Neva is not unaware that this world is divinely crafted by God, that even as it consumes,
burns, and destroys after the fall, her Heavenly Father still nurtures the mind, body, and spirit.
Mortal being is fleeting and fading, pristine peace so desired, and impure conflict so feared. She is not untouched by either, even if she had never truly stepped outside of her aunt and uncle's manor.
Yet, in the earnest hope of kindling a light beyond freedom within her, she now walks through the airport terminal stretching beneath the sweeping canopy, toward one of the vehicles pulled up along the curb.
Waiting beside a red Toyota, a tall, slender young man with an untrimmed shadow tracing along the sharp line of his jaw, asks her where her destination is, to which she replies,
"221B Baker street, Rose Byrne Apartment, please."
He takes the vessel of migration from her, light and lone, just like the life she had lived, woven by her incomplete, imperfect memories.
Her gaze drifts to the evening sky, painted in shades of peach, amber, and fiery orange, an answer to her prayer, soothing her anxious heart now that the thrill of beginning a new chapter in her life has faded with her farewell to her family before boarding the flight.
The sprawling metropolis of Vernellia blurs past like a fever dream, its towering buildings, streams of vehicles, and streetlamps flickering to life colliding in a rush of motion, sound, and light, warping the passersby,
always designing their lives two steps ahead of time.
Minutes stretch into half an hour, the crowded avenues giving way to quieter roads lined with townhouses, little cafés, and quaint shops, when she leans her head against the window.
As the car turns into a narrow residential street, where Victorian lanterns line the sidewalk, casting a warm glow across the orange and red autumn leaves, she wonders how every choice she makes will ultimately define the fate of forever.
She takes in the cream-and-coffee-coloured apartment building rising with
understated grace, one she had deliberately chosen while sifting through listings online.
She pushes against the iron gates, then turns at the sound of the engine as the cab pulls away, its headlights casting golden light across the grey pavement beneath the darkening autumn sky.
A chilly breeze rustles through the trees encircling the yard as she moves toward the open staircase leading to the first floor of the three-storey apartment building, its front verandah lined with iron railings.
That's when a smile curls across 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.
The digital lock clicks open with a soft chime, the access code still fresh in her mind, having received it by email from the property owner after completing all the formalities online, through E-signed documents, and paying the rent through the property portal.
As the door yields, the realization begins to sink in, this place... is now her home. Her very own home.
As she steps inside, the lights flicker on at once, stripping the darkness, and flooding the creamy, off-white walls with a steady glow,
untouched by any trace of human warmth… yet.
Setting her luggage down, she lets her gaze drift across the unclaimed space, absorbing its silence.
As much as she longs to rest after the long flight, curiosity stirs stronger within her, urging her to explore it all, the open kitchen, the balcony across from her, and the single bedroom tucked just beyond.
A sharp trill of her phone cuts through her thoughts,
and she reaches into the back pocket of her jeans.
She answers the call as the familiar name glows on her screen, and her aunt's voice, urgent yet tender, comes through the speaker.
"Hello? Neva, did you land safely?"
"Yes, Aunt. I just moved in." Neva's voice is calm and reassuring as she sinks into the soft couch.
"You're already at the apartment?" A hint of worry and confusion threads through her aunt's voice.
Neva closes her eyes as a wave of guilt fills her chest. "I am." She had forgotten her
promise to her aunt to call the very moment she landed in the faraway land of Erriador.
Aunt Mae lets out an audible sigh. "I won't chide you today. I know you must be exhausted.
But, my dear niece, please take care of yourself and stay alert at all times, all right?"
A quiet smile tugs at Neva's lips. "I will, Aunt. And I'm sorry, I might just be a little jet-lagged."
"Would you like your aunt to come over for a few days?" Aunt Mae asks. "Perhaps even stay a few weeks to help you adjust?"
Neva shakes her head, though she knows her aunt can't see her. "Thank you, but no, Aunt. I want
to stand on my own now. I'm eighteen, after all."
"Of course, my Neva's all grown up." Aunt Mae sighs. "But to me, you'll always be a little girl… my little girl."
Neva purses her lips as the ache of missing her aunt stirs deeper within her.
Her aunt so warm and familiar, making her almost regret moving thousands of miles away from home.
"Please be safe, Neva," Aunt Mae says softly.
"Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything, alright? I'll even teleport to you if I must."
A quiet chuckle escapes Neva as she folds her legs onto the couch. "Sure, Aunt.
Send my regards to Uncle for me. I'll talk to you later."
"I will, darling. Have a good rest. Take care." Aunt Mae's voice fades into a hush and the line falls silent.
Neva exhales a long, weary sigh and leans back against the couch, thinking of the days ahead, of settling into the apartment and making it feel like home, and of the college she has just enrolled in, where classes will begin in a couple of weeks.
She can only hope she won't regret her decision to leave her aunt and uncle behind.
But thankfully, her Father will be here, always.
Oh well. What's there to fear when she has her dear Heavenly Father by her side?
