Poems by Alden Myro is exclusively available on Patreon - (patreon.com/aldenmyro) and SubscribeStar - (subscribestar.com/aldenmyro).

This is just some of my poems that I have made and wanted to post :)

" I really don't know what to write but since you want me to write something I'll write something. "

Ever watched Disney animation. I already asked this question to somebody but who is your favorite Disney Princess ? Every Disney Princess usually have some back story or another and just based on that my favorite is Mulan. You may be thinking Mulan is not a Disney Princess and all and yes your right technically she isn't one but she deserve to be so and so. 

Though I really didn't do any search back than, the first time I knew about her back story a was when I read it in ' I Really am A Superstar '. I really like the folktale (  I don't know whether it is a folktale or poem or what it is ) it was really something which most feminist have to learn from and to this day ' Ode to Mulan ' is still one of my favorite though I still haven't read any of the Four Great Classical Novels to really compare it to, and yes I also read some works by Li Bai and some Chinese guy whose name I forgot, don't blame cause Chinese name are hard for others. Also recommend me which one to read.

Also I have to say I really missed IRAS since I completed it through the dark side ( LNMTL ), such a shame it was stopped. And out of all the literature works be it poems or novels or whatever my favorite is ' The Road Not Taken ' by Robert Frost..

Now enough of the sharing problem if that is what it is called.

I really want to say something in short, more of a summary of  today. If you've read my previous chapter yesterday, today could be imagined as exactly as yesterday except of that instead of LPM we have SWC ( Soil and Water Conservation ), and that was pretty much today. Also tomorrow is my roommate's birthday, so 'yayyy' but I never really celebrate birthday so 'awwww'. Also I skipped dinner again and I am currently surviving on junk foods.

This is my tenth chapter so far so I wanna make it a little interesting, an introduction to be exact. 

My name is H.D.Bezelel and nicknamed myself as Bezelel666 which is a bit satanic cause it is. My parents named me after Beelzebub the Prince of Hell. I'm just kidding though, but am I ? I really love reading though I don't have the talent nor the willpower to do so, but a lot have happened in my life and I was really frustrated with my life and depressed and shit, more of a nihilist. I was on the verge of exploding ( not literally though ) and I myself knew I need to relieve some tension which led me here to write. I really don't care what I write as long as I am writing something though albeit be good or back, heck there might even be some racial slur though. And I really wanna say Thank you for being here with me though, I don't know whether I'll even stop and I trying to do this daily. Also I am doing my third semester for Bachelor in Agriculture and I hate herbarium collection.

Also you might have noticed that I am very lazy and I don't have the willpower to even do double checking so I sure there are a lot of mistakes, consider this as me growing up.

' Tired I am
  Tired,  
  Very Tired.
  Just tired though '


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I was too bored.
So here I am writing this daily life of mine with mostly lies and false names.

Also I've been told I am socially awkward

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Some say the world will end in fire, 

Some say in ice. 

From what I've tasted of desire 

I hold with those who favor fire. 

But if it had to perish twice, 

I think I know enough of hate 

To say that for destruction ice 

Is also great 

And would suffice. 

-Fire and Ice; Robert Frost 

The piercing cold from a black night's sky was all I could remember when I was born. 

"Heaven promises you light," 

Ice spread from muscle to bone until I felt it creep through my tendons, freezing each and every artery in my body as it crawled through like a dystopian serial killer. 

"Heaven promises you peace," 

Though I screamed for breath, every intake of negative-degree frostbite felt forced and painful, like drawing permafrost into my lungs. I yearned to scream and howl, but they never left my mouth. Instead, it felt like I swallowed needles and my throat only grew raw. 

"Heaven wishes unto you peace," 

I had a heart but it did not beat. No blood surged through my veins to keep me warm. There was nothing but vengeful ice that scaled across my skin, burning with contempt. 

"Welcome to paradise," 

When my eyelids brushed open for the first time, I looked into his eyes and saw the galaxy. Every single heavenly body that orbited a single Garden, like how electrons orbited their nuclei. The sunset in his eyes was the fiery kiss of the day to the night, and the stars and moon seemed like a gift given to the universe by him. 

