Veni, vidi, vici.

I lived, I saw, I conquered.

A mantra she had taken to heart was now one that excluded her.

She was not a religious person.

She was not a Buddhist, or a Christian, or anything remotely spiritually restrictive. But like everyone else she had a theory of what happened once death had claimed a life and to her it was all about energy. It could not be created nor destroyed but it could be moved. And when that energy moved it returned to wherever it came from, whether it was heaven, hell, or somewhere in between.

Before this, she had been a plain, unassuming girl named "Terry." She hadn't been exotic or poised so much as simple and unnoticeable, but then again that was how she liked it.

"Terry" was a girl of few and sparse hobbies as she preferred to spend her precious time in more practical ways. Though those she did have, she practiced diligently and with great fervor.

"Terry" had possessed her name for the 19 years she had lived, gone to kindergarten, high school, and finally college.

"Terry" had been terribly bright and had a future in medicine as dictated per her degree. She had a road paved in success lying at her feet even if hard work had never been her forte.

So why, may one ask, if she didn't like strain would she choose such a course as complicated as pharmaceutical practices?

Her reasoning was simple. Expectations.

"Terry" was a sick and frail child, possessing a cancerous disease infecting her immune system since birth and she was supposed to have died soon after the first month of her life. Two if she was especially lucky and since hearing the prophecy of her death she was never expected to do anything like her family did. Whether it was in education, eating, walking, or even blinking, in their head she was as good as dead. A walking shadow. A specter in the wind.

"Terry" was expected to do as other ill children did and die like a pitiful, pathetic child cowering in her fear and misery and she almost had if it hadn't been for the way they looked at her.

Those careless glances filled with frivolous pity and worthlessness cast her way by her so called 'family' caused something to burn. It caused something determined and angry to spark in her chest and she refused to give in.

Like hell she would just roll over and submit to their stupid and hopeless expectations.

"Terry" without a second thought or hesitation, picked up her weak, frail body and forced it through the long process of schooling.

And let it be known that having so many of her teachers attempting to coddle and provide her with the pity she already received at home got old as quick as can be. They learned their lesson as soon as "Terry" reached the requirements to be skipped up a grade and from there she soared.

But even if she had done well, it didn't change the fact that slowly she was dying, and die she did.

Laying in the hospital with a breathing tube in her mouth and gusts of oxygen forcing its way down her throat, "Terry" reflected on her life.

"Terry's" 'family' had stayed around for perhaps a few days before moving on like she had already croaked. They all had their own lives to carry out, what use was it to fret over the one that shouldn't have existed in the first place?

Though the sting still sparked in her chest their sentiments didn't hurt her, in fact, she expected it. She embraced it.

It didn't matter to her because there was no level of abandonment that could take away the fact that she had lasted longer than anyone could have predicted. So in "Terry's" book, she had issued every medical professional a big fuck you and kiss my ass.

"Terry" let the knowledge that if she had lived she would have been more successful than any of her wretched relatives ease her weak little heart.

Besides she would rather have her last moments to herself than be swarmed with people she had never been that close to anyways. And "Terry" liked to think her family at least knew her well enough as the reclusive and observant girl she was to stay away until she was gone.

It hadn't been quick, the process. She had laid there for weeks, breathing capability leaving her bit by bit as her body wasted away to nothing. It hadn't been particularly painful in the traditional sense but in a stifling kind of way that carried a heavy crushing pressure that never left her.

And when "Terry's" heart finally began to fail, she was barely able to roll her eyes at the panicked and worried faces of the doctors as they shouted for her parents.

Honestly, it was like no one had read her diagnosis chart or something, there was no need to look so shocked.

"Terry's" attitude may have seemed cynical but she had long since made her peace with her condition. Sure, in the beginning, she cried and screamed and raged like a demon straight from hell but as she grew older and more capable of managing her emotions, she realized there was nothing she could do but wait.

Eyes grew heavy, breaths grew faint and laden with strain as voices fell on deafened ears. They were doing all they could to save "Terry" but it was a waste of resources because within the hour "Terry Daimler" had been pronounced dead.