With this frame of mind, Neva gradually settles into her little apartment, adorning the windows with lacy curtains and the floors with velvet carpets, stocking her kitchen with cookware, dishes, and pantry staples, filling her closet with the warm, pretty outfits she would need for her lectures, while also preparing for university with books, research, and more books.
Even with a whole week spent fussing over everything that needs to be done, loneliness, anxiety, and fatigue still creep in every so often.
Yet a conversation with her Father or a call with her aunt and uncle is enough to soothe her.
How long does it take to feel at home somewhere new, anyway, amid a completely unfamiliar surroundings and amongst strangers, when all her life, she'd known only the shelter of her aunt and uncle's manor in the beautiful outskirts of France, where her family's privately owned orchards and agricultural fields 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 her yearning for more, more to a life beyond the four walls of the manor that had grown stifling with each passing day,
no matter how safely they sheltered her.
It took months of coaxing and reassuring before her aunt and uncle finally allowed her to leave.
Erriador was especially 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.
Neva half rises as her stomach grumbles, still half buried in the poetry book of Romantic Poets, analysing William Blake's "The Lamb",
a poem inserted in her syllabus, and also, because she loves Jesus Christ, and poetry evokes something deeply beautiful within her, as do novels.
They are the very reasons she chose English Literature as her bachelor's major at Vernellia University, where she would begin her studies in a week's time.
Yet there is more to the discipline than basking in the beauty of poetry, drama, novels, and essays; for beneath their beauty lies a depth of thought and hardship she is only beginning to discover.
Neva sighs and finally closes the book, glancing up to voice a playful, teeny-tiny complaint to her Father. Life here isn't so bad, with all the freedom and independence, but there's no one to take care of her.
Before, she wouldn't have needed to lift a finger, what with all the maids at her beck and call,
although she had been educated and equipped with the skills to survive on her own if ever thrown into circumstances such as these.
Of course she knows how to cook; in fact, she loves the art of it. But there's no groceries, and she doesn't really have any motivation to step outside.
Climbing off her pink,
whimsical canopy bed, her gaze drifts to the breeze stirring the lacy curtains, the fading sunlight filtering through them to bathe her room in muted gold.
A smile slowly spreads across her lips.
Oh, what a dear, dear, loving Father she has!
And so, almost dancing with each step, she heads towards the dresser, choosing a fitted, dusty-pink sweater trimmed with lace and a pair of flared jeans.
Applying a touch of makeup to enhance the features she already considers beautiful, thanks to the Lord, she checks her reflection in the dressing mirror stand, giddy at the thought of the lively streets awaiting her in the first light of her favourite season.
Yet, she almost regrets her choice of outfit as the cool whispers of the autumn breeze seep into the fabrics while she strolls along the sidewalk.
A magical tiny whirl of autumn leaves dances down the street, where freshly fallen ones lie scattered beneath the maples, beneath a world painted by a divine brush in strokes of crimson, gold, and amber, all aglow beneath the mellow, waning sun.
She lifts her chin a little, letting the sun warm her face as its gentle rays peek through the gaps between the leaves.
Oh she loves it, this beautiful stillness... that sets her rippling with life, soaking in the earthy richness of the air, laced with the whispered promises of change.
"Hey, you!" a voice calls, bursting her little bubble.
Her steps slow with instinctive caution.
Was it meant for her?
The two middle-aged men walking ahead seem not to pay the call any mind.
And so, she turns, her eyes meeting his—
Her heart makes a weird little leap from gentle calmness
into utter awestruckness as he lingers there.
And everything she has ever known of God's creation deepens into a realisation of just how mysterious it can be, at the sight of him.
An unbelievably beautiful... handsome man.
Somehow, Neva dreams not a thing, yet everything, as those sharp,
chocolate-brown eyes soften into something warmer, unfurling, with each steady step he takes towards her
And then he's here... so close.
While she's hushed into secrecy, revealing nothing.
Not her heart beating fast, faster, as he refuses to break the tether of their eyes, those deep, striking eyes holding hers with an impossible familiarity.
He's absent of words, and she awaits, her breath held, for whatever he has to say.
Catching her own reflection adrift in the depths of his gaze, she finally blinks.
His frame towers over her, and she breathes him in, his hair, dark and slightly wavy, soft and a little messy, enough to make her palms itch,
wishing to ruffle them in adoration.
His skin carries a fair, honeyed hue; his nose, tall and noble; his jaw, finely chiseled like sculpture.
Those eyes, almond-shaped, just like hers, but if hers are rounder, his are sharper, almost siren-like, glow as if set alight
within, framed by strong, dark brows.
"It's unfastened," he murmurs.
"Huh?"
He tilts his head, his countenance shifting into silent curiosity,
while the 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 careless loops.
Oh my...
"I... I didn't know."
A dreamy smile curls at his lips, and she forgets what she's supposed to do.
Tie her dishevelled laces...
"You should be careful," he says gently, crouching down without hesitation.
She watches as he gathers her laces between his fingers, weaving them back into place, all the while realising the poem that had 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 out of nowhere, and 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 hands 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."