" I can’t seem to put the pieces  together - every time I try to, my memories play tricks on me. Every  time I try to remember simple events from my childhood, there is a deep  feeling inside telling me that those are not my real memories. It seems  so that someone else has been living this life that it is not my own.
My name is Magdalene Beau Pre, a prodigy child, a child that was so  desired but, at the same time, was turning into a distant thought after  so many failed tries to get pregnant. Flourished in a witches lair that  wasn’t really willing to teach me anything out of the ordinary - it was  to protect me they say, that their main and only goal was to teach me  how to be an ordinary person. To live my life as a...normal and boring  human, with little skills to protect myself only.
Everything started that day when we got back from a small trip to  London. I remember the sickness, the overwhelming feeling that simple  actions around me took inside my mind. I was out of place and I didn’t  know why. I took my parents hands for support as they told me everything  was going to be okay. It was a long trip back to Compiegne, and a even  bigger challenge to adapt myself to that place they called `home’. I did  not feel at home.
I grew to be the `perfect’ child. Books were the source of my knowledge,  while I tried my best to convince my parents to teach me more than  small spells. Looking beautiful, having manners, be an example of a  woman. I learn all of that without questioning it, they were my parents  after all, and I know they just wanted the best for me. Piano and violin  were one of my teachings, things that, for some reason, I mastered  pretty well from the beginning, unlike the other subjects I seemed to  forget.
After two long years of adaptation - that I consider a success nowadays;  I started to believe that I belong there, there was no reason to not - I  forced myself to think. They were caring and loving parents, strict for  a fact, but it was comprehensible when you live as part of the higher  society. Every piece started to fell in place until I found this  peculiar necklace, tossed into one of my old clothing drawers -  completely forgotten for whole those years, right in front of me. It was  pretty enough for making me glare at it for hours when I was in my room  all alone; it gave me some sort of peace, and for some reason I felt  that I needed to keep it as a secret from my parents. It was a gold ring  with a bright blue gem, hanging on a black satin ribbon. It was  familiar to me even tho I had never seen it before. It was not long after  that the visions start to appear. First in my dreams, and then during  the day while doing simple tasks as playing a note on the piano. I  didn’t understand, and to be honest, I was scared of how realistic they  felt, but the whole sensation that they transmitted me, made me  feel...accomplished. Happy.
It was me alright on those visions, but I was younger, placed somewhere  else, somewhere that felt like `home’. Sometimes I saw myself playing in  the cornfields outside, other times I was just wandering around the  empty house with a lost look on my face; but then there were these few  visions I started to have- and those were the ones I eager most to have;  this boy I called brother- never felt that type of bond with him, it  was always something stronger, something I couldn’t explain for the life  of me; the sweet look on his face, the caring touch of his cold skin,  so cold it was indeed, but yet, could easily warm my heart in a beat. At  first I tried so... so hard to put his features together, but I  couldn’t, for as much as I tried, they were just a blur - an elegant and  sinful blur. It was like that for the next few years.
I lived that time as an outsider; I gave my parents the reassuring that  they deserved, never confronting them with my visions and the fact that  this life they put me in, wasn’t really my life to live after all. The  worst part was waking up for a reality where he was no longer there.  Saying that I was sad is an understatement. I didn’t even know he was  real, for all I knew, those visions could be memories from a past life  and it was surreal thinking that I could ever see him, touch him...feel  him. I was lost in my own real life nightmare, praying to fall asleep so  I could live in my dreams for the rest of my trivial mortality.
(...) ""

Magdalene Beau Pre,
November, 1881