Adèle Rousseau wiped down the counter of the dimly lit bar, the clinking of glasses and hushed conversations fading into the background. It was another ordinary night at Le Nuit Mystique, the bar she had called her workplace for the past few years. The air inside was heavy with the scent of alcohol and the murmurs of patrons seeking solace or companionship in the late hours.

As the clock struck 2:00 AM, Adèle Rousseau finished her shift at Le Nuit Mystique. Tired yet content, she bid farewell to her colleagues and stepped out into the cool night. Adèle, a 35-year-old woman with dreams she had yet to chase, longed for the embrace of the cool night air.

As she stepped outside, she noticed that the city was alive with a different kind of energy at this late hour. The city was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and a gentle breeze rustled through the quiet streets, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and anticipation. Adèle pulled her coat tighter around herself, the chill of the night urging her to hasten her pace.

She walked the familiar route home, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Dreams and aspirations flickered through her consciousness, visions of what could have been and what still could be. She yearned for something more in life, something beyond the dimly lit corners of some run-down bar.

Following her usual route home, a solitary journey that allowed for introspection amidst the bustling city, Adèle's thoughts were a whirlwind of aspirations and regrets, a tapestry of dreams she yearned to weave into reality.

As she crossed the street at a dimly lit intersection, her thoughts momentarily transported her to a world where she was free from the monotonous sludge she called "life." But in the real world, fate had other plans.

Adèle's mind was lost in contemplation. The distant hum of the city provided a soothing soundtrack to her musings. She crossed the street, her mind wandering through the vast landscape of her hopes, and then, everything changed.

The screeching of tires and blaring horns jolted her back to reality, and in a split second, the tranquility shattered. The screech of tires pierced the night, and Adèle turned her head to see headlights hurtling toward her, too close and too fast to react.

Time seemed to slow down as she stood frozen, a surge of panic coursing through her veins. It was a surreal moment, a snapshot of terror etched into the fabric of time.

Moments later, the impact came suddenly and violently, a forceful collision that sent her flying through the air like a ragdoll. The world spun in a chaotic whirl of colors and sounds. Pain surged through her body, a searing sensation that eclipsed the cacophony of the chaotic scene. Colors blurred, and the world spun as she tumbled, her consciousness slipping away.

Adèle awoke with a gasp, her senses overwhelmed by a sudden clarity, her heart pounding in her chest. She realized she could see—everything. The darkness she had grown accustomed to was gone, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through a window. Confusion and disbelief gripped her as she sat up and took in her surroundings.

She was in a child's bedroom, the scent of lavender and the soft moonlight filtering through a window greeted her senses. Toys were neatly arranged on shelves, and moonbeams danced across the room. It felt surreal, like a dream she couldn't shake off.

Confusion seized her, and she touched her face. She realized that it was far too small to be hers and, of course, far too soft. With a jolt, she realized that she was no longer the 35-year-old bartender; she was a child once again.

Memories collided within her mind, merging the experiences of Adèle and Victoire, offering her a unique perspective on her destiny, rebirth, and the resilience of the human spirit.

This child somehow carried the memories of Adèle Rousseau, a bartender whose dreams were cut short that fateful night. The collision, the pain, and the impending darkness were etched in her mind. Victoire Lefèvre, the child she had become, was a vessel for the rebirth of the bartender's soul.

Now the only question in her mind was, was she the bartender, Adèle, or the young witch Victoire? As she racked her brain, an answer emerged.

She was Adèle the bartender, and then she died.

And then she was reborn as Victoire Lefèvre, the young witch.

A magical witch.

But her newborn brain was too weak to fully process the memories of two lives, and therefore, to protect her brain from being overwhelmed, her magic automatically sealed these memories.

However, during the magical riot she experienced, as was the custom for all witches and wizards, her memory seals began to come undone. A wave of memories flooded her mind, sending her fragile body into shock and causing her to fall into a coma as her brain struggled to process the freshly unsealed data.

She took a deep breath and attempted to calm down. She thought to herself to calm down.

"It was just a reincarnation, nothing to be worried about."

Or not.

The soft moonlight bathed the room in a gentle glow, casting elongated shadows across the lavender-scented chamber. Victoire's heart raced, her mind struggling to grasp the situation she found herself in. She reached out, her fingers tightly clutching onto the silky duvet, trying to calm her nerves.

