Lili—that was what her mother now called her, and somehow, impossibly, she had been reborn. Whether it was a blessing, a curse, or some kind of punishment from God, she didn't know, but one thing was certain—this was not a life she, or anyone for that matter, would have ever wished for.
Not only had she been Bruce—a he—but now she was a she, and even her name had been changed to Lili, which she privately thought was kind of… gay. Still, she could tolerate some of it. It wasn't like she had that thing anymore—whatever it was baby boys had—and because of that, she could at least understand why her mother was confused. It wasn't easy, but for now, until she could prove she was actually a man, she was willing to let it slide. She was just small, that was all. Surely it would show up eventually, right?
Even if that part wasn't good, her new mother was.
In fact, she was better than anyone Bruce had ever had in his previous life. She was gentle, endlessly patient, and impossibly kind, never getting angry, never complaining, not even when Lili cried for milk or soiled herself over and over again. Lili hated that part—hated being useless, dependent, helpless—but there was nothing she could do. Her body was too small, too weak. Every time she tried to do anything, even something small, she would get tired almost immediately, then hungry, then useless again.
So most days, she did nothing.
At least that made time pass quickly.
And that helped, because the weather was awful.
Cold, damp, miserable.
For Lili, it was something she could mostly ignore, wrapped in blankets near the fire, drifting in and out of sleep. But for her mother, it was different. Every day she had to go outside—alone—into the rain and cold to gather wood, to find food, to survive, while Lili stayed behind with the chickens, sitting near the weak warmth of the fireplace.
It didn't take long before Lili noticed it.
Her mother was getting worse.
At first, it made sense—she had just given birth, she was already weak—but as the days passed and the cold lingered, as food became harder to find and the weather refused to ease, her strength didn't return.
It faded.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
It didn't help that they were living in what was basically a shabby medieval cottage—no electricity, no proper heating, no running water, nothing that could make life even slightly easier. And Lili had been born right at the worst possible time, when the cold was at its peak, which had clearly taken a toll on her mother.
Thankfully, things were starting to improve.
The days were getting longer, the sun appearing more often, the air just a little less cruel.
But still—it wasn't good.
From the stories her mother told at night, and the songs she hummed while holding her, Lili had figured out that this land was called Albion. Apparently, it rarely even snowed here, except during especially bad years, but it rained—a lot—and that rain soaked into everything, turning the rich soil around their home into thick, clinging mud that made even simple tasks exhausting.
Her mother came back from outside like that most days—drenched, shivering, covered in mud.
Still smiling.
Still trying.
The chickens helped.
They lived inside with them, noisy and annoying—especially the rooster—but they provided warmth, and if things ever got truly desperate… food.
Although, interestingly, her mother never seemed capable of actually killing any of them.
Time and time again, Lili had watched her pick up the small knife they owned, hesitate, and then… stop. Something in her just refused to do it. She couldn't bring herself to harm them, no matter how hungry she looked.
She was… good.
Too good, maybe.
She didn't even seem bothered that Lili's father had never come to visit. Not once. Not even to check if they were alive.
That part stuck with Lili.
Other things did too.
Like the fact that there were no toilets.
Everything was thrown outside, and it smelled—bad. There was no toilet paper either, just leaves, which, from experience, felt terrible in ways Lili hadn't known were possible.
But even that, in her own strange way, she had managed to improve.
Because poop, as it turned out, was useful.
Very useful.
Fertilizer.
That had been her idea—well, technically it wasn't her idea, but she knew it, and that counted. Now their waste actually helped something grow, turning into something useful instead of just being disgusting.
It was efficient.
Smart.
Kind of impressive, honestly.
Although… also really weird.
Thinking back on all of it, Lili couldn't help but let out a quiet, depressed sigh. Sitting there in the garden, watching the plants grow, felt strange in a way she couldn't quite explain—especially knowing that those same plants were growing, at least in part, because of their own waste. It worked, sure, but it still felt… wrong.
Still, there wasn't really another option.
They needed the plants to grow, and they needed them to grow fast. Right now, their only reliable source of food was the chickens, and even that wasn't something she could count on forever. The crops weren't ready yet, not even close, and until they were, everything depended on keeping them alive—no matter how unpleasant the process behind it was.
Their cottage sat in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on nearly all sides by dense forest, with only the southern edge opening up to a small lake where they got their water. It was isolated, quiet, and for the most part completely cut off from anything resembling help.
