Turns out the giantess I had seen when I first opened my eyes was just my “mother”. She was a woman of stunning features, a little past her twenties, if I had to guess, but I couldn’t say for certain. Her azure eyes seemed capable of freezing even your soul, yet, when she looked at me, her sight emanated a warmth so strong I could almost feel it on my skin.

 So, this is what a mother’s eyes look like. My real mom could learn a thing or two from her, I thought, the memory of my death still burned into my mind.

To complement her beautiful eyes was a small, but proportioned face, framed by long, silky, hair that shone like it was made out of pure silver. I’d never seen anyone with that hair colour in my previous life. Maybe there’s a special type of dye in this world…

She wore a simple white tunic, that shone almost as much as her hair, giving her an angel-like appearance. The most astonishing of her features, though, was her height: being at least 2 meters tall, she was easily the tallest person I’d ever seen. This, considering the fact that now I was in the body of an infant, was probably why I mistook her for a giantess when I first saw her.

She lived- well, I guess I live here too now- we lived in a small wooden house, that could be referred to as nothing more than a hut, in the middle of what seemed to be a deep forest. Looking out of the windows I saw no trace of any other building, so I concluded that we didn’t live in a village or a city, which I thought was pretty strange.

Showing me the place was the first thing she did when I woke up from my slumber. I don’t know what she expected to gain by making a baby have a sightseeing tour of the house, but I guess she wanted me to be familiar with the household right away.

 A big hearth sparkled in the middle of the kitchen/living room, the biggest space in the whole house. There were a few logs on the ground, some used as chairs, while the largest one, positioned right in front of the hearth, was undoubtedly a table. I wonder how she managed to bring such a big chunk of wood here…

 Aside from some strange cooking pots hanged on the walls, the room was pretty empty. Even though there weren’t any paintings, carpets, or anything else that could be considered elegant, this simple and crude environment gave me a warm sensation and I instantly felt protected by it. Must be because I was born here, I thought.

  The room where my mother slept was as scarn and disadorned as the previous one, with just a simple bed, a nightstand and the little crib where I was supposed to sleep. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to rest, but it was a hundred times better that my old bed.

 At least I’m not bound to this one. As the thoughts of my old life began flowing into me and I started to feel my eyes getting humid, I heard my mother saying something.

 “The next stop is the library!” she said excited, snapping me out of my unpleasant memories; or at least, that what I think she said. The language she seemed to be speaking was definitely Latin, the tongue spoken by ancient Romans. Luckily for me I had studied it in my previous life, but I was far from being good at it. All I could do was barely make out what she said, and just because I caught up some familiar words and worked the rest of the sentences up by intuition.

While my head was lost in thought we reached the so-hyped-library.  When she opened the wooden door of the room, which wasn’t any different from all the other doors in the house, my eyes widened in surprise: it was not nearly as I expected it to be.

 I was already picturing a small, plain room with 3 or 4 dusty books, but I was met with by a long, shining hallway, which proceeded with elegant curves-like the banks of a river- to a spiral staircase carved in wood. The carvings on the staircase were so dazzling, so perfect, one could look at them for hours and still find something new.

The most astonishing part about the library, thought, were the beautiful white-wooden-bookshelves that ran across the entire corridor and covered the walls of the mezzanine reached via the spiral staircase. To my ulterior surprise, however, there was not a single book in the shelves: they were filled to the rim with all types of scrolls.

 Now that I think of it, books probably are yet to be invented in this world.

The floor was of a blinding white- almost as if it was made out of pure marble- and a few wooden columns, beautifully carved, just like the staircase, supported the luxurious loft.  

My infant face must have been a mask of pure marvel because my mom started grinning at me and said some strange words I didn’t really understand.

 It was really frustrating not being able to get what she was saying. I need to pick up this new language quickly.

As the days passed by, even if I tried my best to understand where I had been reincarnated, the only hint I could get was that Latin was still spoken here. My mother, whose name was Metis, had brought me on little funny trips in the garden of the house, but I’d never ventured further away than that, so I couldn’t know for sure where I was. My guess was that I had somehow gone back in time, judging by the language my mother spoke and the appearance of the house, but I had a constant feeling that something was off in this world. Well, at least for now I think I should play the role of the child. It’s not like I have much of a choice anyways.