Were they not unknown?
That this world nurtured many rare souls with hearts, mind and beautiful spirits.
Resembling a wisp in the air... Painting an ethereal frame in the earth.
So pristine, pure and untouched above the reach of the tips of fingers...
Those gentle cocoa orbs blink—orbs beholding glittering stars, swallowing galaxies as she stands on her feet, there, at the restless entrance of Magenta Airport.
An oval framed youthful face, feathery butterfly lashes brushing almond eyes—eyes reflecting the serenity of her soul.
A sweet breeze drifts softly around her, teasing her hair into gentle floats—soft loose strands brushing her warm, flushed cheeks.
Such long, wavy and luscious, onyx–hued curls catch the fading light of the waning sun—painting their airy strands golden. They whisper secrets into the air as they cascade down her waist like an enchanted waterfall.
Her fingers tighten around the grip of her luggage as she gazes out across the city of Erriador.
Her eyes are wide with wonder—not from the usual thrill of entering a big city, with its familiar urban rhythms and overlapping skylines, but from the quiet hope of rekindling a light that has dimmed within her—a longing for belonging and peace.
So her belongings rest by her side—she travels light.
For all the life she's lived, she's had incomplete—imperfect memories.
We often wonder about fate.
Options a fair amount—yet the mind narrows, and the heart muses.
We float, we flow. Every shake, every swing, and all we opt in the end—defines our fate.
Passersby, though occupied—racing and rushing, always designing two steps ahead of life—still spare a few of their engaged seconds for a glance at the girl before them.
A girl, nurturing a heavenly appearance.
A magnificent presence, leaving them unwilling to cease their whispering words or divert their lingering, wandering stares.
Her attire is a coquette white blouse adorned with lace patchwork and ruffle trim, airy and delicate beneath a peach-coloured knitted cardigan, she pairs it with light blue bootcut jeans.
Her overall appearance flatter the natural elegance of her fair, graceful form.
The hustle and bustle of the city—feels unwelcome to her.
She exhales a deep breath, a little drowsy, a little worn. Painfully unaware of the gazes trailing her form, each pair of eyes holding a different story.
"It doesn't feel so great to be back," she whispers, her gaze dropping to her feet.
Her dark, lean brows knit, shoulders slouching beneath the weight of vehement thoughts.
Wandering ahead, she scans the row of vehicles in the parking lot, a little perplexed as several begin approaching—pulling over, lining up near her.
One by one, drivers step out, offering to take her as their passenger. She smiles apologetically, politely declining each offer, until she settles on the one nearest to her.
.
.
.
The cab hums the journey toward her new home.
She shifts in the seat to get comfortable—when suddenly, a thought strikes.
She reaches for her purse, retrieves her cellphone, and swipes until one familiar number rests on her screen.
Her fingers pause, then tap to dial.
The phone rings—once, then twice.
She waits patiently for the ringing to come to an end.
"Hello? Neva, did you land safely?"
A sweet voice reverberates from the speaker.
She breathes irregularly, as though catching herself after a stumble. As if she's just raced through a house too large for her feet—and finally, at last, reached the ringing device.
A soft smile touches Neva's lips—just imagining her aunt's inelegant self bustling about at home.
"Yes, Aunt. I just got into a cab," Neva assures her gently.
A promise kept—the one she made to her aunt: to let her know the moment she landed in the faraway land of Erriador.
Aunt May exhales, her breathing steadying with relief.
"That's good… that's good," she says, her voice laced with concern.
"My dear niece, please stay alert at all times, alright? And don't accept anything from strangers, alright?"
Neva chuckles softly, warmed by the tenderness, protection, and anxious love in her aunt's voice.
"I know, I'll always be careful.
Calm your stormy mind, okay? Trust this niece of yours a little." Neva gently, playfully reassures her motherly aunt, drawing a soft laugh from her end of the line.
"Of course, my Neva is all grown up," May says, a touch of melancholy in her voice.
"But you're still just a little girl… my little girl."
Neva's gaze softens.
Now, more than ever, she wishes May were by her side—her gentle presence always had a way of warming her heart.
"Please be safe, Neva.
Take care of yourself. Call me or anything—and I'll teleport to you or something," May declares with earnest firmness.
Neva laughs. "Sure, Aunt. Say hi to Uncle for me. Bye—"
"I will. And what do I always say? Never ever say 'bye.' We say: 'See you later.'' May reminds her clumsy niece, matching her with a clumsy kind of love.
Neva chuckles.
"Call me when you reach home, darling."
"I will, Aunt."
Half an hour later, Neva arrives at her newly bought apartment.
After the cab pulls away and she exchanges a polite greeting with the female owner who welcomes her, she now walks forward. Her gaze drifts toward the cream-and-coffee-colored building—one she deliberately chose while sailing through listings online.
She peers around the compound, her gaze drinking in the softness of the greenery. Trees surround the compound, their branches draped in amber and red leaves that quiver in the chilly breeze.
Flowerbeds spill with vibrant colors, the air tinged with the faint sweetness of petals and fresh earth.
The apartment rises before her with understated grace, three floors of beige walls and neat windows, the architecture resembling the elegant English countryside homes—each leading to someone's story.
As the digital lock clicks open with a soft chime, the code she entered still fresh in her mind, the realization begins to sink in.
This place… this is now her home.
.
.
.
As she breezes in, the lights flicker on at once, stripping away the darkness—flooding the bare walls with soft, steady glow.
A short corridor leads from the entrance to a living room set a foot higher, the gentle rise—a quiet invitation.
She sets her luggage down, letting her gaze wander across the unclaimed space.
The interior is painted in a teardrop palette—muted, cool, and bare of any human art or warmth… yet.
