A/N: I do not Own Yu-Gi-Oh or any characters created by Kazuki Takahashi. I only own my OCs, this fic is purely for entertainment.

Chapter 1

So let's get one thing straight; dying isn't peaceful, and it isn't magical. It's cold, terrifying, and painful. There's no bright white light at the end of the tunnel, no choir of angels. Just yourself in cold, oppressive black.

Maybe for others it's different, but that was my experience. See I'd been walking home from the local library, trying to be environmentally friendly and all that by walking instead of driving the half mile. Nose buried in a book, I'd been walking home when I'd been mugged. But my attacker must have been strung out on something, or had just decided that today was the day that he went from simple robbery to murder. Because even after handing over the forty dollars I had in my wallet, he still stabbed me and left me for dead, propped against a dumpster.

So that was my glorious death. Propped against a filthy, smelly dumpster while slowly bleeding out. The bastard had taken my phone so I couldn't call for help, and my throat had been too sore to manage more than a whisper after he got done strangling me half to death.

Surprisingly, it takes longer than one would think to bleed to death. I'd estimate that it took me a little over an hour to finally die, which isn't that long but not slow either. Multiple stab wounds that didn't actually hit any major arteries or veins will do that. With no help in sight, it gave me time to think and reflect on my life. There hadn't been a lot in my life worth noting; I had been born to a military family, my father being sent out on deployment while my mother and I made due at home. It had been a comfortable life, and I loved my parents dearly. I had a few close friends and many acquaintances, but I'd barely turned twenty-four. There was so much of life that I hadn't experienced. I didn't really want to die, but I had always been a go with the flow type of person. Plus, reincarnation was something I believed in. So being murdered had to earn me brownie points in that respect, right?

I don't know how long I was floating in the cold dark; time doesn't really hold the same sway when you're dead I guess. I do know that when things began to change, I was actually happy and excited more than terrified. Anything to change up the black silence was worth it in my book. It was subtle at first, but gradually the biting coldness eased and warmed. At the same time, the blackness began to lighten, taking on a reddish pink glow. I could hear sounds, but it was horribly muffled and I couldn't really open my eyes. I don't know how much time passed, but eventually this new space I was in began to grow smaller and smaller, until I was snuggly nestled in it. I began to recognize two distinct sounds, almost like voices but still too muffled. But the tones and inflections I could pick up on. The two voices were comforting, reassuringly constant. Although I wasn't able to communicate with them, I wanted to thank them, to let them know that their voices were keeping me from going insane. After so long in that oppressive silence, listening to them speak, even though I couldn't understand them kept me from tipping over the edge. I didn't know that my chance would come sooner than expected.

See there's a reason why we as human beings don't remember our births; again, it's a terrifying, horrible experience. I've often heard people muse as to why babies come out kicking and screaming. Well, let me enlighten you with my take on it; one minute, I'm in a comfortable warmth, feeling safe and secure. Nothing could hurt me, nothing could touch me. I was never really hungry, could sleep whenever I wanted. Aside from the occasional bout of boredom it was pretty much perfect. Then, my comfortable warmth began to constrict and push. Although not exactly painful, it was uncomfortable. And then I was being moved, against my will. I struggled, not wanting to leave my snug haven. But as much as I struggled, I couldn't fight against the force that was forcibly evicting me. After more pushing and squeezing, the warmth and security forcibly pushed me out, and I was left in a colder, far too bright place, being handled by what felt like giant hands.

I am not ashamed to say that I began screaming at the top of my lungs. Because although I didn't know it at the time, I had just gone through being born a second time. With my mind being that of a twenty-four year old. Normal babies have it easy; they forget the trauma of being born. The date was July 2nd, my new birthday. And it's something I've never forgotten.

My days as a baby and into my toddler years aren't that exciting, so I won't go into too much detail. I will say that once I pieced together what had happened and my current predicament, I tried my best to be a good natured, easy baby. But my frustration with not being able to control my body as I was used to did get the better of me at times. Still, my parents were kind and patient. My father would come and go, being gone for days at a time. Once my eyesight became more developed, I was able to distinguish business suits and a briefcase that was always left by the front door, although his job title was never brought up around me. But whenever he came home, his face was always open and smiling. His eyes were a very striking blue, and his hair was a deep red, almost the color of blood and curly too. Odd, I didn't think that a business man would color his hair that way but I didn't question it too much.