Food could be gathered from the forest or the lake—that much she understood—but right now that didn't mean much. She was too small to do anything useful out there, and her mother… her mother was too sick.
The thought lingered longer than she liked.
She had considered trying anyway, more than once, but her mother had been very clear about it—don't go too far from the house. Not into the forest. Not alone. Foxes. Eagles. Things that snatched small animals and didn't think twice about it.
At first, Lili had thought that sounded a little ridiculous.
Then she looked at herself.
She was about the same size as the chickens.
And chickens got taken all the time.
That had been enough to shut that idea down.
So for now, she stayed in the garden.
It was something she could control, at least a little. She could take care of the plants, check their leaves, pull out pests, maybe gather herbs or mushrooms from the edges if she didn't wander too far. It wasn't much, but it was something, and right now something was better than nothing.
Luckily, the garden itself wasn't bad.
There was a decent variety of plants, and most importantly, a lot of strawberries. Unlike many of the others, they hadn't completely died off during the winter, and now they were already starting to produce fruit—small, red, not quite ready yet, but close. Close enough to matter.
There were raspberries too, and red currants, along with the usual cabbages and beans. It wasn't a perfect setup—there was no wheat, no oats, nothing that could really sustain them long-term—but it was what they had.
And it had to be enough.
Lili moved carefully through the garden on all fours, her ragged dress dragging lightly through the dirt as she inspected each plant with quiet focus. She checked the undersides of leaves, scanning for movement, for damage, for anything that didn't belong. The most common problem were flea beetles—small, irritating things that chewed through leaves faster than they had any right to—and whenever she spotted one, she snatched it up immediately.
Those went to the chickens.
Especially the rooster.
He loved them.
Even now, he followed behind her, step for step, watching her hands with intense focus, waiting for the next offering like it was the most important thing in the world. Lili had decided to name him some time ago—Terminator—because, in her mind, he was an excellent exterminator.
It made sense.
He was also the only rooster among the ten chickens, which, to Lili, made him special in another way too.
The only male around.
Well—
besides her.
At least, that's how she still chose to think about it.
With Terminator as her support, Lili crawled over to the cabbages, her small hands pressing into the damp soil as she leaned in to inspect the leaves. It didn't take long before she spotted them—tiny holes chewed through the green, uneven and ugly—and her little face immediately twisted into a dissatisfied pout.
Of course.
Pests.
And with movements that had already become strangely practiced for someone her size, she reached under one of the leaves, fingers quick despite their clumsiness, and pinched one of the flea beetles between them. She didn't hesitate. She had learned that lesson the hard way.
The thing could bite.
So before it had the chance, she flicked it away in a short, controlled toss.
Terminator was ready.
He lunged forward without missing a beat, catching the beetle mid-air with sharp precision, the movement fast and clean like he had been waiting for it. The moment he recognized the source, he puffed himself up slightly and rushed ahead of her, planting himself between Lili and the cabbages like some overconfident guardian.
Then he went to work.
His beak snapped down again and again, quick, efficient strikes as he hunted through the leaves, pecking the remaining beetles to death before swallowing them one by one. There was something almost methodical about it, like this was his purpose and he knew it.
Lili sat back on her knees, watching him, and nodded slowly in satisfaction.
Yes.
This was good.
This was working.
She had trained him well.
All those days of carefully building trust—offering worms, petting him gently, letting him get used to her presence—it hadn't been a waste. It had taken effort, real effort, and now it was paying off.
Hard work.
Worth it.
Looking at him, she couldn't help herself.
"T-t-t… Terminator," she said, her voice small and uneven, still clumsy with sound. "Y-you… you're a g-good cock."
The words left her mouth, shaky but clear enough.
And she froze.
Her eyes widened.
Wait.
Did I just—
She inhaled sharply, her whole body going still for a second.
That… that was a sentence.
That was actual talking.
Not just noise.
Not just useless baby sounds.
Words.
Real words.
A sudden rush of excitement hit her, almost overwhelming, and she looked around instinctively, searching for someone—anyone—to hear it, to prove it, to confirm it was real.
But there was no one.
Just the chickens.
Just Terminator, still busy murdering bugs.
And her mother…
Her expression shifted.
Her mother was inside, sick, barely able to speak, barely able to stay awake most of the time.