Just as confusion threatened to consume her, the door burst open, and in rushed her parents. Her mother, Isabelle Lefèvre, was a gracious and warm-hearted woman; she enveloped Victoire in a tender hug. Her father, Hector Lefèvre, was a stoic-looking young man who appeared to be in his early thirties but was well over fifty. He stood beside her, his eyes reflecting a swirl of relief and concern.

They spoke soothing words, comforting their daughter. Victoire was somehow both bewildered and grateful for their presence, even if they didn't understand the complexity of her situation.

"Victoire, ma chérie, you're awake,"

Isabelle exclaimed, her voice a soothing melody.

Victoire nodded, an uncontrollable rush of emotions welling up inside her. She couldn't explain why, but somehow, she felt an undeniable connection to the two standing before her.

"Yes, maman. But... why do I feel so... different?"

Hector knelt beside the bed, his eyes searching Victoire's face for signs of discomfort or pain.

"It's a lot to take in, sweetheart. You had a little accident, but you're safe now. We're here for you."

Isabelle gently brushed a strand of hair from Victoire's face, her eyes filled with a mother's love.

"We're going to help you through this, my darling. We'll figure out what was wrong and make sure it doesn't happen again."

Tears welled up in Victoire's eyes, a mixture of gratitude and bewilderment showing on her face. She was overwhelmed by the love and care that her parents showered upon her, even though they were oblivious to the unusual amalgamation of souls within her.

Seeing her cry seemed to shatter both their hearts, and they both embraced her at once.

"Victoire, ma chérie, we are so happy to see you finally awake," Isabelle said, embracing her gently.

Hector placed a hand on Victoire's shoulder, smiling warmly. "We were so worried. The healers assured us that you'd recover, but it was a trying time."

Despite being sure that the two were oblivious to the true depth of her experiences, their genuine concern and affection touched Victoire's heart.

"Thank you, Mama, Papa. I'm feeling much better."

Isabelle sighed softly, "You need rest, my dear. We'll leave you for now and let you recover."

Henri nodded in agreement, giving her a reassuring look. "You can count on us, Victoire. We'll always be here for you."

As they left the room, Victoire sank back into her pillows, allowing herself to absorb the reality of her situation. The weight of her two lives, the memories of Adèle and Victoire, was both a burden and a blessing. She knew she needed time to reconcile these experiences and figure out her place in this magical world.

Of course, she needed to think, contemplate, and perhaps even have to plan her interactions properly.

Hours passed, and the dimming light of the moon seeped through the curtains. A soft knock on the door signaled the arrival of a new member of their household. How did she know? Well, distinguishing knocking patterns had been a rather precious skill that her seniors had taught her. One had to know by the customer's knocks what exactly they wanted to drink or perhaps if someone was harassing a regular and needed to get their ass kicked then this skill would come in handy.

Anyways, the door swung open, and a maid entered, wheeling in a delicate wooden tray adorned with an assortment of authentic French dishes.

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Victoire," The maid greeted warmly, placing the tray on a small table near the bed.

"Bonsoir," Victoire responded, offering a polite smile, or at least she thought it was a polite smile. The maid shared a few details about the meal, describing each dish as she set them on the table. The tray carried a delightful, age-appropriate, and healthy(?) French dinner, specially prepared to provide nourishment after a long sleep.

There were delicate, bite-sized sandwiches made with soft white bread, ham, and a gentle layer of creamy béchamel sauce, topped with a sprinkle of mild cheese. The sandwiches were lightly toasted for a warm, comforting touch. Followed by a small portion of a simple salad featuring tender lettuce leaves, cherry tomatoes, and cucumber slices. The salad was adorned with a drizzle of a light vinaigrette dressing, offering a refreshing and crisp accompaniment.

So far, so good, but she couldn't say the same for what was next. A bowl of fresh carrot sticks, broccoli florets, and green beans, lightly steamed to preserve their natural flavors and vibrant colors. The steamed vegetables were tender and easy to eat.

She nearly hurled at the reminder of this dish. Her childhood had been nearly sent tumbling down her stomach from eating too much of this boiled mess.

