1 - Spider’s Thread
I stare at the spotty green mould growing in the corner of the room. The smell of the damp and rotting wood is overwhelming. Unbearable.
"Ah." A sigh slips from my mouth.
There's no doubt about it. I've been reincarnated. A laugh chokes its way up my parched throat. God, when will you stop fucking up my life? Just when I'm finally happy, finally successful, you drag me down to this hell again.
I raise a skeletal hand above me: young, malnourished, dirty, most likely abandoned. Again. If only I hadn't saved that damned kid. Phantom pain rips through my limbs, and I'm back underneath the tires. The bitter taste of iron seems to burst in my mouth, and red splashes my vision. Red concrete, red shirt, red liquid pooling underneath me.
I groan and roll onto my side. Shit. It's already going badly. I sit up slowly, my weak limbs struggle to support me, but I make them work. The room is empty of any furniture, and the only window is boarded up with bleached wooden slats. It's the size of an average office room, and there's only one door leading in or out.
Slumping down I take a deep breath of stale air. If it had been a couple of years ago, when I was still living off the favour of Jacques I might've shrugged it all off. It wasn't much different back then. But now? Now?
A pitiful mewl of a roar tears from my throat. God, how could you make me go through all of this again? How could you make me crawl one inch at a time up my spider thread again? Had I not suffered enough? Starvation, poverty, injury, humiliation, and when I finally, finally get to the top, you kick me down again because I tried to save some kid I didn't know.
Shouldn't I have been rewarded for my good deed? Even if it was the only good deed I ever accomplished.
My lips twitch upwards. Damn you God. You can't stop me from rising up again. I'll drag myself up with my barehands. And when I'm up there God, I'll laugh. I'll laugh at all your pointless antics and futile attempts to drown me. You, benevolent? Never.
I finger the ragged shorts and muddy, oversized shirt I'm wearing. Perhaps, in some sense it's a good thing God reincarnated me as a nobody. At least I don't need to pretend to be someone I'm not.
Climbing to my feet I stumble towards the window. Weak sunshine slides through the cracks, but the gaps are too narrow to see anything on the other side clearly. I tap my finger on the windowsill. It's unclear as to what kind of world this is. What was it again? Ah yes, something to do with otome games or novels. Yuki always went on and on about them and her own transmigration novel.
A spark of warmth caressed my heart, she was such a nice girl and such a good client, especially in a line like Escorting. But then at the image of her bright smile and shining eyes a sourness rises up my throat. If she knew what true reincarnation was like, she wouldn't be so excited.
I step away from the window and sit down again. There's still a chance that this is a normal world void of fantasy. But if this is a otome game world or even just a world with magic... A silver of coldness threads its way through my stomach. This may very well be worse case scenario, like everything else that has happened to me. I wouldn't need to worry so much if I knew the popular otome games or how to wield magic, but both subjects come up blank.
Massaging my temples, I focus on the body instead. I push down the shorts just a fraction, and a small sigh rushes out of me. At least I'm still a boy. Thin legs, thin arms, white from the looks of it. The hair is coming around the shoulders, and I squint at the colour. It's a sort of grey colour like winter storm clouds. I scrub at the dried mud, and it peels off in a scattering, but the strands underneath still turn out grey.
The queasy uneasiness increases. Malnutrition can cause hair to yellow, but turning hair grey? That's quite a feat. When my hair was turning yellow, I felt as if I was on the verge of death. Sure, this body is weak but it's not the same feeling. If only there's a mirror.
I slide towards the door quietly. It isn't a wise decision to go out quite so soon, but there's nothing in the room to indicate why I'm here and who 'I' was.
How did the owner of this body die? Or is his consciousness even dead? Is it buried somewhere deep within me, overpowered by my soul and will? An ache spreads quickly through my head.
From the dirty room and clothes the body is wearing - I am wearing, one thing's for sure. Whoever this body was, he wasn't treated well. It's hard to judge what age he was, but he probably wasn't a sex slave, not with what he's wearing. That could only leave lower class vagrants, pickpockets, mob targets... the whole lot.
My blood buzzes. If I can do it once, I can do it again.
Bang! The door explodes open, and in steps a tall man with burning red hair and large fox like ears. My heart plummets. Shit.
The man's narrow golden eyes slide over me, and his scarlet tongue glides over his sharp canines as he smiles.
"Our adorable little princess is finally awake."
AN: This is my first time writing in first person, present tense so please forgive me for any clunky writing and bad style. I hope you all enjoy the story ;)
I'll probably update one to twice a week with new chapters but I'll update you all with new info when things become a bit clearer (how many people are reading, workload, writing blocks etc.).
For those who are interested, check out The spider's thread by Ryunoske Akutagawa.