///WELL HOWDY HI HOWDY HEY

So remember that poll I did a while back? The one asking for feedback on which story I should do next? Yeah, wellllll turns out the answer may well be neither!

Long story short, I tried writing both and they're not working out quite the way I want. I'm still going to write both at some point, but they just need a bit more time in the oven - with Villainess specifically, I think I know what went wrong and how to fix it, BUT I'm gonna take some time before going back to it. So the first chapters that I've posted will get a significant rewrite at some point in the future. But for now, Villainess is going on the backburner.

So, you might ask, what in the world are you doing instead, dear author? Well, I'm writing something completely different! Another story that I intended to do at some point, but I thought it would come later. It's called Chasing Butterflies, and it's about a mom who gets ripped away from her happy life, husband, and kids and shoved back into her awkward high school body. It's an unwilling regressor story, inspired by Re: Trailer Trash and the existential crisis I had after reading it and realizing that regressing would be an absolute nightmare scenario for me.

So! Here's the first three chapters. As always, lemme know what you think - good, bad, or otherwise!

///

Chapter 1: A Blast from the Past

Olivia stepped into the bedroom with a sigh of relief, stretching toward the ceiling. Finally. Finally, the baby was asleep. In under an hour, too. That had to be a new record.

Glancing over, she saw that her husband was already lounging on the bed. Jason’s burly form lay sprawled atop the covers, his wild chestnut hair and beard making him look for all the world as though he had a grizzly bear somewhere in his lineage. A particularly handsome one. She had married him, after all.

“George and Cash are asleep already?”

He glanced up from his phone at her question. “Yup. Your dad really tuckered them out at the park. Hazel go down easily?”

She nodded. “For once. Maybe she's starting to figure this sleep thing out. Though now that I've said something, I'd give it twenty minutes before she wakes up again…”

Her husband chuckled. “Give it time. The boys were both nearly one before they slept through the night, remember?”

“I know, but they’re also boys. It makes sense they’d take after you, Jason. Can’t we have one kid who’s as good at sleeping as I am?”

Jason shook his head with amusement as Olivia made her way to the bathroom and began getting ready for bed. Her dark hair came down from its perennial bun, falling over her shoulders in thick waves. She rolled her neck, feeling the tightness that had become a constant companion over the last seven years, only to see her husband staring at her in the mirror. A content smile was written plain across his face.

She cocked an eyebrow. "What are you looking at?"

"You," he admitted unrepentantly.

"Oh. Well. Continue on, then."

He rose from the bed and came up from behind, wrapping both arms around her waist. He nuzzled softly into her neck as she relaxed, enjoying the embrace.

"I love you."

She gasped. "Really?"

"Yes. Haven't I told you before?"

"I think I would remember something like that."

"Hmmm. I'm not so sure. You forget a lot of things." His smile turned teasing. "Like grabbing milk at the store. And setting a timer for your cookies…”

She playfully swatted at his arm. "Says the one who almost forgot to take the trash out for the second week in a row."

"I didn't forget. I was just busy working on the dishwasher. The bin wasn't that full, anyway."

They exchanged a brief kiss before Olivia slipped out of her husband’s arms, her behind receiving a quick squeeze as they parted. She returned to her bedtime routine, rushing through it as best she could. Even if Hazel had gone to sleep easily, she knew better than to believe the baby would stay that way. In the meantime, she’d need to snatch as many precious hours of sleep as possible. A proposition made even simpler by how effective the constant rocking and lullabies had been on Olivia herself.

By the time she slid beneath the covers, Jason was already thoroughly engrossed in a video about how to replace various dishwasher parts, narrated by a potbellied old man who clearly knew far more about appliance repair than videography. Olivia wordlessly cuddled up to her husband, nuzzling beneath one of his hairy arms with a sigh. Her entire body melted into the familiar position as the day’s events and worries fell away.

It was a familiar song and dance. Now that Hazel had been born, these small moments of just the two of them alone were once more fleeting and precious occurrences. Once she was a little older, things would settle down again, just like they had with each of the boys. But for now, while the baby slept, she simply appreciated the feeling of his body against hers.

I do miss the times where we could just lie here and cuddle for however long we wanted. It seems like forever ago. But honestly? I’m not complaining.