Then I noticed his hair, radiating luminescence like it was spun from pure gold. Every star and every constellation that encompassed the universe, all were found in the fine strands of his golden locks. 

"What is your name, child?" He beckoned. His voice resonated throughout the arena, gentle like the occasional breeze, but yet again reminiscent of the thunder that struck the sky when the clouds parted. 

Without warning or my command, my tongue lifted from its physical prison for the first time to utter my first words. My voice hoarse and crushed from choked screams. When I first spoke, I realized that they weren't my words, but rather, a voice in the back of my head, commanding every syllable that parted from my lips. 

"My name is Dantalion, Angel of Thought and Harbinger of the Fall." 

Though newly born, my mind was that of a man who had lived a thousand millennium lifetimes, each time reborn with even greater purpose and knowledge. 

I was born in a colosseum, the birthplace of a multitude of fine warriors, where heroes of fables came to do their time and build the walls that guard heaven. The marble floors were white as snow and clean, yet they reeked of the cries of the eternal fighters. What a tiring life, I thought, after having spent eternal lifetimes fighting for Eden, one might have thought that they would be able to finally rest; yet they were put to work, guarding the walls even after their demise. 

My hands, my arms, my fingertips, with them I traced every crevice of my body, feeling every perfection. With my fingers, I ran them through my hair, black and soft, like the plume of swan birds, creating rivers in the mortal world every time my nails grazed my scalp. 

I was wrapped in sheets of the softest linen and silk in the world. Woven from the universe itself, it draped loosely over my body. 

The wind. The air was crisp; like a breeze in the autumn evening, filled with the mild scent of fallen leaves and running river water. 

The secrets of the world brushed against my ears, whispering the ballads and odes of heroes and warriors, the sacrifices of valiant men and women. The melody and rhapsody of the world stirred to life like the crackling of a freshly-ignited bonfire. The beautiful sonnets of the birds and the insects, the forest's poems, everything. 

Chirp! 

My attention diverted to the sudden noise, a sharp cry that came from... my clothes? 

I lifted the folds of my linens to reveal... the tiniest, bird I had ever seen. 

It looked partially confused as to it's sudden release from it's soft prison. It's plume was a striking blue, but I couldn't tell if it was the colour of the sky, or rather the ocean. I cupped the swallow in my hands to bring it closer to my eyes. I suppose it was tired, because instantly, it nuzzled itself against my fingers and rested in the sieve of my fingers. 

Was this affection? I kind of liked the feeling. It reminded me of being warm and it was like the distant memory of my mother tucking me into bed on a rainy night, though I knew that was simply fantasy. 

He watched me explore my surroundings but did not utter a single word, more so preferring to peer at my sheer wonder and excitement, much like a father watching his son in a candy store. 

I felt his watchful regard even though my eyes were preoccupied with other things. Like the curious creator he was, he took note of every one of my motions. 

"Come, child, there is much to be told," 

And with a weary and tired smile, one of satisfaction and approval, he extended his hand, imploring me to take it. 

His smile reminded me of the first morning of winter. Pleasant, calming and gentle. I didn't know this man, and he spoke very little, but all it took was his smile and all of a sudden, I felt everything was going to be just fine. 

As the last remnants of the frost inhabiting my body dissipated, I took a glance at the shallow waters that I had been resting on. It was the first time I had seen my face since I was born. Every perfection seemed boring. I skipped over my plump cheeks, or my beautiful, sun-kissed lips. It all seemed so dull compared to my piercing gaze. 

Rather, my eyes had taken on an alluring, deep, aureate colour, shimmering like a pool of fresh rainwater. The tides rippled. 

This is going to be a long ride... 

And so, I grabbed his hand.

Beings of myth and legend, born from infernos and into which scorching desert winds are breathed into their lungs. Although liquid gold runs in their blood, angels lack the mere beating of the heart.