Usually, one would think that would have been the end, no more conscious thoughts or beating hearts. Once one was gone, one was gone and "Terry," being the practical and level-headed cusping woman she was, had thought that too.

That was up until she suddenly was not suspended inside of an endless void, was sent hurtling towards white and found herself settling in black.

She wasn't sure just how long the black kept her captive, only that it was the thing she was most familiar with. At times she felt almost physical, as if she had a presence within her dark space.

She even swore she could hear soft voices murmuring to her in muted words. Maybe that could be taken as a sign of going slowly insane but to tell the truth, she was quite glad for the company.

And so her monotonous existence continued on. Always in the dark, always hearing voices, and she was strangely contented in her abyss.

That was, until the pain came.

It struck sharp, surprising her with its intensity and she could feel everything around her lurch in tandem.

A heavy ringing set in her head as everything shook, twisted, and pulled. And suddenly she couldn't breathe in the air she didn't know she was somehow inhaling. She could feel the life she never noticed belonged to her slipping past her fingers as something tightened around her neck and she froze.

"...out...her...OUT!" The voice screamed angry and fearful like a vengeful deity, loud enough to invade her sphere and everything exploded into white and movement.

Blinking furiously against the onslaught of raw sensation after the shift, she clenched her eyes shut and with that action, she became increasingly aware of herself.

She could blink, she could shut her eyes. Yes, she could do all that back in her circle but that had been more of a mental compulsion. This shouldn't have been possible, her body was gone which meant she wasn't in the material plane anymore.

That was unless something had brought her back.

"Is she okay?" A faint feminine voice asked, drawing her away from her crisis and for the first time, she noticed the hands encasing her body. "She's not crying, is she okay?"

"Yes madame, she is doing well considering the lack of sound," a male voice assured, "Perhaps give or take a few weeks premature but quietness is common among the weaker bodied infants."

"Can I hold her?" The woman pleaded not missing a beat, tone desperate.

"For a bit." The man nodded. "While I set up a room for her."

She could feel herself being moved and slowly her senses were readjusting to being thrust into this foreign situation. Finally, she could feel the blanket swathing her miniature form in a snug cuddle. And she was most definitely sure she was tiny for how else could she fit into the loose cradle of this woman's hands?

Steeling herself with all her previous mental discipline, she forced herself to move her ridiculously uncoordinated limbs in a clumsy tango.

Various scenarios and explanations flitted through her mind at a breakneck speed. There was no denying she had died. That much she was sure of, but then what was this?

Why did this happen?

How did it happen?

Her mind raced because holy fuck she was a child, a newborn and there was no way it could have been time travel.

This woman, no matter how her faulty vision made her look, was not her old mother and she, without a doubt, came from her. Where her mother had been a brunette, this lady had a curtain of deep, blood red hair. Where her mother had wood bark-brown eyes, she had ones that matched the unique shade of her brightly colored tresses. Not to mention where her mother's skin was a rich earth brown this woman was pale and milky and it was a bit odd to realized her "new" parent was white and most likely so was she.

This was not the woman who birthed "Terry" but the one who produced "her".

Despite her wary and logical mind it was quite impossible to dismiss this obvious case of reincarnation as a mere fluke. "Terry" more than anyone knew of what dangers denial could bring.

Turning her attention outward, she refocused her bleary eyes on her mother(?) and squinted in faint recognition. Her face seemed so familiar...

Listening to her coo and smile in teary happiness, "Terry" learned the name this body and by extension, she received.

Lalonde.

Her new "mother" had named her Lalonde. It was unusual, much more dignified than "Terry" and with surprising ease, she adjusted to the title.

"Your father picked that one," her mother explained, a sorrowful pained expression painted on her exhausted face.

"I thought it was a bit strange sounding." She laughed, a tad bit bitter as the tones of her voice trembled and shivered. "Now it's the single most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

Crying rather hard now the woman half bent herself in grief and Lalonde could feel a drop of dread enter her system. It was easy to deduce what was being implicated by those words.

Death was truly a cruel thing.