Despite the bags under her eyes, the day-to-day complications of juggling each kid’s needs, and the wrist that complained about carrying yet another ever-growing baby, she wouldn’t trade her family for the world. Neither of them would.

She lifted her chin sleepily. “Good night, Jason.”

He bent his neck to meet her lips with his own. “Good night, Liv."

Smiling, Olivia closed her eyes. The dull murmur of the dishwasher repair video filled her ears like a gentle lullaby, and in minutes, she was asleep.

***

When Olivia awoke, something felt… odd. Just slightly off in some way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

She cracked her eyes open, already rolling over to check on Hazel through the baby monitor on her phone. Yet her phone wasn’t there. Nor was her nightstand. In fact, the source of her strange feeling quickly became all too apparent as she saw the entire room around her had changed.

The rising sun sent a few pale rays through half-closed blinds, illuminating pale lavender walls bedecked with shelves and colorful posters. Where her nightstand should have been there was now a cluttered desk and a cheap office chair, its wheels sunk into well-worn divots on the beige carpet below. A dresser and a bookshelf were the only other pieces of furniture that populated the room, aside from a large, plush rug that dominated its center.

Olivia blinked and rubbed her eyes. It wasn’t the room she’d expected, clearly. Yet it also wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. This was her childhood bedroom, complete with posters of various game characters and a modest collection of figurines adorning the shelves.

Peeling off the floral-patterned comforter and sheets, Olivia stood and crossed the room. She picked up one of the figurines—a humanoid mech wielding a ray gun and a laser sword. Its plastic armor hid joints that turned the little collectible model into a fully functional action figure.

She smiled. It was from an old tv show, not one that she’d ever seen, but one that was practically made with the sole purpose of selling figurines and model kits like this one. She’d always meant to go back and watch it, just to see the models in action and see where they’d come from. But ironically, the series itself had never quite kept her attention.

Seeing it now made her wish that she’d kept at least a few of the things. Her boys would have loved playing with them. Then again, given the rather inexpert work she’d done in sanding down the rougher edges of each piece… Perhaps it was better that she hadn’t.

She turned the figurine over, admiring the sheer detail of the thing. She’d heard of lucid dreams, of course, but this was her first time actually having one. The realism was honestly astounding. The feeling of the plastic beneath her fingers rivaled what she would expect in the waking world. Her subconscious even managed to unearth details that she never would have recalled herself, like the slightly off-center sticker on its shoulder and the slight scratches where she’d cut a piece just a little too close to the base. 

Setting it back down, she perused the shelves as her old knickknacks and belongings took her on a walk down memory lane. Plush representations of various game characters, pencils and pens that she vaguely recalled owning at some point, a folder full of loose sheets of flute music… The impossible level of detail persisted throughout the entire room as she noticed little lavender paint splotches on the white trim and the fully legible names of each and every book on her shelf. There was even an old sketchbook on the desk, hiding beneath a pile of loose papers and a few trading cards.

Olivia dug it out and flipped through the pages, chuckling at the amateur scribbles. She’d never been the best at drawing, but it had been enjoyable. One more of those things she'd let fall by the wayside later in life.

But as time passed, the sense of nostalgia slowly turned to confusion. This dream sure was lasting a long time. It also felt oddly calm and sedate in its pacing. Usually, they felt like mad rushes from one nonsensical event to the next, as though throwing more at her would keep her from questioning things too deeply.

Maybe this is normal for lucid dreams? I never looked into them too deeply, so it is possible…

Her brow furrowed as she landed on a particular drawing of an elven woman—one that she didn’t immediately recall making, but was undoubtedly hers. Did she really have this all in her subconscious? Her memory was pretty good, regardless of what her husband said, but not this good. Not to mention it had been, what, twenty years since she’d lived here? Her dad had moved shortly after she went off to college, so high school was the last she’d ever seen of the house.

A growing sense of unease nagged at her. It seemed wrong. Well, not wrong, exactly. Everything seemed too accurate, too real—which ironically made everything feel even more strange. It would have felt more in line with her expectations if her figurines had been inexplicably floating or the papers turned to glitter as soon as she touched them.