An eternity is a long time to be dead and alive at the same time. Your body is as cold as your corpse when they buried you, and your face is set in the deathlike pallor of when you closed your eyes for the last time. But life in paradise is great, it's just like how they describe it; every pleasure and desire in the palm of your hands, albeit for a tiny fee:
Unlike departed humans, you can't love.

Dantalion was just one of God's many other creations.
His hair was spun from the light of the universe, like all other angels.
His eyes were gold, like all other angels.
He was made perfect, like all other angels.

One evening, he chances upon someone, wings as black as the twilight sky and hair like flowing ink.
He's captivated.
And for a moment, just a millisecond, he feels his heart pulse.

Witness the fall of an angel and their descent into the forbidden, caressed carefully by the whispers of the dusk. One of legend's greatest fables and enigmas, as it's never been told before.

It is likely that the traditional use of narcissi for the treatment of cancer was due to the presence of isocarbostyril constituents such as narciclasine, pancratistatin and their congeners.

Acetylcholine esterase inhibition has attracted the most interest as a possible therapeutic intervention, with activity varying by a thousandfold between species, and the greatest activity seen in those that contain galantamine or epinorgalanthamine.

The rodent repellant properties of Narcissus alkaloids have been utilised in horticulture to protect more vulnerable bulbs.

In the West, the narcissus is perceived as a symbol of vanity, in the East as a symbol of wealth and good fortune, while in Persian literature, the narcissus is a symbol of beautiful eyes.

Western Culture
In western culture, the daffodil is also associated with spring festivals such as Lent and its successor Easter. In Germany, the wild narcissus, N. pseudonarcissus, is known as the Osterglocke or "Easter bell." In the United Kingdom, the daffodil is sometimes referred to as the Lenten lily.

Although prized as an ornamental flower, some people consider narcissi unlucky, because they hang their heads implying misfortune. White narcissi, such as N triandrus "Thalia", are especially associated with death and have been called grave flowers. In Ancient Greece, narcissi were planted near tombs, and Robert Herrick describes them as portents of death, an association which also appears in the myth of Persephone and the underworld. 

.The poet Ovid also dealt with the mythology of the narcissus. In his Metamorphoses, he recounts the story of the youth Narcissus who, after his death, is turned into the flower, and it is also mentioned in Book 5 of his poem Fasti. This theme of metamorphosis was broader than just Narcissus; for instance see crocus, laurel, and hyacinth

"The poem I will recite now about myself, you must all have read in your English class. It was written by William Wordsworth."

I wandered lonely as a Cloud
That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of dancing Daffodils;
Along the Lake, beneath the trees,
Ten thousand dancing in the breeze.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: –
A poet could not but be gay
In such a laughing company:
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
What wealth the shew to me had brought:

For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.

Although there is no clear evidence that the flower's name derives directly from the Greek myth, this link between the flower and the myth became firmly part of western culture. The narcissus or daffodil is the most loved of all English plants and appears frequently in English literature. Many English writers have referred to the cultural and symbolic importance of Narcissus. No flower has received more poetic description except the rose and the lily, with poems by authors from John Gower, Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Shelley, and Keats. Frequently the poems deal with self-love derived from Ovid's account. Gower's reference to the yellow flower of the legend has been assumed to be the daffodil or Narcissus, 

Shakespeare frequently uses flower imagery, refers to daffodils twice in The Winter's Tale and also The Two Noble Kinsmen. Robert Herrick alludes to their association with death in a number of poems. Among the English romantic movement writers, none is better known than William Wordsworth's short 1804 poem I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud which has become linked in the popular mind with the daffodils that form its main image. Wordsworth also included the daffodil in other poems. Keats refers to daffodils among those things capable of bringing "joy forever".

In the visual arts, narcissi are depicted in three different contexts, mythological (Narcissus, Persephone), floral art, or landscapes. 

Eastern cultures
In Chinese culture Narcissus tazetta subsp. chinensis (Chinese sacred lilies), which can be grown indoors, is widely used as an ornamental plant. It was probably introduced to China by Arab traders traveling the Silk Road prior to the Song Dynasty for medicinal use. Spring-flowering, they became associated with Chinese New Year, signifying good fortune.