My mother was a sweet woman, who laughed easy and had the sweetest singing voice. She had a classic Asian beauty about her, with her long black hair and dark brown eyes. But there was a warmth about her and my father that made me feel easy and happy whenever I was with one or both of them. I learned that their names were Marcus and Katsumi Castille, and they had named me Reila. This brought up many questions; they spoke Japanese, and we appeared to live in Japan, but there were many inconsistencies. Mainly the unusual name they gave me, my father's unnatural color of hair, their dated style of dress, hell even the lack of cell phones made me question what kind of world I now lived in. Some strange mixture of Japan and America?

I tried not to dwell on it too much, honestly. I just went about relearning how to control my body, and soak up any little piece of knowledge I could. With nothing better to do with my spare time I found that my adult mind was able to pick up on new information better than others my age. I think it startled my mother when she found me reaching for the encyclopedias that my father had from his college days. But she hid her astonishment well, speaking with my father quietly when he got home. The next day my father had bought educational videos for me, and between the ages of two and four I soaked up as much of it as I could. My father encouraged my voracious appetite for knowledge, calling me his "pretty genius". The one major disagreement in the house was about music. After so long in silence, I now hated it. I was always asking my mother to put on the radio, or singing quietly to myself. My love of music had carried over from my old life, and was even greater since my time in the cold silence. My mother seemed worried about it, but wouldn't say why. My father on the other hand encouraged it, even buying a used piano for me to begin learning on. I found that my father was actually a very good piano player, and I eagerly studied and practiced every day. Although my mother continued to be troubled by it, she did support me and helped where she could. All in all my earliest childhood was full of happiness, laughter, and love. And I was grateful beyond words for it.

It was two weeks before I started school that my father passed away. My lively, smiling father had contracted a bad virus on a business trip to Thailand, and it had burned through him so quickly the doctors hadn't stood a chance of saving him. When my mother and I received the news we'd been rocked to our cores. My father had been the main source of income in our family, and although not helpless my mother had never worked since I had been born, relying on him to provide for us. She seemed so… Lost without him. And I felt the same. Although we were by no means rich, we were comfortable. My father had left a tidy sum in a savings account for us, but it wouldn't keep forever. I remember hearing my mother cry herself to sleep, mostly over grief for losing her beloved husband, but also for fear of what would happen to us.

The funeral we held for him was small, with a few neighbors who had come to pay their respects as well as a few of his coworkers. My father had no family aside from my mother and I, and she never spoke of her own family. So my mother and I stood together, receiving the condolences of those who had come while we held hands, clinging to one another. We shared in our grief for a day, then did our best to pick up and move on, keeping memories of my father alive in our hearts.

Eventually my mother found a decent paying office job, and between that and some careful money management we were able to continue with our life without too many changes. At first my mother had worried about her late hours and me being home alone, but after the first week she seemed to accept that I was perfectly capable of managing on my own. While she was at work I kept the house clean and taught myself how to cook dinner and made sure that there was a hot meal waiting for her when she got home from work. I was by no means a gourmet chef, but the meals were tasty and healthy.

My thirst for knowledge never wavered, and as someone who in my last life hadn't enjoyed school I took some time to think through what it was that drove me to learn all that I could. My mother had noticed it too, but didn't seem all that disturbed by it. She would occasionally remark on my constant studying, even on subjects that we weren't currently learning in school but she did just as my father had and encouraged it, saying that she was proud to have a daughter who was so enthusiastic about learning. After a day's reflection I came to the realization that it wasn't just about learning, it was a bid to gain power. Too much of my life, this one and the previous one, had been left to chance and hope. I had never actually taken the steps to gain control over my own life, content to just roll with whatever punches life threw my way. But the death of my father, and my own murder had let me with a burning desire to be master of my fate. I didn't want to be left powerless ever again.

This drive for knowledge astounded my teachers, and within two months I had been pushed up two grades in school. My mother had been intimidated by this, not because she thought I couldn't handle the schoolwork but because I would be the youngest in my class. She fretted about it, but I assured her that I would be fine. I had exactly zero friends, as no one in my age group was able to entertain me and I didn't enjoy their games of pretend. Instead I kept to myself, normally accompanied by books and my music. It was still a touchy subject with my mother, but she still wouldn't tell me why. But she continued to accept it and even helped, buying me sheets of music and books on music theory. She fretted over me having no friends, but I assured her that I was perfectly happy. I could interact with people and was known throughout the neighborhood as the "polite, sweet little girl". I think that ready acceptance of any adult I came across helped ease the worst of my mother's anxiety, but as I didn't want to put any undue stress on her I did attempt to be cordial with my peers, even if I never became friends with any of them.