Shutting the sketchbook, she set it back on the desk and headed for the door. Maybe exploring would reveal something sufficiently atypical and break this strange sense of immersion. If nothing else, she was curious to see what the rest of the house looked like. And how long this dream would last.

Reaching for the door handle filled her once more aggravated the feeling of wrongness that seemed to pervade everything. Olivia half expected a vast field of glittering stars or a tropical jungle to greet her on the other side of the door. But to her continued surprise, it was just a hallway—the same one she remembered. Her feet silently padded along the carpeted floors as she swept over it with her gaze. Curiously, she pushed open the bathroom door across the hall and flicked on the light. White luminescence bathed the small space as she froze.

A few basic toiletries populated the counter, gathered around the sink like office workers around a water cooler. Toothpaste, deodorant, a wide hairbrush that sported a tangled mess of stray hairs despite all attempts to remove them. A simple shower curtain hung open just far enough to reveal the same within—two bottles, one of body wash and another of combination shampoo and conditioner.

But none of that was what caught her attention. No, what really stopped her was the large mirror hanging above the sink—and the figure reflected in it.

The scrawny figure of a teenage girl stared back at her with wide brown eyes. Skin that was a few shades too pale was speckled with traces of acne whose scars wouldn't fade for a decade at least. Dark hair lay flat against her head before turning into a frizzy mess as it tumbled past narrow shoulders, indicating she hadn't showered last night.

She knew all this, of course, because she was looking at herself. Not her current self, though. This was the face she’d had as a teenager, more than twenty years ago.

Chapter 2: Just Like Old Times

Olivia touched her cheek in disbelief. This face was one that she had managed to honestly forget. She’d come a long way since her teenage years, enough that talking about it felt like telling stories about a formerly close acquaintance or a distant family member. Yet here she was, staring at herself and her awkward pubescent glory once again.

It was at that point that a few more strange details began to make themselves known. For one, her height. This version of Olivia stood a few inches shorter than her adult self, still having a bit of room to grow. That explained the slight disorientation when reaching for door handles. On the bright side, she also lacked the modest collection of aches that age and motherhood had bestowed upon her so lovingly.

The last detail was a rather welcome one. Still, Olivia held off on celebrating. She was too put off by her present circumstances—and how they were starting to feel far too real.

I have to be dreaming. Right? If I’m not…

“Olivia?”

A voice startled her out of her musings. Olivia spun to find a tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway, his dark hair the same color as her own. A few strands of silvery gray had begun to peek out among them, though they were a tiny minority compared to the near-solid coloring that she'd grown used to. A worn tee from a national park they’d visited years ago hugged his biceps and hung loosely over the rest of his fit frame.

Her father raised his bushy eyebrows. "Whoops. Didn't mean to startle you, there."

Olivia couldn't help but stare. He looked so young. Sure, her mental image of her dad had never fully allowed her to consider him “old”, even though he was well into being a grandfather. But now, seeing what he’d been like a few decades before…

Was he always that fit? And those wrinkles around his eyes are gone… I didn’t even realize those were new, they came in so slowly.

"Livi? You ok, sweetie?"

Olivia blinked, realizing far too late that she'd been staring. She shook her head before attempting to salvage the situation.

"Fine, sorry. Just waking up still." She had to suppress a wince. Had her voice always sounded so high-pitched?

Her dad chuckled. "I was gonna say. I'm surprised to see you up so early. Planning to go back to sleep?"

"... No. I didn't think I could." It was an honest answer. Right now, she had too many questions to let things end here. Assuming that it was even an option.

Her dad shook his head. “That's even more surprising. But since you're up… Want some breakfast?"

Her stomach growled in answer, eliciting another chuckle from her father. “Sounds like that’s one vote yes.”

“Yeah. Some breakfast would be nice, thanks.” Her voice was a little faint, as she was still reeling from the utter whiplash—both of her dad’s physical appearance and her own.

She followed her dad downstairs, her steps creaking on the third and fifth steps, and was greeted by the sight of her old kitchen. Its granite countertops were cluttered with all manner of seasonings, a few dishes from the night before, and a novelty toaster that had graduated from Christmas curiosity to a mainstay of the household. There was even a home phone resting on a stand—a wireless one, but still a relic that would have been more fitting in a museum.