In India, the daffodil is commonly known as Nargis or Yemberzal (in Kashmiri). The importance of this flower for the Kashmiri people and other mountain regions is that it declares the arrival of Spring after the long harsh months of Winter. This white petalled beauty is also considered a symbol of good health and prosperity. A popular Kashmiri folk song, derived from the first-ever Kashmiri opera performed- Bombur ta Yemberzal, is illustrative of the love story of the Narcissus (Yemberzal) and the Bumble Bee (Bombur)

Festivals
In some areas where narcissi are prevalent, their blooming in spring is celebrated in festivals. 

Commercial uses
Throughout history the scent of narcissi has been an important ingredient of perfumes, a quality that comes from essential oils rather than alkaloids. Narcissi are also an important horticultural crop and source of cut flowers (floriculture).The Netherlands, which is the most important source of flower bulbs worldwide is also a major centre of narcissus production.

The largest Daffodil plant waving its flowery head and said that this was all that he could say. 
If more information, is needed then the children can go home and search the internet to get a lot of information or they can go to a horticulture expert who will tell them a lot of things.

The daffodil then said that it would be getting to be evening soon and as soon as the sun goes down and they switch over to sleeping/resting/ respiratory mode. Hence, they cannot answer any questions. Tomorrow, when the sun comes then the plants, trees animals, birds, etc. will be in a position to answer your questions.

The Daffodil asked if there were any other questions. We did not have any was the reply given by Chris.

Our 4 flying cars had parked on the grass and when the drivers saw that we were ready to leave,  the cars glided towards us hovering a few inches above the grass. Zen again wondered what sort of fuel was being used by the flying cars, it must be environment-friendly, as the cars did not seem to emit any smoke. They bid thanks and bye to the grass, the lake and the Daffodils saying they will come again tomorrow to get information about the birds, frogs, fish, trees, squirrels, butterflies, etc.

What would happen if you got stuck in Time?

Zia has completed her Ph.D. in Botany and has applied for the post of lecturer/ Professor. She joins a High school as a temporary teacher and is entrusted with the task of leading a group of students on a trekking /camping expedition. 

On the way they meet a guy who seems to be a trouble maker but later, he proves to be a pillar of strength. Early morning their camp is attacked and they flee taking a different route. But they are lost.

They enter a world where people are living, in hiding, for over 250 years. Their technology is much advanced as compared to ours. Their world was initially a Utopia but now it is changing due to an oppressive ruler.

They are trapped in the time of this hidden world and want to help the people there fight against the oppressive ruler and his cronies. The oppressive ruler wants to make a number of Time Machines by using the brains of the scientists who had died in harness at the site of the experiments. 

They all decide to help the good citizens of the lost world. The huge brains are destroyed and the Orbs of the scientists escape to help the rest in their mission. 

In the process, the crystals that are used in the hypnotizing guns are almost finished and to get more they split up to go to the 'Magical World' through a curtain which is a portal. The Magical World is a flat  man made Earth-like satellite, which was made as a joke to taunt the scientists 7000 years ago, and which is still operational. Here they meet the inhabitants.  They are fascinated with the advancement of science especially the talking chips and the flying cars.They see a completely different world where animals, plants, rocks, water etc can talk. Before you touch anything you need to seek permission.

They also meet the Aliens called the 'Crocodile Race' who have come to the Magical World (the flat satellite) to get supplies. They see spaceships being guided to land by the scientists of the Magical World.

At present they are narrating to the Aliens, what they have undergone till date. 

Read on to experience their adventures, their fears, and their courage, to deal with various situations and how, after meandering through various secret passageways, encountering adventures, they finally come back to their time.
****************************
Trying to post a chapter in a week now.