That explained why she hadn't seen hide nor hair of a man since becoming aware. Unable to do much else than wait until she was done, Lalonde blinked when red eyes snagged onto hers.

"Oh I'm a right mess aren't I darling?" She said wiping her crimson eyes with a watery laugh. "I hope you won't judge me any."

And with a jolly little laugh, her mother shifted her fragile body to the crook of her arm and Lalonde thought back to the doctor's words about her prematurity and wanted nothing more than to let out a long, sailor worthy string of curses. And she would have if she hadn't been so sure it would come out sounding like wet gurgles.

So much for being perfectly healthy this time around.

Eyes reluctantly falling shut aided by the gentle rocking motion and the light beating of her heart, Lalonde the newborn baby, fell asleep.

From her dark cocoon to her prisoner's room in the hospital Lalonde went. For months - MONTHS! - she had been kept there, turned into a pincushion and subjected to staring at white masked faces all. Day. Long. The only reprieve she got from this whole debacle was the daily visits to her mother (who was also interned as a patient) which lasted for an hour each session.

Lalonde looked forward to these times quite a bit so it came as a shock when roughly around two-thirty, she hadn't been ritually picked up and carted off to another room. Instead, she was carried right past her mother's door and into a place with roses on the ceiling. Laying there in her cloth bundle, Lalonde frowned minutely.

Where were they bringing her if not to her mother?

Shivering, she let out a sound of protest as she was stripped of her blanket and clothes and was set in a shallow basin of water. Washcloths swiped over skin and the scent of soap filled her sensitive nostrils for a long while before she was lifted out and toweled off.

Watching as they slipped startlingly pink baby clothes onto her small frame, she grimaced internally. If she looked anything like her mother she would bet her left lung it clashed horribly.

The nurse who dressed her wrapped her back into a different blanket, this one gray and swept her from the room.

Apparently, wherever they were taking her was a secret because not just her body was covered but her face as well. Furrowing her small brow, Lalonde's curiosity and confusion were only relieved when the blanket was pulled back and her mother's smiling face was displayed.

"Ah, there's my little girl," She chirped as she moved her into the circle of her arms and planted a kiss on her rounded cheek. "I bet you were wondering why you weren't immediately taken to see your mama."

She may have been just a tad confused.

Moving them towards a black expensive looking carriage she grinned softly with the look of excitement printed on her face.

"Well, I have some fantastic news!" Her mother announced, her British accent positively blooming. "We get to go home! We've both been cleared as healthy!"

Unsure how to react but pleased to be leaving, Lalonde settled with flashing her mother a gummy smile and snuggled into her as the ride started.

The next time she awoke - she hadn't even been aware she had fallen asleep - it had been to the sound of her mother having a conversation with another person.

"Mistress, you must sleep." The woman pleaded, worry tinting her words and the child blinked. "I know that you have been recuperating in the sick ward but the birth was very difficult, rest. I will care for miss Lalonde!"

Laughing gaily as she brushed off the seemingly valid concerns, her mother shifted her small body closer and grinned.

"I'm perfectly fine Elena, better than fine, great even!" She said with a wave of her hand. "Besides I haven't fed her yet and that is hardly a task you could do."

Lalonde had long since grown accustomed to the thought of this woman's nipple being placed in her mouth and was able to minimize the disgusted scrunching up of her nose at the declaration.

Barely.

"Anyhow haven't I told you to address me by name?" Her mother questioned, slipping her gown over and off her shoulders and Elena looked stricken as if a knife had been driven into her heart.

"B-but it is not proper for a lady of your standing to-"

"Bah! Who gives a damn about proper! I will not answer if you don't use my given name." The red headed woman declared stubbornly, delicate jaw locking and as she listened, Lalonde deduced that her mother must be pretty high on the social ladder to have a servant refuse familiar speech so profusely.

"But M-Mistress!" The maid gasped incredulously, though her mother merely turned her attention towards her child and after a few minutes of deliberate silence, Elena spoke resignedly.

