Hiraeth

In the vast country of Heran, among the mountains of Anwa, unnoticeable to the haughty human eye, lay a petite Mahal hidden playfully between wisteria trees and flower walls. There, where life blooms, where the wind whispers tales tenderly and where the stars guide the lost ones, lives an otherworld soul beneath golden skin and glaring eyes which hue has nothing to envy of the dunes of the Hiyan Sahara, a soul, treasured under a godly made coffer. Nejmeh, the combination of both, is clueless of how she ended in a world created by vague and diffuse words and by what means should she affront the destiny that is already written