"What happens if you miss curfew?"
"Well, you aren't allowed in. You have to wait until the doors open again in the morning."
"Well, that's stupid. What if there's an emergency, an accident, a flat tire?"
"It's considered discipline. By leaving you take on the consequences that you might not be able to get back in." That had been drilled into each nun from the time that she could remember. Nuns had been locked out before, and they always had a good reason for missing curfew. But there were no exceptions made.
Tim drove a little faster. He wasn't quite sure where the school was and Jane wasn't good with the directions, but he managed to get her home safely and soundly with seven minutes to spare. 
"Thank you Tim!" she yelled over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow!" She slammed the car door shut and hurried through the rain to the large foreboding building. 
He watched her until she was safely inside. He could see even through the bad weather that her hair was soaking wet and rain droplets clung to her dark skin. He had a strange urge to rub her dry with one of his huge terry cloth towels and strip her wet clothing off her trembling body.
He chuckled uneasily to himself. He hadn't had a Catholic school girl fantasy in years, and he didn't want to start them now. He drove home and instead of opening a beer he changed into athletic clothes and hit the treadmill. His knee creaked, his lungs burned, and he was dripping in sweat within a mere ten minutes, but he hung in there. Tomorrow it would hurt again, and the day after and maybe even the day after that. But soon it would get better. Isn't that what everybody always said?

II

Sister Louise gave Jane a stern look as she met the soaking wet girl in the entrance. "We need to have a talk, Jane. Please come to my office."
Jane pursed her lips nervously and followed the sister to the office. She didn't sit. She never did unless she was invited to. "Yes, Sister? Did I do something wrong?"
"Jane, you've really been cutting curfew close lately."
"I'm sorry, Sister. Mr. Singleton and I—"
Sister Louise held up her hand and closed her eyes. "The reasons aren't important. The frequency of it is." 
Jane bit her lip. 
"The rules are in place for a reason."
"But I've never missed curfew, ever."
"Jane, let me finish! Please." Sister cleared her throat as Jane tensed. "The rules I'm referring to are the rules against bringing the outside influences into the school." She reached into her drawer and withdrew Jane's books and the Blood Diamond CD, which was merely African music. 
Jane gasped and reached for the items, snatching them and holding them protectively against her chest. "You had no right! These are mine!"
"But they are in God's house. So it is you that have no right! You don't bring the world into God's house, Jane. You know that."
Her face twisted into one of frustration. "They are just books! And they are books of poetry! In my hands are …" She pulled them up one by one to show the sister. "The Complete Works of Emily Dickinson, The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou, Robert Frost—"
Sister Louise was shaking her head. "But it's not allowed, child. I'm not trying to tell you that anything in your hand is bad. I'm trying to tell you that you broke the rules. You rationalized to yourself that because it wasn't 'bad' it was okay. It is not okay, Jane! There are rules in place for a reason."
Jane clutched her books and swallowed back frustrated tears. "Then they are bad rules."
"Child, that is just a sign that it is time for you to leave." 
Jane looked at her, and the first tear dropped from her eyes. 
"If every girl brought their idea of 'right' into the school then the lines would blur. When you come and you go you make the girls …"
Jane held her breath.
"You make them restless." 
"I … I don't want to go." Hot tears splashed from her eyes as she hugged her books.
"You have to. This is not a healthy place for you anymore."
Jane's stomach began to hurt, and she became lightheaded. "Where am I supposed to go?"
"Sister Nicolette said that you can stay with her until you find an apartment. There are also halfway houses."
Jane's vision blurred as the first sobs came.
"She's waiting to take you home with her now."
"Now?"
"Yes, Jane it's for the best." Sister Louise withdrew a large manila folder and slid it across the desk. "These are your documents." 
Jane reached for them and clutched them as well. 
"Jane, I'm so sorry."
"My name is not Jane!" 
Sister Louise stood and reached out a hand to her. "Child …"
"Do you even know my name?"
Sister Louise allowed her hand to lower and her brow gathered. "Martier Nufaika Besigye. I've never forgotten your name or the name of any child here."
"Then why did you give me a name that had no history?"
Sister Louise's eyes glistened. "I have forty-seven young girls to care for. Forty-seven. They have no family or their families left them behind. They are abused, starving, mentally disturbed. All I know to do is to put those girls in the hands of God."
Martier wiped her eyes. She would never go by the other name again. She gave Sister Louise one last look. "You were our God." Then she left.

