Alethea is a kind-hearted girl carrying the weight of the Magic Dimension on her shoulders. Read as she tries to find her place in a world full of chaos, while she herself is anything but. Adjusting to a life filled with danger when all she wants is...
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⑅ ♥̩̥̩♥̩̩̥͙♥̩͙ˊˎ
Alethea's POV:
I stared back, my green-gray eyes searching hers, filled with nothing but confusion. In a world brimming with magic, I couldn't understand why she rejected it so completely. "I don't get it..."
"Of course you don't," she said, chuckling softly as she placed a gentle hand on my head. Her fingers wove through my hair, lulling me into a quiet calm. "You're only eight, after all. But listen to my words, all right? You'll understand when you're older."
"But... maybe I don't want to understand, Mama," I whispered, looking up at her with newfound resolve. My defiance seemed to catch her off guard, her eyes widening just slightly. "All the other kids use their magic without worry. Why can't I?"
"Alethe—" she began, but I cut her off, already knowing what she'd say. This was not our first disagreement. I loved magic, while she held only resentment for it—a resentment she refused to explain.
She was my mother, yet in that moment, she felt like a stranger.
Without another word, I turned and ran, ignoring her calls to stop. Dusk was creeping over the sky as I fled into the forest, shadows stretching long and dark across the path. But I didn't slow down—not until I collided with someone, tumbling backward into the dirt. Rubbing my bruised backside, I looked up, eyes widening as I took in the stranger before me.
"Beautiful..." I breathed, mesmerized. She stood like a figure out of a storybook, her amber eyes glowing like molten gold. Despite the fading light, she emanated a warmth that soothed me, her expression as calm as the moonlit sea yet fierce in its quiet strength.
She studied me intently, not like she was judging me but as if she could see straight through me. After a moment, she huffed, and a faint irritation flickered in her eyes. Still, she held out her hand, surprising me.
"Take it, before I change my mind," she muttered, rolling her eyes. I quickly took her hand, feeling the strength in her grip as she pulled me to my feet. The instant I was steady, she let go, brushing her fingers as if my touch had burned her. She shifted uncomfortably under my gaze until she snapped, "Stop staring at me like that!"
I fumbled for words, her presence unsettling yet compelling. "Why... why are you here? Alone?"
Her eyes softened, a sadness flitting across her face that I barely understood. "...I ran away."
I wanted to ask why but hesitated—it wasn't my place. And yet, curiosity won over caution, and before I could stop myself, I blurted, "From who?"
A long pause hung between us.
"My parents."
I woke up to the anxious thudding of my heart and the cold sweat that clung to my brow. The dream—or rather, the memory—lingered in my mind, making me feel uneasy despite it being an ordinary one. It had been a memory, yes, but a flawed one. It felt like something was off, like I had been painted into a canvas that was full of colors—bright, vibrant, yet distorted, imperfect. I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all leading to something that resembled the downfall of a painter, a masterpiece crumbling. I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed, caught in the suffocating weight of my thoughts.
