A Forgotten Legend: Anaivere the First

Special Chapter: Motherland Where We Departed

An extraordinary chapter to honour and formally introduce the very first creation in the Trio as well as of all, to celebrate the eighteen birthday of the Author and the third faraway year.

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25 May 1202,... Nottingham...

Anaivere seemed to start getting used to the paranormal presence of her creator on this day. That child would appear and call her as the moment she least expected, and would bring her to wherever place in the future that could be interesting. So she waited. Where would her birthday be this year, Anaivere wondered.

Since her uncle Richard the Lionheart died as he was on his way back to England, the younger uncle Prince John took the throne, yet his mother, the Queen Mother, willed that his niece would succeed the throne after him instead of his heir. Thus she became the Crown Princess at the age of sixteen. That was also the beginning of the annual visits of her Author. Despite that time passed and they grew up, their Author seemed to always remain in the figure of a child. And it had been three years. Three years since the first visit and three years to her intending coronation. It had been three years, things must have changed a lot before she had known it.

Sitting by the window of her chamber, Anaivere awaited a familiar call. The call that came not from an ordinary person, but the person who was her somewhat miniature creation goddess. This year was quite more important to them, because their Author would be coming of age. When they all stepped over this threshold, unprecedented sky of tomorrows would be welcoming them; what would her "descendants" become? what would her "sisters" (the non-canonical quartet seemed to be not as related to her than the former trio, but their Author insisted she referring to them as such) become? and what would Anaivere herself become? If things went correctly, they should be seeing their little divinity an adult, and probably, the other two also.

However, to-day things seemed not to have gone correctly. Anaivere had been patiently waiting from dawn to dusk, yet still her little Author was unseen. She could never miss this day, Anaivere knew it for sure. But when she had changed into a nightgown, preparing for a good-night sleep, that very voice she was expecting called her unexpectedly from the window. Turning over to greet the Author, Anaivere hoped to see a true adult her creator had become; yet once again fate had settled, sitting on the window was nothing more than the same child whom she was created from.

"What is that disappointment on thy face, my child?", teased the little divinity, "Not expecting a child coming, eh?"

"Y— Yes..."

"And I was expecting thee strolling the towns like the last two years, so I stayed outside searching for thee... Anyway, let us go!", grinned the still-childlike Author, urging Anaivere out of her comfy bed.

Forgetting to even change out her nightgown, Anaivere eagerly jumped off the bed and requested they go this instant. She was curious which unimaginable place her— actually, their birthday— would be this year. However, her Author took out a red poinciana blossom from nowhere and gave her a connotative smirk.

"I presume thou were expecting I take thee to somewhere of thy descendants, correct? But to-day I will take thee to a place of ours...", emphasised the Author, "A place known as 'the Pearl of the Far East'... A place called— home..."

Routinely, the literary magic came to work. With just a whip of those little fingers, Anaivere's chamber had vanished and the scenery around her became that of a stunning marble-and-stone-paved boulevard more beautiful than any thing she had seen in life; also, somehow her nightgown had changed into her daytime attire. The lights, the tree rows, fountains and the Great Hall at one end of the boulevard, these were most unbelievable wonders Anaivere would ever have chance to sightsee. Castles and courtyards might be the most splendour and majestic in all, yet this place gave her a sense of warmth and familiarity which only home could give.