince, looking directly at the maid holding Mary; he makes a faint gesture at the door.
The maids all bow to the prince consort, who is her father, and they begin to walk towards the door. With all the emotional ups and downs done with, Mary feels her eyes getting heavier. Mary had been so distracted by the goings-on that she had failed to feel the eyes on her and the look of consideration that had followed.