The small world

Six months. Half a year since I was reborn into this strange existence, and I’ve finally unlocked the grand skill of crawling. Yes, crawling. Don’t laugh—it’s a monumental achievement when you’ve spent months being carried around like a fragile vase.

My arms wobble, my knees slip, and my head feels heavier than the rest of my body combined, but I can move. Slowly. Pathetically. But move nonetheless.

Rose, of course, treats this like the greatest miracle in history. “Look at him go,” she says, her silver eyes glowing with pride as if I’ve just solved world hunger.

Fren grins from ear to ear, crouching down to cheer me on like I’m running a marathon. “That’s my boy!” he says, his voice booming with encouragement.

Meanwhile, Celine leans against the wall, smirking behind her glasses. “Congratulations, Raizen. You’ve officially joined the ranks of humanity’s most chaotic creatures.”

I’d roll my eyes if I could, but my facial muscles aren’t quite there yet. Instead, I settle for glaring at her with all the intensity a six-month-old can muster. Spoiler: it’s not very intimidating.

The newfound ability to crawl has opened up a world I didn’t realize existed. For months, I thought the house was just this single room—the wooden ceiling above, the flickering candles, the voices of the trio. But now, with my clumsy movements dragging me across the floor, I’ve discovered hallways, doors, and spaces that stretch far beyond what I imagined.

This house is enormous. Bigger than any normal home should be. The corridors seem endless, the rooms branching off like a maze designed to confuse anyone who dares to explore. Of course, I can’t get far before Rose scoops me up, laughing softly as she carries me back.

“Not yet, little one,” she says, pressing her cheek against mine. Fren follows behind, grinning as if he’s proud of my failed escape attempt. Celine just shakes her head, muttering something about me being too curious for my own good.

Still, even in my limited ventures, I’ve learned something important: this place isn’t ordinary. The air feels different here—thicker, heavier, yet strangely comforting. Shadows linger longer than they should, stretching across the walls in ways that make me wonder if they’re alive. The silence is absolute, broken only by the voices of Rose, Fren, and Celine. No footsteps outside, no distant chatter, no sounds of life beyond these walls. It’s as if the house exists in its own bubble, detached from everything else.

Of course, I don’t know the truth yet. To me, it’s just a strange, oversized house with no neighbors. But something about it gnaws at me, a quiet unease that grows each time I crawl a little farther and find another hallway that shouldn’t exist.

The windows offer little comfort. I’ve managed to catch glimpses through them, though Rose usually keeps me away, insisting the cold isn’t good for me. From what I can see, it’s winter outside. Snow blankets the ground, the world painted in shades of white and gray. The frost clings to the glass, blurring the view, leaving me with only vague impressions of a landscape I can’t fully grasp. Trees stand bare, their branches skeletal against the pale sky. It’s beautiful in a way, but distant, unreachable.

I wonder sometimes if the outside is even real. Maybe it’s just another trick of this strange house, a painted backdrop meant to keep me from asking questions. But then again, I’m six months old. Who’s going to take me seriously if I start demanding explanations?

Rose hums to me often, her voice weaving through the silence like a thread of warmth. Fren is always nearby, his grin never fading, his presence steady and dependable. He lifts me high into the air, spinning me gently until I squeal—not out of fear, but out of something I haven’t felt in years: joy. Celine, ever the sadist, watches with amusement, occasionally poking my cheek or adjusting her glasses with that smug look that says she knows more than she lets on.

Together, they make this strange existence bearable. Rose’s tenderness, Fren’s unwavering support, and Celine’s sharp humor form a balance that keeps me grounded, even as my mind races with questions I can’t yet answer.

But crawling has changed everything. It’s given me freedom, however small, and with freedom comes curiosity. I want to see more. I want to understand this house, this world, this life I’ve been given. I may be trapped in the body of a child, but my mind is restless, hungry for answers.

One evening, as the candles flicker and the shadows dance across the walls, I crawl toward a window. The frost blurs the view, but I can still see the snow falling gently, the flakes drifting like whispers from another world. Rose notices, of course. She scoops me up, holding me close, her silver eyes soft with concern. “Not yet, Raizen,” she murmurs, her voice gentle but firm. Fren stands beside her, his grin unwavering, his hand resting on her shoulder. Celine watches from the corner, her glasses catching the light, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful.

I don’t understand their caution. To me, it’s just snow, just winter, just the outside world waiting to be explored. But deep down, I sense there’s more to it. Something hidden, something they’re not telling me.

For now, though, I’m content to crawl, to explore the endless halls of this strange house, to listen to the voices of the three who care for me. I may not know the truth yet, but I know this: I’ve been given a second chance at life, and I intend to make the most of it.

Even if it means glaring at Celine every time she smirks, or enduring Fren’s endless encouragement, or being smothered by Rose’s affection. This is my world now—strange, silent, and full of mysteries—and I’m ready to crawl my way through it, one shaky step at a time.