I forgot how long those things stuck around for. They have to be on the way out, right?

Olivia settled onto a tall chair at the counter as her dad began bustling about the kitchen. Her confusion only intensified as she took in the room. It was just as detailed as everything else she’d seen. Somehow. It even smelled like her old kitchen.

She froze. Wait… smell? I’ve never in my life smelled something in a dream. Not that dreams are particularly easy to remember things, but still…

“Order up! Eat 'em while they're hot.”

Before she knew it, a plate stacked with fresh pancakes slid in front of her, with butter and a bottle of syrup following shortly after. Tantalizing tendrils of steam wafted up, tickling her nose and hammering home the revelation even further.

She looked down at the stack in disbelief. Yet rather than stoking her appetite, the sweet aroma triggered an almost instinctual revulsion. She had spent the better part of a decade avoiding foods just like this.

But… it’s a dream, right? She thought, clinging tight to the belief. So it won’t matter if I eat a few pancakes. And besides…

Her gaze drifted up toward her dad, who faced away from her. His body obscured the stove, but couldn’t hide the telltale sizzling of more pancakes as he prepared a helping for himself. This obviously hadn’t been his original plan for breakfast today. It was extra effort and dirty dishes made just for her. A gesture that she genuinely appreciated.

Picking up her utensils, Olivia tentatively put a forkful in her mouth and winced. It was as though she’d eaten a mouthful of straight sugar—even more so considering the wide berth she'd given the stuff after getting diabetes. Even now, she could practically feel her blood sugar spiking with a single bite. And that was even leaving the bottle of syrup untouched.

I can taste them, too.

Her dad returned a moment later with a plate of his own, standing across the counter. Both ate in mutual silence for a minute, one enjoying the meal and the other trying very hard to suppress years’ worth of habitual avoidance with each bite. The last thing she wanted was to seem ungrateful, especially since the meal was taking the edge off her hunger.

Eventually, her dad broke the silence. “What's on your mind, sweetie? Still waking up, or are you starting to get nervous?”

She swallowed another bite. “Nervous?”

“I mean, you’ve only got a couple days of summer left. Then you’ll be a high schooler.”

She nodded, trying not to let the depth of her ignorance show. High school… so she really was a teenager again. At least, according to the setting. If it started in a couple of days, that meant she would have been, what, fourteen?

She reflexively reached for her pocket to check the date, only to remember that it wasn’t there. Well, not on her at least. If memory served, she should definitely have one at this point. Though it would be a far less advanced model than what she was used to. Maybe it was hiding in her room?

Either way, it wouldn't help her now. So she just asked instead. “What day is it again?”

Her dad chuckled. “Saturday. You sure you’re even awake?”

“It's summer. The days kind of run together.” Olivia shrugged, hoping that it worked as an adequate explanation.

“Fair enough. Though you won't get any excuses on Monday. I'll have ice cubes ready just in case you try sleeping in."

Olivia couldn't help but smile. Despite the mischievous gleam in her dad's eye, he had never once actually followed through on that threat. Though Olivia did her best to never give him any reason to. 

"By the way, let me know if you want anything from the store. I'll be going after lunch probably, once I get the lawn mowed and finish up a few loads of laundry. I'll take care of yours, too, if you bring it down and get it sorted…"

They talked for a while longer about all sorts of things. Things that would have mattered years ago, like a new restaurant opening downtown or a band they both recognized performing in the area next week. Little things, really. Yet it took her back to a time she hadn't realized she'd missed, one where he was simply a flight of stairs away rather than a three-hour plane flight.

Yet throughout it all, Olivia couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of unease. Her dad felt real, too. Even more so than the figurines or the pancakes or the house. He felt like an actual person. Like her dad, not just a figment of her imagination.

The realization hit her even harder than the pancakes. And caused that nagging sense of uncertainty to solidify into something far, far more concerning.

I don’t know what’s going on. But I get the feeling I’m not going to be waking up anytime soon.

All too soon, their plates lay empty and their bellies full. Her dad gave a satisfied sigh. "Well. What about you? Any big plans for the day?"

She snapped her attention back to the present. Her dad’s tone made it clear that he expected the answer to be no, and Olivia saw no reason to disagree. All she wanted right now was some time to think. "Not yet. Just… just going to head upstairs and get ready.”

