Were they not unknown?
That this world is vastly beautiful, divinely crafted by the mighty hands of God.
It nurtures the mind, body, and spirit—
Even as it consumes, burns, and destroys.
Mortal being is fleeting and fading—
pristine peace so desired,
impure conflict so feared,
yet still untouched above the reach of her fingertips of the young maiden standing there,
at the restless entrance of an airport.
Her eyes are glittering cocoa orbs, beholding galaxies—wide with wonder,
not from the thrill of treading upon an unfamiliar land,
but from a quiet, earnest hope—
the hope of kindling a light within her soul.
A sweet breeze drifts softly around her,
as she walks toward the waiting ride,
teasing such long, luscious curls into gentle folds, airy strands of golden-brown catching the light of the fading sun, loose wisps brushing her warm, rosy cheeks.
Her anxious breaths whisper secrets into the air,
fingers tightening around the grip of a luggage—
a vessel of migration, light and lone,
for all the life she had lived—her memories remain incomplete, imperfect.
"221B Baker street, Rose Byrne Apartment, please," she murmurs, closing the cab door before the city Vernellia blurs past—the unfamiliar urban rhythms and overlapping skylines colliding in a rush of motion, sound, and restless light.
Passersby, race and rush, always designing their lives two steps ahead of time.
She gazes out the window, sinking into her seat—unaware how her own cocoa-almond eyes mirror the darkening city.
The cab turns onto a quieter street,
where Victorian lanterns line the sidewalk, casting a soft, golden light across her fair, oval-shaped face.
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.
After another half hour, 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.
A smile softens her face, 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 with a smile, 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.
A soft 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.
Her footsteps echo softly 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.
Suddenly, 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,
glowing with a familiar name, casts her face in a gentle luminescence.
She picks it up at once.
"Hello? Neva, did you land safely?"
A sweet, melodic voice drifts through the speaker, warm and familiar.
"Yes, Aunt. I just moved in," Neva answers gently, her voice calm and reassuring, as she sinks comfortably into the couch.
"You're already at the apartment?" her aunt asks, a hint of worry and confusion threading through her voice.
"I am," Neva whispers, closing her eyes as a wave of guilt fills her chest.
She had forgotten her promise—the one 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 soft 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,
her voice carrying sincere concern.
Neva shakes her head, though she knows her aunt can't see her. "Thank you, Aunt, but no.
I want to stand on my own now—I'm eighteen, after all," she says lightly, her shoulder lifting in an easy shrug.
"Of course, my Neva's all grown up," Aunt May says, her voice laced with melancholy. "But to me,
you'll always be that little girl… my little girl."
Neva's gaze softens, the quiet ache of missing her aunt stirring deep within her.
Now, more than ever,
she wishes May were here—her gentle presence had always known how to warm even the coldest corners of her heart.
"Please be safe, Neva," Aunt May says, her voice tinged with worry.
"Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything—I'll even teleport to you if I must," she adds, half-joking, yet entirely honest.
Neva laughs softly, though she understands her aunt's worry all too well—knowing her niece is alone, far from home, after being raised with such loving care and sheltered from the world's cruelties.
"Sure, Aunt," she says, curling 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 then."
"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 miss the home she left behind, thousands of miles away?
She huffs, rosy lips forming a faint pout.
She only hopes she won't come to regret her choice.
---
Neva has spent the past week easing into her new surroundings.
Her home in Erriador is slowly beginning to fill lived in.
And a week from now, she'll be attending classes at the college she recently enrolled in.
Restless and eager, she has poured her energy into adorning her home and preparing for the new term—
while resisting the quiet temptation to wander through the unfamiliar yet inviting neighborhood just beyond her door.
Now, she sits on the cold floor of her living room, buried deep in her book.
Suddenly, her stomach growls—an impatient protest breaking the quiet.
Only then does she lift her gaze and notice the sun slipping behind the clouds through the open balcony door, its fading light brushing the room in a muted gold.
With a loud sigh, she shuts the book with a lazy thud.
No groceries. No dinner. And absolutely no motivation.
Gathering her scattered academic books—and the open Bible lying beside her—she pushes herself up from the carpeted floor.
A groan escapes her as her stiff legs protest, aching from hours of stillness.
---
Neva strolls along the sidewalk, folding into herself as the cool whispers of autumn breeze swirls around her,
brushing against her skin—soft, fleeting touches stirring a shiver through her.
Her soft curls waver, spilling loose down her back—catching the light in unruly streams of copper. She's never tamed them, never needed to.
It's a freedom she wears her heart, letting each curl dance in the wind's tender pull.
Her eyes follow a tiny whirl of autumn leaves dancing down the street,
where freshly fallen ones lie scattered among crisp, dry maples—their mingled textures releasing soft, delicate crunches beneath each of her steps.
The street carries a hush, with scarcely a soul passing by. 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.
It's the start of October—the quiet ushering of winter forthcoming.
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, casting an orphic sheen across her serene, almost seraphic face.
She closes her eyes, her marmoris soul veiled beneath the delicate brush of her lashes. A quiet, secret smile curves upon her lips—she feels alive.
This is her favorite moment: the beautiful stillness, the earthy richness of the air, laced with the scent of freshly mown hay and the whispered promises of change.
"Hey, you!"
The deep, sudden voice cuts through the hush, stirring the still air around her.
Her senses sharpen, and her steps slow with instinctive caution.
She turns, cocoa eyes wide and searching.
And she sees them—a pair of striking eyes locked on her, deep and vast, holding an unfathomable mystery within their abyss... Meeting hers, with an impossible familiarity.
A beautiful... Handsome man.
She stands there, her doe-like almond eyes rounding ever so slightly—drawn, unblinking, into the depths of his. His cold, sharp gaze are threaded to hers...
And with each steady step he takes toward her, those siren eyes begin to soften into something warmer, mirroring hers, unfurling.
And then he's here... so close.
Neva dreams not a thing—yet everything.
She's hushed, her features tranquiled, stilled into secrecy—revealing nothing.
Not her heart beating fast—faster, as he refuses to break the tether of their eyes, looking into her deeply, abscend of words.
And she awaits, her breath held, for whatever he has to say.
She blinks, catching her reflection own adrift in the depths of his gaze.
Her mind 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 unfastened," he murmurs.
"Huh?"
The mysterious man tilts his head slightly, his deep, curious still securely tethered to hers.
A sudden shift in the air thaws everything within her.
Neva—the young maiden—feels the warmth rise, her cheeks blooming scarlet.
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," he says, voice softened—smooth, ocean-deep.
Neva, stunned, glances down at once.
Her eyes widen—
her shoelaces lie undone, tangled in a careless knot.
"Uh—uh, thankyou. I didn't know," she mumbles, her words tumbling out awkward and stammering.
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.
Her heart skips a beat as he crouches down—without hesitation, unexpectedly—gathering her disheveled laces in his fingers and weaving them back into place.
Her eyes widen even more, her heart thrumming wildly against her chest as she watches him—the tall, composed figure now kneeling before her.
"You—you don't have to do that," she says softly, her voice trembling with shyness.
She swallows hard,
her whole being burning up, fingertips brushing her cheeks, as though to calm the warmth blooming beneath her skin.
He rises to his feet,
having quietly set aside what could've been a destiny of stumbling and injury.
"Of course, I should."
She drops her hands in a quick, startled flinch.
"Why would you?"
He feathers his lips with a faint, knowing smile, his gaze steady, unwavering as he answers,
"After all, I've fallen for you, Angel."