Her footsteps echo softly as she moves deeper inside, the hush of the apartment embracing her.
She finds a charming bedroom tucked away, and a fresh, sunlit kitchen where light dances over clean countertops.
At the living room's south-facing window, she slides the white blinds aside.
The warm twilight spills in through the clear glass—soft and tender against the harsh fluorescence.
The view opens onto a cozy little balcony, bathed in the hush of soft light.
"It's a comfy space," she muses, a hopeful smile lighting up her face.
She sighs, content.
It's just enough to make her stay feel comforting—maybe even feel like... home.
---
Neva has spent the past five days easing into her new surroundings. Her home in Erriador is slowly beginning to feel lived in.
She hasn't even had time to notice homesickness creeping in—or perhaps, she doesn't truly miss the home she left behind with her aunt and uncle.
A week from now, she'll be attending classes at the college she recently enrolled in.
Restless, she's poured her energy into adorning her home and preparing for the new term—resisting the pull to wander through the unfamiliar, yet inviting, neighborhood just beyond her door.
Now, after being buried in her book, she finally lifts her gaze and notices the sun slipping behind the clouds through the open balcony door. Suddenly her stomach growls—an impatient protest.
With a loud sigh, she shuts the book with a lazy thud.
No groceries. No dinner. And no motivation.
Gathering her scattered academic books—and the open Bible beside her—she peels herself off the carpented floor.
She groans when her legs, stiff and sore from hours of stillness, offer a quiet protest the moment she rises.
♡
Strolling through the street, Neva slightly folds into herself as the cool whispers of the autumn breeze kisses her skin—soft, fleeting touches stirring a shiver through her.
She's donned in a skinny dark blue jeans that hug the length of her legs, the casual black hoodie barely warm against her frame.
Her long, wavy hair spills loose down her back, catching the light in unruly, flowing copper strands.
She's never tamed it—never needed to.
It's a freedom she wears her heart, letting each curl dance in the wind's tender pull.
The world is painted in strokes of vibrant, enchanting colors by a divine brush—crimson, gold, and amber glowing under the mellow, waning sun. It is the start of October, the ushering of winter forthcoming.
Freshly fallen leaves lie strewn among crisp, dry maple ones, their mingled textures releasing soft, delicate crunches beneath each of her steps.
She tilts her chin up slightly.
The swirling away, warm golden sun peeks through the agape of branches—filtered glow through fiery autumn leaves, showering a glaze of orphic light on her peaceful, seraphic face.
She closes her eyes—her marmoris soul veiled beneath the soft veil of her lashes.
A quiet smile paints her lips.
She feels alive.
It's her favorite: that earthy, rich scent in the air—of freshly mown hay and whispered promises of change.
"Hey, you!"
The deep voice—sudden and from nowhere, cuts through the hush—stirring her senses, slowing her steps with an instinctive caution
She turns, wide eyes puzzled, scanning the quiet street.
And then she sees them—
A pair of striking dark orbs staring at her,
so deep and vast,
concealing an endless abyss… meeting her own with impossible familiarity.
A beautiful, handsome man.
She just stands there, her large almond–shaped eyes rounding ever so slightly at the edges—drawn, unblinking, into the depths of his.
His cold, sharp eyes are locked on hers. And with each steady step he takes toward her, those dark siren eyes soften into something gentler—doe-like, warm, unfurling.
And then he's there... so close.
Neva dreams not a thing—yet everything.
She's hushed, her features tranquiled, stilled into quiet.
He stares at her deeply, absend of words, and she awaits, her breath held for whatever he has to say. She blinks, catching her own reflection adrift in the depths of his eyes.
Her gaze lingers, breathing in the towering frame of him.
His hair is dark and slightly wavy, soft and a little messy—enough to make one's palms itch to caress and ruffle it in quiet adoration.
His skin glows with a honeyed hue, his tall nose straight and noble, jaw sharpened like sculpture, sharp almond eyes framed by strong, dark brows.
The gentle rays of the sun kiss his face, igniting his striking almond-cocoa eyes until it glows as though set alight within.
"It unfastened," he says.
"Huh?"
The mysterious man tilts his head, his deep, curious gaze still securely tethered to hers.
An unexpected shift in the air.
Neva, the young maiden, feels the breeze grow warmer—as her cheeks bloom scarlet.
Just like that~?
Let the blood rush red to the cheeks.
Let the eyes voice what the lips fail to word.
Let the awkward fingers rest in calmness.
Let time stay still, and the heart run faster.
Let the roots sprout deep throughout the soul.
Let the floweret kind of love bloom unhurriedly—
"Your shoelaces… they're unfastened," he says again, his voice softened—smooth and ocean-deep.
Neva, stunned, immediately glances down.
Her eyes widen.
They really are unlaced.
"Uh—uh, thank you. I didn't know," she stammers, her words tumbling awkwardly.
A beautiful smile delights on his face, and for a moment, she forgets what she's supposed to do—
Tie her disheveled laces!
"You should be careful," he says gently.
And then, to her surprise, he crouches without hesitation—unexpectedly—gathering the disheveled laces in his fingers and weaving them back into place.
Neva's eyes widen more in astonishment, her heart beating cruelly faster as her gaze trails down the large shape of him—kneeling before her.
"You... you don't have to do that," she stammers, swallowing hard, burning up with shyness.
Almost without thinking, her fingertips brush over her warm cheeks. feeling the quickened pulse beneath her skin.
She's we'll aware—Neva has burned scarlet.
He rises to his feet, having quietly placed aside a destiny of stumbling injury.
"Of course I should,"
She drops her hands from her face in a quick flinch.
"Why would you?"
He feathers his lips with a faint smile,
his gaze unwavering as he speaks—seven natural words:
"After all, I've fallen for you, Angel."