𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘

PROLOGUE

Winter was an enchantress of nightmares. Lousa's repetitive gust of huffs along the splinters inside the furnace evinced for it. Deep brown curls glided through the female's bare shoulders. The neckline of her light pink chiffon dress grazed the upside of pulp brown skin. Like timbre so fine, and sanded out. Lousa's Zesten, her husband always proclaimed with words or eyes. Mostly, both. Sometimes, his lips renounced the claim in a loop.

Just as now, when his calloused pale hands pulled his Yanae, his beloved wife back from the scowling heat where she kneeled on blowing air or whatever in Nisaba's name.

"Lennox! One of these days you'll harbor my death." Lousa gasped in utter shock at the male standing unabashed in front of her. Lennox was a specimen carved out of fine art and regal moss. He reeked culture and ancestry so strong, it was often appealable for any female to batten him to her bedpost and never let go. A small auburn bun on his head displayed his strong neck with the holy mark of Sun and Spirits, needled with such detail and precision like a blacksmith forged swords in the name of the Upper Gods and Goddesses.

His manly long legs portrayed Lousa as the shrunken one if any existed till the day, and the blood-red and orange hues of his cloak hid anything but the muscular broad stature beneath it.

"Fret not, Singerla. Death shan't twist us apart." He dipped down to kiss her soft cheeks, so gently, before his lips found hers and intertwined in a bubble so apart from the world.

Blackness shrouded the eyes of a six-year-old, and for a few seconds, the child couldn't help but wait patiently for its departure. When discovered that blackness overstayed its welcome, she huffed in annoyance and kicked her legs as a show of rebelliousness. It had been long, too long for her to witness her Moteh and Paren together. Pare had given her a delicious delight of sweetness and something that melted in her mouth like caramel on fire, a blue cotton cloud wrapped in a small stick before making himself scarce for the new quest ordered by the adults. Now that he was back after four months, she wanted more of it, and more of him and Moteh who wept mercilessly at nights when none were awake.

The Sapphire locks of the girl shone, cutesy to her Nuan's brewed brigdagi oil while sunset in the distance woke up howling winds and beasts in its wake.

"Nua!" She bellowed in a husky voice. A voice as such shouldn't belong to a toddler of the age and maturity as hers. The girl was fascinated when Pare embraced Moteh in his arms as if he wanted to shield the female from every speck of dusty air that came their way.

So analogous to what he did to his daughter when his large frame crouched in front of her and enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug before moving on to surprise her Moteh who was so focused on igniting the fire that her dainty ears didn't catch his arrival. Her Pare's hugs reminded the girl of the silky boar fleece draped around her on the most terrifying and coldest nights. Yet his embrace was warmer, more frigid than a vest of iron.

She was so small, yet her mind wandered to the depth of having someone like Pare when she grew old. Moteh once said to her, that not even the Prince of Upper Gods let Assyriaz may deserve the bounty of love she beheld.

But it was alright, the girl thought. She would love him more, and the love he couldn't absorb could be passed on to someone who needed it. After all, the little girl had paramount reserves of affection to give. Her Prince will have to deal with it.

Her Nuan gently stroked the back of the little girl's neck perched on the older woman's lap, and leaned down to whisper enchantments so foreign to her...but the authority of those buried deep inside her small bones, and soft flesh.

No, it was impossible, she thought as threadbare tendrils of those enchantments settled somewhere inside her brain. Her Nuan couldn't speak, she hadn't spoken in the last twenty years.

Little did the girl know, those words shall not only shatter her rather romantic endeavors but wretch every ounce of her peace with it, like her aspirations, were nothing but a sack of unwanted weeds peeled out of their existence and everything that grounded her past, present and future will grow molds so poisonous even the Sun and the Spirits shall haunt to see.