A friend gave me the following prompt: "Imagine if Ace died and was reborn a faceless and every time he saw someone he knew he got glimpses of his past life"

I couldn't say no. It's shortish but hopefully it will tug nicely at your hearts.

I own nothing; everything belongs to QuinRose. Go buy the manga, any of them, give these folks some money.

He had lived a relatively peaceful life in the town around the Clocktower. Fights rarely reached out of the mafia's territory, and most of the roleholders had no reason to visit the Clocktower or the gloomy and enigmatic man who lived within. He had heard stories about that man but never seen him; apparently the Clockmaker rarely ventured outside.

He had a small family, two parents and a sister, and he helped out in the store they owned. It was their livelihood and he was happy with that, but he had always been a little dreamy, and occasionally he would catch himself staring out the window or at the wall, eyes straining for something he wasn't sure of. Sometimes laughter in the streets would make him turn sharply on his heel towards it because he could swear it was familiar. Snatches of birdsong tugged at his chest in a way that felt horribly sad. But it was silliness, it was just his nature, and after a moment or two he would shake himself and get back to work, focus on whatever task was at hand.

He didn't see the roleholders often, merely heard gossip. But rarely, maybe 3 or 4 times in his life, he had caught a glimpse, a familiar shade of scarlet in the Queen's dress on the rare occasions that she left her own territory, the March Hare's carrot-colored waves and brown ears bobbing a good head higher than the rest of the crowd. They didn't visit often but when they did, he had felt a splitting pain in his skull, colors floating in front of his eyes like a hallucination. Stumbling over his own feet, he had scrambled frantically away, trying to drive the phantom images from his mind. Maybe it was some power they had, maybe that was why so many people were frightened of them…if they didn't want to be seen, they didn't want to be seen.

In his dreams, especially, he felt like there was something hovering just out of his reach. He could taste fresh air, and feel cool, dappled leaf-shadows on his face, feel the almost limitless strength in a body that wasn't his, the ability to take on anything. He would see the same faces – faces, clear faces – every other time he slept. They were mostly strong and male, but sometimes there was a girl too, a girl with eyes like little lakes, liquid blue and catching the sunlight. He didn't know who they were although he often woke with names that were foreign to him on his tongue, names that slipped away a moment later.

His mother's voice cut into his thoughts once again. The sunset was visible through the shop window and swallows twittered and dove in the golden air. He had been leaning on a broom that was just a little taller than him and he jumped when she called his name, falling heavily to the wooden floor, the broom clattering down next to him.

"Got your head in the clouds again, hm?"

"Yes, mother," he replied, a sheepish grin making its way onto his face as he got back to his feet, dusting himself off. "Did you need something?"

"We're running low on bread and eggs and those traders from the Hatter's territory are in town. They always have the best deals…and you're faster than your sister. If you run, I bet you can still catch them before they move on." Her voice was warm and just a little taunting, the hint of a challenge in her words.

"I can, I know I can!" He was off like a shot, grabbing a basket from behind the sales counter and dashing for the door, not bothering with shoes or a hat. "I'll be back before you know it!" he called over the jangling of the bells that hung from the door. A moment later, it slammed noisily behind him. His mother shook her head and sighed quietly before returning to the counter.

The boy's feet barely touched the ground as he ran, agilely dodging through the crowds in the street. He knew where the merchants always parked, it was just a little bit farther, he would make it home even before the time period changed-

Thud.

Something tall and solid and quite definitely human had moved at the last minute into his way, knocking him back on his rear for the second time that evening. He picked up his basket as quickly as he could and got to his feet, wincing a bit at the pain around his tailbone. His gaze was fixed humbly on the ground. "I-I'm very sorry, I wasn't looking…"

"It's fine," the man's voice replied smoothly, if with a bit of irritation.

That voice.

The stranger was already trying to go his way, but the boy looked up before he managed to escape, catching a glimpse of his features. Easily visible blue eyes, long dark hair. He knew he was staring, but his head felt like it was miles above the earth and his chest was tight; he couldn't breathe. The other man had noticed his staring as well and was giving him a strange, critical look. Maybe he was saying something, maybe he was moving, but he was inaudible and invisible over the rush of sound and color in the boy's ears.

"Julius…" he managed to say, whisperingly, with the last bit of air in his chest. He felt himself collapsing again, eyes wide open. Distantly he heard a voice calling for help. It was the least of his concerns. He could remember so much, so much that wasn't him, wasn't his life. And yet it was so familiar, it felt like it was a part of him, every pain, every sorrow, every small fleeting moment of happiness. And then darkness. And then light again.

There were arms beneath him, supporting him, a concerned expression that seemed to know the same things but was afraid to admit to it.

He remembered struggling his entire life for something. And he remembered now how he had failed.

His breath came rushing back to him, shakily. Overwhelmed, his small hands fisted in the stranger's coat, clinging as a broken sob tore from his throat.

He had failed.