Was she unknown, that this world is vastly beautiful, divinely crafted by the mighty hands of God?
That even as it consumes, burns, and destroys through the fury of evil, the Father nurtures the mind, body and spirit.
Mortal being is fleeting and fading, pristine peace so desired, impure conflict so feared.
She is not untouched by either, yet still, in the earnest hope of kindling a light beyond freedom within her soul, she now stands at the restless entrance of Magenta Airport.
A deep sigh slips from her lips when her gaze drifts to the fading light of the sun, washing the maple trees across the street, along with a quaint garden seating area, in rich shades of golden yellow and deep red.
A sweet breeze drifts around her as she walks toward the waiting ride,
lifting the airy strands of her golden-brown curls as they catch the light.
Anxiousness tightens her chest.
The thrill of beginning a new stage of her life, which she had felt before bidding farewell to her family, has long vanished now that she treads upon this strange, foreign land.
And so she whispers a prayer, her only comfort being her Father,
Who will never, ever leave her.
Her fingers tighten around the grip of her luggage as many gazes fall upon her, each seeming to coax her into taking a ride.
Yet, the nearest man, younger and kinder-looking than the rest,
waiting quietly beside his cab, guided by a blessed instinct, is chosen by her.
The driver offers her a gentle smile as he takes the vessel of migration from her, light and lone, like the life she had lived, woven by her incomplete, imperfect memories.
"221B Baker street,
Rose Byrne Apartment, please," she says quietly, closing the cab door.
The city of Vernellia blurs past like a fever-dream.
Minutes stretch into the unfamiliar urban rhythms as overlapping skylines collide in a rush of motion, sound, and light, warping the restless passerbys, always designing their lives two steps ahead of time.
Her eyes drift out the window as the cab turns onto a quieter street, victorian lanterns lining the sidewalk, casting a soft, golden light across her face reflecting in the glass.
Her brows knit softly in thought, for she knows she often wonders about fate.
The paths are a miriad,
yet her mind narrows, and her heart muses.
Life floats, life flows,
and every shake, every swing, every choice she makes in the end, will define the fate.
Time is fleeting. A half-hour dying, as the cab hums to a stop before the iron gates of an apartment rising with understated grace.
A cream-and-coffee-colored building she had deliberately chosen while sifting through listings online.
It stands three floors high,
its blend of stone and beige siding lending it a warm, refined, suburban charm.
It is a three-story complex with private balconies and large,
white-trimmed windows, each one a doorway into someone's story.
Trees encircle the yard, their branches draped in amber and red leaves that quiver in the chilly breeze in the dark.
She steps out, inhaling the crisp air,
carrying the faint sweetness of autumn and the scent of fresh earth.
That's when a smile, at last, curls at her lips, her heart blooming with satisfaction.
She hopes to build a little cocoon of a world here, in this tranquil corner of a foreign land, far from where she came, far in Erriador.
She thanks the driver as he hands her the luggage. The tall, slender man, with an untrimmed shadow tracing along the sharp line of his jaw, perhaps in his thirties, offers her a kind smile and says she should call his cab whenever she needs a ride.
She nods, assuring him that she will.
She had already completed all formalities with the owner online.
E-signed documents, rent paid through the property portal, and the passcode sent to her by email just the day before.
The digital lock clicks open with a soft chime, the code still fresh in her mind. And as the door yields, the realization begins to sink in—
This place… this is now her home. Her very own home.
A sigh escapes her as she nudges the door and steps inside.
The lights flicker on at once,
stripping away the darkness and flooding the bare walls with soft, steady glow.
The foyer leads from the entrance to a living room set a foot higher, the gentle rise offering a quiet invitation.
She sets her luggage down and lets her gaze drift across the unclaimed space, absorbing its calm, waiting silence.
The interior is painted in a creamy off-white palette, neutral, soft and untouched by any trace of human warmth… yet.
Even as the furnitures and other important essentials remain, already prepared for her.
Her footsteps are quiet against the cold tiles as she moves deeper inside, the hush of the apartment closing around her.
As much as she longs to rest after the long flight, curiosity stirs stronger within her.
She wants to see it all,
the open kitchen, the balcony across from her, and the bedroom tucked just beyond.