Dad chuckled. "You sure? Only so many more lazy days. I won't judge if you want to take advantage and stay in your pajamas a while longer."

"Positive," she nodded, scooting back from the counter a bit more hurriedly than she’d intended. "Thanks for breakfast, dad."

Excusing herself, Olivia headed back up the stairs to her room. Her newly filled stomach was already sending a heady rush of sugar through her system, as though she'd refilled her tank with jet fuel rather than gasoline. It did absolutely nothing to help wrestle her increasingly frantic thoughts into line, and it was all she could do not to run the last few feet down the hall.

The door clicked shut. Only the sound of her breathing kept her company as she leaned back against it, eyes darting once more around the room. Her room.

It was at that point that Olivia began to panic.

Chapter 3: Gone, But Not Forgotten

What the hell.

Without waiting another moment, Olivia reached over and pinched her arm. Then again, harder this time. She pinched herself until tears started welling at the corners of her eyes, and still the room around her didn't change a single bit. The only thing her efforts earned was a few red welts.

Panic rising, she threw herself back into the bed and squeezed her eyes shut. Focusing on her real bed and her real house, she willed herself to wake up—really wake up. All of this had been fun, but she was ready to get back to her life.

But when she opened her eyes again, the scene still hadn't changed. She was still lying in her childhood bed. Alone.

Olivia closed her eyes once more and tried to calm her breathing. This was no dream. At least, it wasn’t anything like any dream Olivia had ever known. Nor did it seem like some sort of crazy hallucination. This was something else entirely.

Slow down. Don't panic. Think this through.

She took in a deep breath, holding it for a handful of seconds before letting it slowly hiss out. After a few more repetitions, she had herself under control enough to at least evaluate the current situation. Although what she found didn't exactly reassure her.

There were three main possibilities she could think of to explain what exactly was happening to her. The first was that this was, despite all appearances, still somehow a dream. An impossible one with more sensations than any she’d ever had before, and one that she had no idea how to wake up from, but a dream nonetheless. The second was that she was in a coma or in the midst of some near-death experience, and this was essentially a hallucination of her life flashing before her eyes. In other words, a different kind of dream. Yet the third option…

The last explanation was that she'd actually, by some impossible miracle, traveled back in time twenty years.

Olivia sat up in the bed and put her head in her hands. It was impossible. Utterly impossible. Yet how else could she explain all of this? As little sense as it made, everything else made even less.

What happened to me? Why… Why is this happening? Did I somehow die?

A pit opened in the base of her stomach. If she had gone back in time, then what had she left behind? Would her husband wake up to find her cold, lifeless corpse beside her? Would baby Hazel cry out for her mother, only for her to never arrive? Would George and Cash suddenly find themselves without one of the central pillars of their lives, just like that? Or had something else taken her place, some sort of imposter that would slip into her now vacant place with no one the wiser?

Or what if… what if that timeline just ended? What if it’s all gone?

Her breath caught. The kids. If she really had gone back in time, then they didn't exist. They wouldn't exist for at least a decade. Or… maybe they never would?

Olivia sat there for a long moment, staring at the wall. Her heart felt fragile, as though the slightest movement would see it crumble into a thousand tiny pieces.

She and Jason had made so many sacrifices to reach the life they wanted. One where they didn’t have to worry financially, where they had secured a future for their kids and would provide for them for years and years to come. One where she could afford to stay home and focus on raising and nurturing each one.

She had a house, a loving family, and stability. A husband whose love for their kids may have them surpassed her own. So many years ahead of them, to enjoy together and watch them grow…

And now, it had all been ripped away.

A wave of despair threatened to overwhelm her. Why… why me?

Olivia slapped her cheeks. Stop it. Focus. Focus on the present. This isn’t helping, and I don’t have any way of figuring out that particular mystery right now anyway. I need to figure out what to do.

It was easier said than done. The defeatist slant colored her thoughts, smothering any rationality as it magnified all of the worst possible outcomes into self-evident goliaths that wouldn’t be felled. She cursed herself for eating those pancakes. She’d always thought that her diabetes had developed while she was pregnant with George, but if not… It certainly would explain some things.

