The first thing Margotte noticed when consciousness returned was warmth.
Not the feverish, uncomfortable warmth that had accompanied her final hours, hunched over her doctoral thesis, vision blurring, pressure building behind her eyes until something in her brain simply gave way. No, this was a gentler heat. Encompassing. Safe, even. The kind of warmth that came from another living presence pressed close.
The second thing she noticed was that she couldn't move properly.
Her limbs felt wrong. Too short, too weak, uncoordinated in a way that sent ripples of panic through her awareness. She tried to lift her hand. Had she had a stroke? Was this what came after the aneurysm, some horrible half-life where her brilliant mind was trapped in a useless body?
The third thing and most disturbing was the familiar presence beside her.
No. Absolutely not.
Even through the fog of infant confusion, even before her eyes could properly focus, she recognized that insufferable aura. That smug, self-satisfied essence that had plagued her through every exam, every academic competition, every gods-damned thesis defense at the Imperial University. The presence that meant she was never truly first because he was always right there, matching her step for step with that casual brilliance that made her want to scream.
Adrian Valemont.
Her eyes (she'd later discover they were orange now, a startling amber-orange instead of the plain brown she'd had before) cracked open with tremendous effort. The world was a blur of soft colors and indistinct shapes. She blinked, once, twice, trying to force her new eyes to cooperate, to confirm what her instincts were already screaming.
A face swam into focus. Round with baby fat, topped with hair so pale it was almost white, and dominated by eyes of the most piercing blue she'd ever seen. Eyes that widened with the same horrified recognition that must have been reflected in her own.
Time seemed to stop.
Those blue eyes she knew. Had glared into them across seminar tables when he'd casually dismantled her arguments with creative interpretations she'd never considered. Had seen them crinkled in insufferable amusement when he'd turned in his thesis exactly one day before her, just to prove he could. Had watched them go distant and exhausted in those final months when they'd both been pushing too hard, sleeping too little, driven by a competition that had consumed them both.
Adrian.
In her mind, she screamed. In reality, a tiny, pathetic mewling sound emerged from her throat.
The baby (because that's what he was, what they both were) somehow made a similar sound. If a noise could convey utter disgust and existential horror, this was it.
They stared at each other. A heartbeat passed. Then another.
Margotte's new infant mind struggled to process the impossibility of the situation. She had died. She remembered it with perfect, terrible clarity—the way the pressure had built and built until something ruptured, the brief sensation of falling, and then... nothing. Or what should have been nothing.
Instead, there had been warmth, and confusion, and a long period of semi-awareness where she'd drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to properly think, senses muffled and strange. She'd assumed it was death, or brain damage, or some nightmare fever dream in her final moments.
But this? This was something else entirely.
Reincarnation. The word floated up from somewhere in her consciousness. She'd written a paper once, comparing religious and philosophical frameworks of the afterlife across cultures. She'd argued, with typical academic certainty, that reincarnation was metaphysically improbable and lacked empirical evidence.
The universe, it seemed, had a sense of irony.
And it had decided that her personal hell would include Adrian Valemont.
His expression (as much as an infant's face could convey complex emotion) suggested he'd reached similar conclusions. Those blue eyes held the accumulated frustration of years of academic rivalry, sharpened now by the sheer absurdity of their situation.
If they could have spoken, she imagined the conversation would have gone something like this:
-You.
-Of course it's you.
-I died. I actually died. And somehow I'm still stuck with you.
-The feeling is entirely mutual.
Instead, they simply glared at each other with an intensity that no infant should have been capable of, tiny fists clenching and unclenching with impotent rage.
The warmth between them was unbearable. Not because it was uncomfortable, but because it was him. They were tucked together in what appeared to be an oversized cushioned basket, swaddled close enough that she could feel his breathing, feel the small movements of his body. It was intimate in a way that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.
A shadow fell over them both. Margotte's eyes, still adjusting to this new reality, slowly tracked upward to find two women's faces looking down at them with such tender affection it was almost painful.
"Oh, look at them, Marianne," one of the women cooed. She had red hair, though not as wildly curly as Margotte would later discover her own to be, and warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. "They're staring at each other so sweetly! I told you putting them together for naptime was a good idea."
The other woman, Marianne presumably, laughed softly. She had silver-blonde hair elegantly pinned up, and the same brilliant blue eyes that the infant Adrian possessed. "They do seem content with each other. I was worried little Adrian might fuss, but he's been calm all afternoon."
Content? Margotte's mind raged. CONTENT?
Adrian made a sound that might have been a baby's coo but was almost certainly a growl of protest.
"The midwife said it's good for babies to have companionship," the red-haired woman, Margotte's mother, her mind supplied with surreal certainty continued. "And since we're neighbors now, they'll grow up together anyway. Might as well start the friendship early!"
Friendship. The word echoed in Margotte's consciousness like a death knell.
"Best friends, just like us," Marianne agreed warmly, reaching down to adjust Adrian's blanket. "Wouldn't that be lovely? Our children, close as siblings."