The sharp trill of her phone cuts through her thoughts,
breaking her exploration. She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and pulls it out.
The light from the screen glows with a familiar name, and she picks it up at once.
"Hello? Neva, did you land safely?" A melodic voice drifts through the speaker.
"Yes, Aunt. I just moved in." Neva's voice is calm and reassuring, as she sinks comfortably into the couch.
"You're already at the apartment?"
A hint of worry and confusion threads through her aunt's voice.
"I am." Neva closes her eyes as a wave of guilt fills her chest.
She had forgotten her promise she made to her aunt: to call the very moment she landed in the faraway land of Erriador.
Aunt May lets out an audible sigh.
"I won't chide you today, I know you must be exhausted.
But, my daughter, please take care of yourself and stay alert at all times, alright?"
A quiet smile tugs at Neva's lips. "I'm sorry, Aunt. I might just be a little jet-lagged."
"Would you like your aunt to come over for a few days, perhaps even stay a few weeks to help you adjust?" Aunt May asks.
Neva shakes her head, though she knows her aunt can't see her.
"Thank you, but no. I want to stand on my own now, I'm eighteen, after all."
"Of course, my Neva's all grown up," Aunt May sighs, her voice laced in melancholy. "But to me,
you'll always be that little girl… my little girl."
Oh, now the ache of missing her aunt stirs deeper within her. Now she wishes aunt May were here.
Her presence had always known how to warm even the coldest corners of her being.
"Please be safe, Neva," Aunt May says softly.
"Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything, I'll even teleport to you if I must."
Neva chuckles.
She understands her aunt's worry all too well, knowing her niece is alone, far from home, after being raised with such care and sheltered from the world's cruelties.
"Sure, Aunt." She folds her legs onto the couch, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Send my regards to Uncle for me. I'll talk to you later."
"I will, darling. Have a good rest.
Take care," Aunt May murmurs, her voice fading into a hush before the line falls silent.
Neva exhales a long, weary sigh, and leans back against the couch.
The days ahead will be full. The college she has just enrolled in will begin
in a couple of weeks, and she'll need to make this place feel a little more like home.
Still, a quiet thought lingers,
will she regret this decision of leaving her home behind, thousands of miles away?
Oh well, she'll worry about it later. For now, she'll explore more of her cozy apartment, take a warm shower, and collapse into bed she so longs for after eighteen hours of flight.
And she's so, so thankful to her Father that the apartment was move-in ready.
⑅ ⑅ ⑅ ⑅
How long does it take for one to belong to somewhere new, with completely unfamiliar surroundings, amongst strangers, when all her life she had known only the shelter of her aunt and uncle's home in the beautiful outskirts where nature stretched endlessly?
Yet the yellow dandelion of childhood had yielded to an orb of white seeds as she reached adulthood. And she could no longer bury the yearning within her for more, more to life beyond the four walls of the mansion that had grown stifling with each passing day, no matter how safely it sheltered her.
It took months of coaxing and reassuring before her aunt and uncle finally allowed her to leave.
Erriador was specially chosen by her, for she had felt its strange call within her heart.
And with the familiarity she felt toward her late parents' homeland, and the hope of a beautiful independence taking root through her Father's reassurance, here she drifts like the white seeds of a dandelion upon the strangely welcoming winds of Erriador.
A week has passed since she eased this little apartment into feeling more like home.
Mostly, she had replaced the beige curtains to lacy white ones, and turned the simple bed with blue covers into a whimsical white canopy bed,
where she now lies on her stomach.
It isn't so bad, she thinks. She likes it here, the freedom and independence, with no one to rush her while she lives at her own pace.
Well... except there's no one to take care of her.
The hunger gnawing at her stomach reminds her of that rather brutally.
Not that she doesn't know how to cook; in fact, she loves the art of it.
But there's no groceries.
She begins to rise, still burying her nose in her poetry book.
Poetry evokes something deeply beautiful within her, as do books. They're the very reason she chose English Literature as her bachelor's major at Vernellia University, where she'll be studying in a week's time.
She sighs.
The words simply aren't sinking in the way she'd hoped.