Lili hesitated.
No.
She couldn't wake her.
She couldn't.
The excitement dimmed a little, settling into something quieter, something held back.
"…later," she muttered faintly, more to herself than anything else.
With that, she pushed herself back into motion, leaving Terminator to continue his work as she turned toward her next task.
Tea.
Over the past week, ever since her mother had gotten worse, Lili had ended up doing… almost everything she could manage. It wasn't much, not really—not compared to what needed to be done—but for her size, for her body, it was everything.
And it was exhausting.
Every task drained her quickly, far faster than it should have, forcing her to stop, to rest, to wait before she could continue. It made everything slow. Painfully slow.
But she kept going anyway.
Because she had to.
And because… something had changed.
She could feel it.
Deep inside.
Something that hadn't been there before.
It was hard to describe—like there was something else inside her, something extra, something steady. Sometimes it felt almost like there were two rhythms instead of one, two pulses overlapping, pushing her forward when she should have already stopped.
She didn't understand it.
But she noticed the effects.
She hadn't gotten sick.
Not once.
She didn't feel the cold the way she probably should have, not even crawling through wet dirt and mud like she did every day. There was always this faint, lingering warmth inside her, subtle but constant, like something quietly protecting her.
Of course, she had tried to use it.
That part had been obvious.
If there was something strange inside her—something new—then it had to be important. Maybe even powerful. Maybe even magical.
So she had tried.
Tried calling it, focusing on it, pushing at it, telling it to do something—anything—useful.
Nothing happened.
Well… not nothing.
The warmth got stronger, sometimes spreading through her chest, through her arms, making her feel a little more alive for a while.
But that was it.
No power.
No control.
No miracle.
Just… warmth.
Lili frowned slightly as she crawled along, her thoughts growing heavier again, the small warmth inside her chest doing nothing to ease the frustration.
If only she could use it.
If only she could do something with it—something real, something that mattered, something that could actually help her mother instead of just sitting there like a useless, glowing feeling she didn't understand.
But how?
She didn't even know what it was.
And without that—
there was nothing she could do.
There was no manual for any of this, no books, no teachers, no one she could ask. Just her, alone with something she couldn't control. Still, that didn't mean she could just sit there and do nothing. With a small, stubborn determination settling in her chest, she pushed herself forward and hurried—well, as much as she could hurry—toward the front of the house where the nettle plants grew.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
She might not be able to use whatever strange power she had, but with these plants, she could at least try to help.
Nettle wasn't exactly medicine for fever—that much she understood—but it could still do something. It had a taste, a bitterness that made things feel more… real, and it was supposed to help with other things too—joint pain, anemia, skin problems. Maybe it wouldn't fix anything.
But maybe it would help a little.
And right now, a little mattered.
Carefully, she grabbed the base of one of the plants, her small fingers steady despite their weakness, and dug her nails into the stem, tearing it loose. She watched closely as she worked, making sure not to brush against the stinging leaves, and when she managed to split it cleanly without hurting herself, a small spark of pride lit up inside her.
Good.
She could still do things.
Clutching the nettle leaves tightly, she turned and made her way back toward the cottage.
The door, as always, was a problem.
She was too small to reach the handle, so instead she grabbed onto the rough cracks in the wood, fingers slipping slightly before she found enough grip to pull. Slowly, with effort, she dragged it open just enough to squeeze herself inside.
The air inside was warmer.
Dim.
Quiet.
Her eyes immediately went to the bed.
Her mother was still there, lying in the same position, still asleep, her body barely moving beneath the thin layer of straw that served as a blanket. The bed itself was simple—just straw laid over wooden logs—but at least it kept them off the floor. That mattered. The floor was cold, and sometimes ants wandered through.
This was better.
It had to be.
Lili hesitated for a second, watching her, then forced herself to move again.
No waking her yet.
Not unless she had to.
She turned toward the fireplace instead, relief flickering through her when she saw that the fire was still alive—small, weak, but burning—and the iron pot still sat in it, water inside bubbling gently.
Good.
That saved her time.
Crawling across the open space of the small, mostly empty room, she made her way to the fire and reached for the tools beside it—a wooden cup, a small scoop. Her size made everything harder than it needed to be. The pot couldn't hang above the fire like it should, because then she wouldn't be able to reach it, so it had to sit directly in the flames, which made everything more dangerous.