III

Tim felt good again this morning. He whistled as he walked down the corridor even though his hamstrings were wire tight and there was a bit of a twinge in his knee. 
"Good morning, Jane." 
She looked up. "Could you please not call me Jane anymore?"
"What?" There was something different about her. Then he realized that it was her eyes. It was as if someone had turned the light off in them. Also the smile that he had become accustomed to seeing was no longer present. 
"Jane, come into my office, please." He waited for her to rise then he led her into the office and shut the door. "Sit down." 
She did as he asked. 
He hung up his coat, not taking his eyes from her. Was she wearing the same clothes from yesterday? The bottom of her skirt was a bit dark from yesterday's rain where her raincoat hadn't quite reached. What the hell? 
"What's happened?"




Pepper writes stories that span the gamut from humorous to heartfelt, however the common theme is crossing boundaries. Pepper's unique stories often tackle taboo topics such as mental illness and homelessness. Readers will find themselves questioning their own sense of right and wrong, attraction and desire.
In addition to writing, the author is also an artist, an introverted recluse, a self proclaimed empath and a foodie. Pepper Pace can be contacted at: 
pepperpace.author@yahoo.com

Jane used to have a different name, a different life—but that was before she was rescued from the refugee camp after the Rwandan genocide and brought to the convent to be raised. Now she is being dismissed, told to go out into the world. 

Tim Singleton lost his wife to breast cancer less than a year ago and yet the pain and anger is still fresh in his mind. When Corrine died, so did Tim’s faith…so when he received the call from the convent, Tim isn’t quite sure why he agreed to help the young African girl with a job. 

She didn’t quite fit in with the others at the law firm that wore thousand dollar Chanel suits while her clothes were picked with care from the donation bin at the church. At nearly six feet tall, the shy girl tried to become invisible in the hectic world around her. But if her ill-fitting clothes didn’t draw attention to her, then it was a beauty that couldn’t be hidden so easily.

Soon Jane sees Tim as not only her benefactor, but her one true love. But can Tim finally open up and allow someone else touch his heart? Can he forget their difference in race and age? And more importantly, would being with him mean the loss of her innocence?


28th of December, 2 hours before midnight.

A man was sitting in a dim lit living room. His right hand was supporting his throbbing forehead. In front of him, empty bottles of alcohol and packs of chocolate lay scattered. He was, no doubt, drunk.

Before he knew it, he was already writing the contents of his messy brain. In less than half an hour, his phone was already filled with 6 paragraphs of the things he's been meaning to tell someone.

His finger hovered above the send button, his eyes skimming the words he wrote in a drunken stupor. At the moment, his usual anxiety was nowhere to be found, thanks to the vodka filling his system. With a click, the message was finally sent to the lady he had secretly taken a liking to. 

To say that he's anticipating her answer was an understatement. He fixed his stare at the screen until it darkened.

Hours passed by slowly. Until her reply came the next day, he had not slept a wink. He sat straight as the notification rang, as if awaiting his judgement.

As he was reading the contents of her reply, his body was slowly being filled with adrenaline. He could hear every beat of his heart as he felt nothing but excitement and happiness.

Without them noticing, they've been talking until the dead of the night. In his excitement, he wrote two poems about his muse. At the same time, he also dedicated a music video to her. It may seem crazy, but for him, these are just little things that he can do for her.
•••

The next days were similarly filled with happiness and excitement as the anticipated day of their meeting came.

The man who rarely smiled, had his face smiling as he met her for the first time. Her exquisite face was formed by her magnificent eyes matching with the brightest smile he had ever seen in his rough life.

He called her his Australis, as she called him her Orion. As the classes started again, he regularly went with her after their classes end, taking a walk around the campus, seeking stars and talking about how great their day was. 

Around the second week of January, he started composing poems for her, every single day. He would stay in a cafè near the campus, drinking coffee as an idea formed in his head. He decided to make abook dedicated to her, "A Hundred Poems for Andrea".

For 30 days, he managed to create a hundred poems, including essays.  And so, a book about his muse is created. In it were the poems and essays he composed, along with his knowledge about the vast universe.