She lifts her gaze to the breeze stirring the curtains, the fading sunlight filtering through them to bathe her room in a muted gold.
What a beautiful world...
Happiness flowers within her, yielding into renewed motivation as she snaps her poetry book shut.
And so dancing through her steps, she heads toward the dresser.
It's time for a beautiful stroll, an evening to soak in Vernellia's lively streets at the dawn of her favorite season!
⑅ ⑅ ⑅ ⑅
A smile still plays upon her lips as she strolls along the sidewalk, the cool whispers of autumn brushing against her cheeks.
She almost regrets her choice of outfit as the evening chill seeps into the air, dressed in nothing more than a thin dusty pink cardigan trimmed with lace and a pair of jeans.
Her eyes follow a tiny whirl of autumn leaves dancing down the street where freshly fallen ones lie scattered among crisp, dry maples.
Around her, the world is painted by a divine brush, strokes of crimson, gold, and amber glowing beneath the mellow, waning sun, all for her alone to behold and take delight in.
She tilts her chin up slightly. The warm, swirling sun peering through the agape between the branches, its glow filtering through the swaying autumn leaves.
Oh she loves it, this beautiful stillness...
Her soul ripples with life, soaking in the earthy richness of the air, laced with the whispered promises of change.
"Hey, you!" the voice stills the air within her bubble of dream.
She slows with instinctive caution. Was it meant for her?
The two men walking ahead don't seem to pay it any mind.
So she turns, her eyes meeting his—
Her breath hitches as she sees them, a pair of deep, striking eyes holding hers with an impossible familiarity.
A beautiful... handsome man.
She stands there, eyes unblinking and drawn into the depths of his.
And with each steady step
he takes toward her, something feathers through her heart, as those cold, sharp eyes soften into something warmer, unfurling.
And then he's here... so close.
Neva dreams not a thing, yet everything.
She's hushed, into secrecy, revealing nothing. Not her heart beating fast, faster, as he refuses to break the tether of their eyes.
He's absent of words, and she only awaits, her breath held, for whatever he has to say.
She blinks, catching her own reflection adrift in the depths of his gaze.
Then her thoughts lingers, breathing in the towering frame of him.
His hair is dark, slightly wavy, soft and a little messy, enough to make her palms itch and ruffle them in adoration.
His skin carries a honeyed hue; his nose, tall and noble; his jaw, finely chiselled like sculpture. And those eyes, sharp, almond-shaped, framed by strong, dark brows.
The gentle rays of the sun kiss his face, igniting his striking chocolate eyes, until they glow, as though set alight within.
"It's unfastened," he murmurs.
"Huh?"
The Mysterious Man tilts his head, his deep, curious eyes still securely tethered to hers.
A sudden shift in the air thaws something within her.
Neva, the young maiden, feels the warmth rise in her cheeks.
Just like that?
Let the blood rush red to the cheeks.
Let the eyes voice what the lips fail.
Let the awkward fingers rest in calmness.
Let time stay still, and the heart run faster.
Let the roots sprout throughout the soul. Let the floweret kind of love bloom unhurriedly—
"Your shoelaces, they're unfastened." His voice is softened, and ocean-deep.
Neva glances down at once. Her shoelaces lie undone, tangled in a careless knot.
Oh my...
"I...I didn't know." She cringes inwardly at the stutter.
A beautiful smile delights on his face, and in that moment, she forgets to do what she's supposed to do—
Tie her disheaveled laces!
"You should be careful," he says gently.
Then her heart stutters as he crouches down without hesitation.
He gathers her dishevelled laces in his fingers, weaving them back into place.
And as she watches him, the tall, composed figure now kneeling before, she realises the poem that stirred in her heart.
Had she read it somewhere... or had she written it herself?
Oh, gosh...
"You... you don't have to do that." Her whole being burns up as she brushes her fingertips against her cheek, as though trying to calm the heat beneath her skin.
He rises to his feet, having quietly set aside what could have been a destiny of stumbling and injury.
"Of course I should."
She drops her hand with a startled flinch.
"Why would you?"
A faint, knowing smile feathers across his lips. His gaze unwavering as he answers,
"After all, I've fallen for you, Angel."