Still—
she worked with what she had.
Carefully, she pushed herself up onto unsteady legs, wobbling slightly as she stood, then leaned forward and dipped the scoop into the boiling water. The heat rose up in sharp waves, stinging her face, making her flinch, but she didn't stop. Slowly, carefully, she poured the water into the cup, trying not to spill too much.
Then she dropped in the nettle leaves.
And waited.
It didn't take long. The water began to shift, darkening slightly, the leaves releasing their bitterness into it, turning it into something that almost looked like proper tea.
Lili watched it closely.
Satisfied.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was something.
Taking a slow breath, steadying herself, she wrapped both hands around the cup and turned back toward the bed. Each step was careful, uncertain, her legs still unreliable, her balance barely holding. It felt like walking on a tightrope while half-asleep, her body swaying slightly with each movement, the hot liquid threatening to spill at any moment.
Focus.
She had to focus.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, something surfaced—old words, old memories, things she didn't fully understand but held onto anyway.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force.
And finally—
do or do not.
There is no try.
"…d-do…" she muttered faintly to herself.
And step by step, wobbling but determined, she made it to the bed.
Then stopped.
The problem was immediate.
The bed came up to her neck.
Too high.
Of course.
There was always something.
She stared at it for a moment, thinking, trying to figure out what to do. Normally, her mother would take the cup from her, lift her up, make it easy—but now…
Now she wasn't moving.
Not even a little.
Lili swallowed, then carefully lifted the cup as high as she could and pressed it gently against her mother's hand.
She waited.
Nothing.
Her small face scrunched into a pout, frustration creeping back in as she stood there, holding the cup, waiting for something that wasn't happening.
"…fine," she muttered softly.
If she could speak now…
Then she should use it.
"M-mama…" she tried, the word clumsy but real.
She paused, listening.
No response.
She tried again, a little louder this time, a little more certain.
"Mama… mama…"
The word felt… right.
Strangely right.
She didn't know how long it had been—time blurred together too much—but it had been at least one winter. And in that time, she had already gained more warmth, more comfort, more real memories from this woman than she ever had from her previous life's mother.
That alone made it different.
That alone made it matter.
So she said it again.
"Mama… mama… w-wake up…"
Her grip tightened slightly on the cup.
"L-Lili… made tea…"
She waited.
One moment.
Then another.
But nothing came.
No movement. No voice. Not even the faintest response.
Lili just stood there at the bedside, small and quiet, the warmth from the cup slowly fading into her hands as the silence stretched on. The tiredness caught up to her all at once, heavy and sudden, and she let out a small, uncontrollable yawn, her body swaying slightly where she stood.
Still, she didn't give up.
With slow, trembling effort, she lifted the cup as high as she could and pressed it carefully against her mother's hand, making sure it wouldn't tip, making sure it was close enough.
There.
That was good.
That was right.
A faint sense of satisfaction settled in her chest—her mother would see it, she was sure of it. She would wake up, see the tea, and understand. Lili had helped.
Lili had done something good.
Now… she just needed to get onto the bed.
Her eyes lifted to it again, the height of it feeling even greater now that she was so tired. Normally, her mother would lift her without thinking, make it easy, make it simple—but now there was nothing.
No movement.
No help.
So she tried.
She reached up, small hands gripping the rough edge of the bed, fingers straining as she pulled with everything she had. Her arms trembled immediately, her legs pushing weakly against the ground as she tried to lift herself up.
Again.
She tried again.
And again.
Each attempt weaker than the last.
Her body didn't listen the way she needed it to, her strength slipping away faster than she could use it, exhaustion creeping in with every movement until even holding on felt like too much.
Still—
she tried.
Because she had to.
Because she didn't want to be useless.
But in the end, there was nothing left.
Her grip failed.
And she fell.
Not hard, not dramatic—just… down, her small body collapsing onto the ground beneath the bed, too tired to even react properly.
The effort had taken everything.
Her eyes grew heavy, the world softening around the edges as sleep pulled at her whether she wanted it or not. She didn't fight it. She couldn't.
But just before it took her, she managed one last quiet plea, her voice barely more than a breath.
"Mama… wake up…"
And then—
nothing.
She slipped into sleep right there on the floor, small and still, the untouched cup of tea resting gently in her mother's hand above her.