In my past life, I was a burdened soul, the hand that reaches for light that is not there. I was an orphan, a victim of war, a being so shattered it seemed impossible to go on. I was a child, and I died young. Such is why it seems to all that even the smallest things can upset me in my current life. They give me the memories of what has been, and what is for those who are not as fortunate as I. In my past life, I was freedom, then caged and destroyed, as good things so often are. I was sent back as I am to achieve what that small child never could.