Chapter Text
February 5, 1922. 12:01 am.
That was when Cindy Caine was born again.
Her body felt different, lighter than it had before. She opened her eyes, expecting to find herself back in the bed she’d been confined to for what felt like an eternity. Alas, that’s what happens when you’re ill, and especially when you’re ill with an overprotective father. However, she was greeted with a sight more… unfamiliar and barren. Instead of her room, an empty moonlit field with strange objects and artifacts scattered. A disheveled man with a look of awe on his face was kneeling before her. Where was her father? Her siblings? Hell, as of now she'd even take her extended family. She couldn't recognize who this stranger was. Unless...
No. No it wasn't him it couldn't be. His hair looked too thin, gray and messy; his face too sunken. Her father was a strong man who would never-
"Cindy..." the man whispered, still staring in shock as he began to smile, and she couldn't help but notice him beginning to tear.
Oh no... No no no it was him. She felt a pit in her stomach grow, and at that moment she could only think one thing: how did this happen? Her father's arms extended towards her, cupping her face. They felt frail compared to the last time she was held, however long ago that was now. He continued to stare at her in amazement, her returning it with one of concern, before he pulled her close and continued to mumble her name. She used to feel safe when he held her, protected in his strong arms as she felt the heat come off his chest. Now it felt like she was pressing against his shell. The warmth was gone and his arms had thinned to the bone, she swore she could almost feel his ribs under his heavy cloak. With each new moment awake she felt the uncomfortable anxious feeling gnawing at her. So many things have changed and she didn't know why. Why wasn't she at home? Or better yet, where even were they right now? Where was the rest of her family, even if she never cared for them prior? How was her father, an intimidating and respectable man, reduced to this? What happened to her father? To her life?
For now, she wouldn’t ask questions. She would remain laying against her father, staying in his weak embrace and listen to his shallow breathing and disoriented mumblings…
Cindy Caine was dead. Or at least she had been for the past four years. It shouldn’t have surprised her, the last memory she had was being forcefully stripped away from consciousness as her body writhed in excruciating pain. She could see through her luminescent hands and skin that was unnaturally white (even for someone who was pale her whole life). Being dead did not surprise her. But four years. It had felt merely like a moment.
Everything was now gone, or at least that’s what she’d been told. After his shock had settled, her father gave rather brief answers regarding the current… whereabouts of the Caine’s. The house was destroyed in a fire a few days prior. The family was all dead, he refused to further elaborate how or why. He was determined to bring his daughter back, and had done many things and performed many rituals with his assistants, who fled both voluntarily or by force, to bring her back. She felt sympathy for him, a sentiment she rarely had towards others. The two had undoubtedly the closest bond in the family, and she remembered how pained he looked in her final memories. It was not easy to watch her fade away and still lose her despite all his medical knowledge. He contemplated surgery, but couldn’t bring himself to bring even the smallest incision to her. Maybe that’s what drove him crazy, she thought: knowing that he could have saved her if he put those feelings behind. A guilt so deep he’d beat death itself and make a deal with God to bring her back to him.