"Mistress Angelina." The girl damn near pouted and with a raised brow her mother - Angelina? - looked at the blushing blonde and smiled in triumph.

"I guess that's as good as it will get for now." She conceded and the other woman blushed. "Tell me, has my sister and her husband visited here?"

Elena shook her head.

"No mistress Angelina, how could they know to if you didn't tell her the child survived?"

"Technicalities," Angelina brushed off with a careless shrug. "What good would it have done to inform Rachel and Vincent if I had lost my baby after a few weeks?"

Skillfully ignoring the organic feeding utensil in her mouth, Lalonde frowned at the names and tried to figure out just where she heard them from.

"Well," Elena began with a thoughtful hum. "I'm sure the Phantomhives would be positively delighted to meet the heir of the infamous Madame Red."

And once again everything inside of her froze and twisted tight. Halted by those names that by all means shouldn't be linked to anything having to do with her.

Could it be a coincidence?

A fluke?

A joke?

And what was this about being the heir to Madame Red? Lalonde couldn't possibly be unless...that was who her mother was.

Turning her head fast enough to give herself whiplash she faced her mother and stared hard until her features cleared and evened out and this time she really looked.

She was a beautiful woman, her previously longer hair was cut into a neat and stylish bob, plump red coated lips and aquiline nose paired with cheerfully flushed pale skin. Yes, her mother was a sight to see, in fact she looked exactly as she remembered. Down to the smallest fiber and littlest nuance.

Angelina Durless, sister to Rachel Phantomhive neé Durless who married Vincent, who had a son named Ciel. A sweet boy who became an orphaned child when his parents were murdered, then had gone on to be kidnapped, contracted to a devil, and became the lackey of the English Queen.

He was going to be her cousin. Angelina Durless, canonically "the ripper" her mother, was his aunt.

Lalonde was eventually going to get tangled up with the Queen's watchdog and his demon...

Oh, sweet merciful Mary the Virgin, his demon!

She had just been reborn! Albeit into the fictional world of Black Butler but alive all the same! Lalonde had no desire to be ripped apart by a pissed off demon - or whatever else went bump in the night! She would bet reincarnated souls were like cotton candied syrup for demons, a rare delicacy! She had no idea of knowing how their meeting could go!

Not to mention the death gods! Even if she hadn't died in this world, she had died in hers and took another body. Who was to say that they couldn't sense the fact that she was an anomaly? What if they decided to kill her for cheating death? And just how would she stop them from doing so?

Lalonde needed a plan, she had roughly two to eight years before Ciel was born to prepare herself. She needed to ensure her survival, social Darwinism taught her that much. The fittest reached the top while the weakest perished and if she wanted to stay alive she would need to become important whether it was emotionally, intellectually, or anything in between.

Lalonde would not be safe if she was even remotely linked with Ciel. Lizzy and her mother were prime examples.

The way she saw it she had two choices, become a key component or stay her hand and try her best to keep out of it.

In either situation, she would still need to become a favorite of Ciel's or at the very least to someone who would be missed by a group with influence.

Familial bonds only traveled so far. Ciel had ordered her mother to be killed and Sebastian would have done it if Grell hadn't beat him to the punchline. If that wasn't proof, she didn't know what was. Granted, she was out in London murdering prostitutes but it showed that blood was no barrier in dealing with the young lord. If someone stood in his way, that person would go down.

Which meant if Lalonde somehow found herself unable to sit it out, she would need to pick a side because right now, with all the life-threatening things he would face, she wasn't sure if Ciel's was the best choice for her.

First things first, as soon as she was able, she would figure out if this was the manga-verse or the anime. She had seen both seasons of the show and had read up to the Circus arc, parts of when he was at the school, and on the titanic. Now more than ever she was regretting not following up on the series even when she had gotten sick. Though in her defense, she hadn't thought she would have ended up in a different universe.

Turning her head towards her mother, she wanted to sigh. In theory, that all seemed easy but she knew everything would lead to complications.

The question was, would she be able to handle it all?

Closing her eyes she fell into a light snooze.

Probably not, but she'd sure as hell try.

Edit: 3/27/17