Over my dead body, Margotte thought viciously, then nearly laughed at the irony. She'd already had one dead body. Apparently, that hadn't been enough to escape Adrian Valemont.
The two women continued chatting above them, voices fading in and out as Margotte's infant attention span warred with her adult consciousness. She caught fragments... something about neighboring estates, about their husbands' business partnership, about how wonderful it was to have given birth within weeks of each other.
So they weren't siblings. That was... marginally better? At least the universe hadn't gone that far in its cosmic joke. But neighbors? Children of family friends? Destined to be raised in each other's pockets?
It was almost worse.
At least siblings could grow apart, could choose separate paths as adults. But children of close family friends? They'd be thrown together constantly. Every holiday, every social gathering, every milestone would be shared. Compared. Measured against each other.
Just like before, she realized with growing horror. We're going to do this all over again.
"I should feed Margotte," her mother said, and the name struck her as odd. Margotte, which had been her name before. An old name for a new life, she supposed. "And you'll want to get Adrian home before dark."
"Yes, though I hate to separate them. Look how peaceful they are."
Peaceful was not the word Margotte would have chosen. She and Adrian were still locked in their staring contest, neither willing to look away first, both radiating as much hostility as infant bodies could manage.
Marianne reached down and gathered Adrian up with ease. The sudden absence of his warmth should have been a relief. Instead, Margotte felt oddly bereft, then immediately furious at herself for the feeling.
Adrian's blue eyes stayed fixed on her as his mother lifted him, and in them, she saw a promise. Or perhaps a threat. This wasn't over. Whatever this was, they were in it together whether they liked it or not.
She watched as Marianne carried him away, cooing softly about getting home to his father. The nursery seemed larger without him in it, emptier.
Her own mother lifted her then, cradling her with such genuine love that Margotte felt something crack in her chest. When had anyone last looked at her like that? Her parents in her previous life had been proud of her accomplishments but distant, always pushing her to achieve more. And she'd had no time for relationships, too consumed by her studies and her rivalry with—
Don't think about it.
But it was too late. Memories flooded back. Late nights in the library, fueled by competition and coffee. The sick satisfaction of scoring higher on an exam, matched by the burning shame when he scored higher on the next. The way they'd pushed each other, drove each other, until the pushing became too much and their bodies gave out under the strain.
They'd killed themselves. Both of them, essentially. Died in pursuit of being better than the other.
And now here they were. Reset. Given another chance.
We could do it differently this time, a small voice in her mind whispered. We could choose not to compete. Choose to just... live.
But even as the thought formed, she knew it was a lie. She'd seen the recognition in Adrian's eyes. Seen the same competitive fire that burned in her own chest.
Some things, apparently, transcended death.
The next hours passed in a haze of new experiences and humiliating biological necessities. Feeding, changing, being rocked to sleep—all things her adult mind rebelled against but her infant body demanded. She drifted in and out of consciousness, each time waking with a moment of disorientation before reality crashed back down.
This was real. This was happening. She was alive again, in a new world, in a new body.
And Adrian Valemont was right next door.
When next she woke fully, it was to darkness. Night had fallen, and the nursery was lit only by a low-burning lamp on a distant table. She was in a cradle now, an elaborate carved wood that would have cost a fortune, suggesting this family had wealth and status.
The house was quiet. Somewhere distant, she could hear voices, but they were muffled. Servants, perhaps, or her parents entertaining guests.
Margotte stared up at the ceiling, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. She tried to move her arms with more purpose, and managed to get one tiny hand up near her face. The fingers were so small. Everything was small.
She was going to have to grow up all over again. Learn to walk, to talk, to read and write in whatever language this world used. Years of dependency, of being helpless, before she could even begin to pursue knowledge again.
The thought should have been depressing. Instead, she felt something almost like... anticipation?
A new world meant new things to learn. New systems to understand, new knowledge to acquire. And if there was one thing Margotte had always excelled at, it was learning.
She'd master this new life just as she'd mastered her old one. She'd figure out the rules of this world, excel in whatever system of education existed, prove herself once again.
And she'd beat Adrian Valemont doing it.
The certainty settled over her like a blanket. Warm. Comfortable. Right.
Some people might have seen their deaths as a warning. A sign to change, to let go of unhealthy competition, to find balance.
Margotte saw it as a chance to do better. To be smarter about the competition. To win more decisively.
Outside, in another house not far away, an infant with silver hair and blue eyes stared at his own ceiling with remarkably similar thoughts.
The universe had given them a second chance.
Neither one had any intention of wasting it.
But neither one had any intention of losing to the other, either.
Tomorrow, their mothers would bring them together again for another "playdate." They would be placed in that same cushioned basket, expected to coo and gurgle at each other like normal babies.
Instead, they would glare. They would compete for attention, for praise, for every small victory that infant life could offer.
And as they grew learning to crawl, to walk, to speak, the competition would only intensify.
Some rivalries, it seemed, were stronger than death itself.
In the darkness of her new nursery, Margotte's lips twitched in what might have been a smile.
Welcome to round two, Adrian, she thought. This time, I'm winning.