With an effort, she pushed aside the why's and the how's and all the other questions she couldn't even begin to fathom the answers to. All of that was thinking too far ahead, too broad in scope. She needed something she could work with right now. If only as a distraction.

With a conscious straightening of her posture, Olivia let out another long exhale, then she got up and crossed to the desk, shuffling around papers until she found a blank one. A pen clicked in her grip as she divided it in half, each side with a different header: “Same as before" and "Different."

Ok. Think. I have a second chance at my life, whether I want it or not. If I were to do things differently… What would I do? 

Olivia quickly began jotting down ideas. Her family naturally went into the “Same as before” column, while the other quickly populated with other things. Using her future knowledge to make money, preventing major tragedies, spending more time learning skills… The usual suspects when one thought of a redo. The list grew and grew, and in minutes her pen was at the bottom of the page.

Yet as she sat back and stared at the lists, Olivia couldn’t help but frown. At some point the items in the “Different” column went from matters of immense importance to… not that. Minor things, like keeping in touch with an old friend or keeping some of her old video games instead of selling them for pennies on the dollar. There were plenty of them, sure, but…

Her gaze drifted back to the first column and the four names written there. Four names that somehow managed to outweigh the dozens and dozens of entries beside them.

She’d never asked for a redo. Her life had been great. Sure, there had been ups and downs, rough patches and trials just like with anyone else. But all of that had served to make her the woman she was today, helped her grow and develop. There wasn’t one bit of it that she would have truly changed, given the opportunity. Not with where she’d ended up.

The thought gave way to another, more concerning one. If she was wrong and everything was somehow still a dream—an unlikely possibility, but one she clung to nonetheless—then Olivia could do whatever she wanted. She could do something insane like burn down a forest and, regardless of how realistic the flames felt, it would have no lasting consequences to herself or anyone else.

But if she was right, if she somehow actually had gone back in time… Then everything mattered. Everything.

She looked at the names of her family again. If she went about changing things without thinking, who was to say that she’d end up on the same path as last time? That she’d meet her husband, get married and have kids? And even if that did happen, would they be the same ones that she loved so fiercely? The same people? 

Hell, who's to say he'd even date me again in the first place? I'm a completely different person compared to when we first met. And he won't be the same man I know and love, either. He'll have lost a couple decades' worth of personal growth and maturity, even if I'll still love him. Though maybe there's no chance of getting the same outcomes as last time, anyway…

Olivia had to stop herself from spiraling once more. But the thought stuck in her mind like a particularly stubborn splinter. One made even more difficult to dislodge because of its implications.

If she wanted any chance of seeing her family again—her family—then she'd need to make this life as close as humanly possible to her last one. That meant no introducing revolutionary tech before its time or trying to steer the world on a better path with her foreknowledge. This would be a redo in the truest sense, where she did her best to follow in her own footsteps—even when they led to mistakes.

Well, mostly. I’m not dumb enough to think that I can actually just match my old life perfectly. Even if I did remember it well enough to try, there’s no way I’d be able to eat the same meals and say the same words to the same people. It would be stupid to even think that. But so long as I keep the broad strokes and important details consistent, then maybe…?

It was a crazy proposition. One that might not even work. Who was to say that the changes she’d already made wouldn’t ripple out, completely altering the world from here on?

…But it's the best chance I've got.

It was all she had. The only lifeline for her to cling to.

She nibbled on her thumbnail and froze. The nail was ragged along its edge, not the clean arc that it should have been. For some reason, that reminder of her past self caught her particularly off guard.

Slowly lowering her hand, she absentmindedly felt at the ragged nail instead. Her grip on the pen tightened. Maybe she would wake up. Maybe this would all prove to be little more than a horrifying nightmare, as unlikely as it seemed. She’d roll over, cling to Jason, tell him that she loved him a few dozen times, and remind herself of just how lucky she was.

But until that happened… she couldn’t assume that she’d go back.

Breathe. Just… breathe.

Olivia still had no idea what had happened or why. Not to her of all people, when there were so many others who would leap at a chance like this. But it hardly mattered. This was her life now, and she'd be damned if she messed it up.

Closing her eyes briefly, Olivia willed herself awake one more time. When the room around her didn't change, she gave a final sigh of resignation. Then, she began to plan.