Decaying Bluebells

Arc I - Introduction

No snappy quotes in this chapter. Sorry darlings. Maybe later though.

Summary: The Butterfly Effect dictates that the smallest pebble dropped into the ocean would create the greatest of tidal waves. How much change could one new life make, if added to a world it was never meant to be in? Self-Insert. OC.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wait. I own this book that I bought off of Amazon. It is a wonderful book. I forget what it's called but it is wonderful. I think.

Warning: Nothing for this chapter. Character death, I suppose.

Beta: Kalafina94

Beta: silverseed

Edit: 1/1/2018

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Nao.

That was the name I was given in this world. The name that I had been called, the name I had responded to, the name I had worn for many years now.

It was as familiar to me as my old name was.

Though for the life of me I could no longer remember my old name. Come to think of it, I could scarcely remember anything else of the old me. In the beginning I could remember it with such clarity it pained me to be in that new, strange world. But now, I am afraid that me has long ago been forced to fade away with the other ghosts of my past.

The old me was—is—no longer needed and as such, she had left.

The new me, the current me, is the speaker of this story.

I had heard of others that have been put in my situation, vaguely recalling the stories and adventures they told. The hardships and scars they were forced to face; but, I had yet to meet another one in that world (in my world).

Perhaps I had missed them.

Perhaps I was merely alone in that fashion.

It mattered not, though, the rumors of others. Nothing could be changed or done with mere thoughts and speculations.

Something I had learned many times over in that (my) life.

I will spare you the horror of my birth into that world, as I had chosen to repress the memories of helplessness and fear.

I will spare you the first few months of my struggle with my frail, premature body in the hospital, where I was probed and poked out by creatures in white.

I will spare you the first two years of my life where I struggled with a rapidly decaying illness and miraculously recovered.

Instead, I will start with the day I was first brought home from that dreary place they dare refer to as a hospital.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Snuggled in the warm blankets Momma had brought me, I was carefully carried in by Papa. My home—as they insisted I refer to it as—was large and strangely styled. I had never seen anything like it. I recalled vaguely there were whispers that referred to it as a compound or an estate.

Inside there were many people gathered, all of whom still looked so strange to me. There were a group of large people to my left, a group of dark haired people to my right and in the middle was an arrangement between blonde and orange.