It's Not Special to be a Transmigrator

‘‘Lotte Fraulen.

Male, six years of age.

It’s a rather feminine name for a boy.

He stood frozen before a strange scene, his father kneeling by his mothers side, the midwife carrying three crying infants in her arms, and his mother whose hands fell without moving any further.

That was the first time he heard his father sob which at his age he wouldn’t understand. However he recognized that it was similar to the sound he made whenever he’s hurt. Perhaps for his age this would be a confusing experience.

His father took the infants in the midwifes arm and gently carried them. That day was meant to be a celebration, but his voice can only be silenced by grief, knowing they will grow up without their mother.

To Lotte, it must’ve felt surreal. But it was even more so for me, as these scenes began to unfold before my eyes.

‘Where… am I?’’