This boiled mess was followed by a medley of cut-up fresh apple slices, grapes, and a few strawberries, offering a burst of sweetness. Followed by a petite, delightful éclair, filled with a delicate vanilla cream and topped with a thin layer of chocolate glaze. It provided a sweet and satisfying conclusion to the meal.

To wash it down, there was a small glass of freshly squeezed apple juice.

Victoire thanked her, waiting for the maid to finish before she was left alone once more. As she ate her dinner, it jolted her memory back to when she was a young kid. Finishing her meal, she put the tray aside and reclined in bed, lost in thought.

Her gaze fell upon a nearby shelf, where a collection of storybooks and family portraits rested. It was a glimpse into her new life, a life she had lived for seven years as Victoire Lefèvre. She picked up a framed photo, studying the smiling faces captured in a moment of happiness.

Victoire reflected on the past seven years she had experienced as Victoire. The milestones, the challenges, the joys, and the sorrows—they were all a part of her now. She knew she had been granted a second chance, and with it came the responsibility to honor both her past and her present. The road ahead was uncertain, but she was ready to embrace it with courage and determination.

As the evening deepened into the night and silence enveloped her and her room, Victoire continued to reflect on the tapestry of her life—a life that had been just shattered and remade, leaving her with an extraordinary second chance and a mysterious world to explore.

'What have I done to deserve this?' she wondered, her thoughts turning to the memories of her past life as Adèle Rousseau. 'What does this new destiny hold for me?'

In the midst of her musings, strange memories started to flood her thoughts.

---

The life of a stranger, a young woman, wasting away her life in a dimly lit bar in a dingy old corner of Paris.

She would wake up at eight every morning, doubt the meaning of her existence, and then go back to sleep for another two hours.

Wake up again and make a healthy breakfast followed by a long shower.

Her mornings would always end with a two-hour-long, gym session. Don't know why though, she was physically fit but still toiled away at the gym. Probably didn't have anything else to do, that's why.

Afternoons and noon were little more than stargazing... In the broad daylight. Or maybe picking up tourist chicks, sometimes native chicks. With her exotic silver hair and red eyes, she was almost always successful in her attempts and didn't lack a companion for the night.

Evenings were spent either taking the women she picked up to a fancy early dinner or having an early dinner herself. Well, she did spend time reading fiction books, sometimes normal books as well.

Nights? Oh, don't even think about it. She needed her rest if she was going to perform fancy bar tricks and pour liquor for customers who appreciated her efforts as little more than a stunt sideshow. The job advertisement had a highlighted point that stated one needed those skills to get the job and yet there was no bonus for these tricks.

Her shift began around 09:00 p.m. and ended roughly around 02:00 a.m. in the early morning.

It was on one such early morning when she slammed straight into a cargo truck and was sent tumbling down the road. She ended up falling into the Seine River and drowned. She didn't die from being overrun by a truck but from drowning in the river.

---

As Victoire tried to grapple with these strange and vivid memories, she realized that she had experienced a collision of two lives, two distinct worlds. The memories of Adèle Rousseau, the bartender from a bustling city, and the experiences of Victoire Lefèvre, the young witch from a pure-blooded wizarding family, were now intertwined within her.

Victoire's thoughts were a whirlwind of questions. What did it all mean? Could she find a way to balance these two identities and the memories that came with

---

As Victoire celebrated her tenth birthday, a subtle restlessness began to take root within her. The lure of the unknown beckoned, awakening an innate curiosity about her past and the world beyond her enchanted upbringing.  

Was there an afterlife?
If so, then did she have an afterlife?
Were these memories from her past life?
And if so, then will she awaken memories from lives before the bartender one? Questions after question. And yet no one to answer them.  

However, the memories of her past life as Adèle Rousseau seeped through the magical lock placed on them but they didn't burst forth at once, oh no, they were waiting for the right moment to reemerge and that right moment was right after she went to sleep after her birthday celebrations.  

At first, Victoire thought these were simply delusions, an elaborate hoax caused by a Confundus charm that someone cast on her as a prank, an attempt to make a fool out of her. Instead of approaching her parents or a mentor, she went with using a Finite Incantatem on herself.

Of course, she didn't know how to cast that spell but that's what books are for. This makeshift 'cure', ended up breaking the memory spell placed on herself. Making her brain go all jiggly and her old memories returned in full force, causing her magic to go on a protest event that put her in a coma.