Although the loss of my father had been a blow, we picked up and continued in a comfortable way for the next few years. Things became a little harder, and my mother seemed to be wearing down slowly over time. She tried to keep a cheerful face on, but I was too perceptive for her to fool; if I hadn't been alive, she would have allowed herself to die years ago, to follow my father to the grave. She tried her hardest, but every day I could see her wilting a little more. It was bittersweet to watch to be honest, and it was only because I was older mentally that I was able to understand it. Her will to live was slowly waning every day, although she showed a strength of character that inspired me when she rose every morning to face the day with half of her heart missing. It pained me, but I kept a pleasant face on for her sake. But we both knew that she wouldn't last much longer.

During dinner one night, about a month or so before I turned eight my mother and I talked. She had been to see the doctor that day and he had confirmed what we had known; my mother was ill, and it was terminal. The thought of being helpless again terrified me, but I again adopted a calm, brave face for my mother's sake. She finally broke her silence that night about her past and explained to me why she never spoke about her family, and why she her encouragement of my music had been lacking at times.

"Reila, understand this; I regret nothing. My life with you and your father is everything I could have wished for. We've been happy, loved, and have so many pleasant memories. The only thing I wish is that I could have shared this with my father and brother."

That shocked me. I hadn't even heard mention of any of her family being alive. "Your father and brother?" I asked, brow furrowing as I tried to piece everything together.

"Yes dear. I do have living family, however I can never speak to them again. I was born into a wealthy and powerful family. My maiden name was Sarota; Katsumi Sarota, youngest daughter of the head of Sarota Entertainment. My older brother was to inherit the company, while I was to marry a man of my father's choosing to create a strong tie between the Sarota's company and my husband's." My mother explained, keeping her eyes trained on the rain that was streaming down the windows.

This news floored me. Sarota Entertainment was a huge name in the music industry. There was hardly a musically inclined person alive who didn't know about the industry giant. Sarota handled bands, solo artists, and worked closely within the gaming and film industry on musical scores for some of the highest selling video games and movies, and there were whispers that the company was going to go global and set up a branch in the United States. "Wait… You're family owns Sarota Entertainment?"

My mother nodded, her eyes saddened. "Well, I was once part of the family. As I said, my father informed me that he would be choosing my husband for me. You may find this hard to believe, but the corporate world is very different from the one that we know. It's all about who has the most power and how to get more. My father loved me in his own way, I think, but choosing my future for me? That wasn't something that I could agree to. It was around that time that I met your father. He was like a ray of sunlight in my world. He made me feel more alive than I ever had before." Her face softened into a beautiful smile as she wandered through her memories of my father, and I gave her time to reflect. I was still struggling to understand how my mother could have left that life. It's wasn't even about how much money she could have had; my mind was fixed on the power that she could have had. The power to never be defenseless or left with nothing. I had a much deeper appreciation for the amount of love that had been between my parents.

"When I told my family that I wanted to marry your father," I was pulled out of my musings by my mother continuing her story, "they were… Very unsupportive. My father told me that if I went through with it, I would be forever disowned from the family. He would have nothing to do with a daughter who would not do as he wished."

"Even so, I loved your father too much to allow something as inconsequential as money come between me and my happiness. So I left my family, was stripped of my inheritance and my family name. I haven't even been able to speak to my older brother since then." She finished, sitting back in her chair with a heavy sigh. "Reila, my dear daughter… You know that I love you, and that I'm trying, right?"

"I know mother." I said quietly, not needing her to explain further. Every day was harder for her to get up, and she was growing thinner and paler. It was almost as though she was fading away before my eyes. But I loved her too much to be angry at her. She had given up everything for my father, and although she loved me dearly I could never fill her heart as much as he had. Even if I wanted to be angry about it, I couldn't. That depth of love was both inspiring and terrifying; I wasn't sure I ever wanted to love someone that much.

"I will keep trying, will keep going for as long as I can. But I don't think I have much time left in this world. I have sent my brother a message, explaining your father's passing and my illness. I asked him to approach our father on your behalf; asking him to take you in should I pass, to not punish you for my transgressions against the family. I'm not sure what will happen, but my brother is a good man who values family. If anyone can help you after I'm gone, it's him. I just ask that you be patient with them, and work your hardest as you always do."

"I will mother. I promise." I said, meaning it with all my heart. Knowing that I had a contingency plan, even a vague one helped ease a majority of my anxiety.

It wasn't three months after that night that my mother finally passed on. Another funeral followed, only this time there was no one to share in my grief, no one to stand beside me and hold my hand. I was left alone in the world, and my resolve strengthened even further; I would do whatever I needed to do to secure enough power for myself that I would never have to be left in a situation like this ever again.