The Seventh Tale: Never Fallen

Ashes.

They aren't new to me...The falling clumps of gray matter from the balcony above mine is a frequent sight as I try to bury myself in my own dimension written in the pale pages of my notebook.

"Phoenix," a stern voice called, old and deep—frightening.

Just like that, my hands moved hastily to hide the stash of paper I was writing on. Kaagad akong pumanik sa ikalawang baitang ng bahay namin. There, in the room just above mine, I stood frozen.

My hands clustered, fiddling with itself, in front of me as I watched my father's silhouette from the sheer curtain. "Here you are again, locking yourself with your paper and pen," he hissed despite the control in his voice. "I told you to quit it several times. You won't become successful if you continue that useless career of yours."

Every single day, that's what my father told me to do... To bring my written imagination into burnt ashes of paper and sprinkle them down the balcony like his burning cigars... Or else I'd burn and fall down with it—helpless as I fall with the wind.

I never believed I would. "I won't." I'm not one of his lifeless cigars.

He scoffed, pulling the cigar out of his mouth as he held it with his two fingers. "But I would." He stopped mid-sentence, his silhouette moving as if he was turning to me. "I would burn you and your imagination down."

Flinching, I walked away, trying to compose myself as my heart raced in some sort of fear. I found myself running away from that eerie interior and rode my car, driving as I hesitantly looked back multiple times.

"Help... Help me, please," I begged through the line, calling my friend as I drove through the road in a dark forest. "Dad wants me to stop writing... H-He's gone mad," I uttered, trying to hold myself sane.

She sneered. [He's right, though. No offense, but you really should stop that ridicule of yours.] She chuckled humorlessly. [Stop writing stories, Phoenix.]

As she ended the call, all I could see were ashes fuming out of my car bumped onto a signage just beside a wooden house-like structure. "Bibliotheca Alexander Septimus", I read slowly as I coughed in the smoke.

With hesitance, I rushed inside. To my surprise, the house was filled with familiar-scented books... It was as if I've been here before, even though I never did. Nostalgic.

Just as I was about to walk further in, my eyes landed on a coffee-stained book, almost ancient looking as I opened its pages. I found myself sitting down, focused as I quietly read through it.

Queens... Seven ruthless rulers who were betrayed and who betrayed. As I fully immersed myself in the book, it was then I found out it was incomplete. Only the little clumps of ashes falling off from the as-if-burned edges of the book greeted me through the rest of the book. There was nothing else!

***

"5 has fallen, the 6th will, and the 7th is here."

I immediately shifted my eyes to the fairy-like goddess in front of me. "Who are you?" were the words that automatically escaped from my mouth.

"I am Elvinia of The Kingdom of Kestramore, Amethea."

"Ame—what? Phoenix is my name," I muttered obnoxiously.

"On the other world? Yes you are Phoenix. But here in Kestramore, you are Amethea... Queen Amethea, my dear."

I released a deep sigh. What's happening? The last time I checked, I was in the library—with a book, and now, I am here, in the light kingdom of Kestramore—still with a book. A book with half of its pages was blank, an unfinished book, I must say.