•••
A/N: This is a poem he composed for her.

Ashtin: My past works were all about depression and anxiety, but this one is about love.

"Everlasting Love"

Once I was like the Nebula,
The coldest region of the space.
You shined like a supernova,
What a surprising part of fate.

I struggled with life gere on Earth,
Especially with getting help.
Almost a decade since my birth,
I couldn't even save myself.

I thought I'd be completely lost
With frost I continued to live
I took the huge risk and the cost
As the host I tried to believe

The years passed and I also asked
For what is trust and what's my task
Suddenly a lady have dashed
Then she saw both sides of my masks

There's something unique in her smile
A dazzling yet decieving face
I can see it within a mile
Yet I still trace it with huge space

I indeed failed to see her worth
So I did try to look behind
Was shy on her trying to court
But I saw what's in her sad mind

So tough almost the both of us
Both made our Dad mad and our Mom sad
So I tried with her to discuss
Succeeded and I became glad

The horizon alligned the stars
Kept me waiting for a long time
Binded us both with our scars
Portraying that you could be mine

Not a word defines pur bond
Not a force can break our will
We are now already beyond
That is both our hidden skill

"Lippe, did you just say that you love me?"

The first one to react with joy was the simple kid rather than the adults who were still reeling from their thoughts. Robert shed tears of joy, touched by his lovely sister's words. 

"I love you too! I love you the most in the world!"

Robert hugged Calliope and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Calliope, who had gotten used to this level of skinship, accepted his kiss in a natural manner. 

"Ehem, Lippe."

Lucius cleared his throat as he saw this scene. As all gazes fell on him, his eyes wandered a bit, and then he spoke in a soft voice.

"....I love you too."

Calliope's eyes widened. 

Lucius in her previous life had never said he loved her. It was assumed that even if they did not say such things to one another, they knew that they loved one another. It's not like she ever doubted Lucius's love for their family, but her heart was full after hearing it from him in person. She felt like she was going to cry with joy. 

She pressed down on her overwhelming emotions and smiled brightly. Because she didn't need to do anything else than smile to express herself. 

"Mommy loves Lippe very much. Thank you for being our daughter."

The countess spoke to her as she picked up and hugged her daughter. 

As their children spoke to one another, the stunned parents had returned to their senses. They were full of countless questions, but they put them away. 

More importantly, to their daughter who had just said words of affection for the very first time, they wanted to return those words of love. As she heard the loving words that responded to her own, Calliope's lower lip trembled. 

She had really missed them. She wanted to speak with them like this everyday. 

Even though she had gotten used to her daily life and seeing her family members, her chest still stung with emotions. 

"I love you, Lippe."

The count stroked Calliope's head as he spoke. His daughter's short hair tickled his palm. It wasn't just his hand that tickled. After thinking for a moment, the count turned to his sons. 

"….And Lus, Robel."

"Yes, Father."

Lucius and Robert answered obediently to his call. The always casually acting Robert was nowhere to be seen in his upright posture. 

The count looked at his two sons, who he had strictly raised to act in this manner. He had thought that this was right. 

A noble household, especially a knight family, often had to assume responsibility for many. The count wanted his children to grow to become responsible people. 

But there was something that was more important than that. 

"I love you two as well."

More than being responsible, he hoped that his children would be happy. But he hadn't even expressed one word of his love to them. Of course he hadn't. Because it was something so obvious, he didn't think he needed to say it. 

When Calliope said she loved them, it was only after seeing his family members that he realized. He had set out to be a strict father, but had been a callous one instead. 

Upon their father's words, Lucius and Robert froze in their positions, unable to respond or react. This was a first. Their father had said such words for the first time. They had never anticipated such words and believed there would never be such a moment again. 

Different from their reactions to Calliope's words, they awkwardly avoided their father's gaze. Robert even started sneakily walking away from the count. The count repressed his urge to smack his younger son as he noticed him sneaking away. As he did so, he felt regret and scolded his previous actions. 

How had he acted so that he would get such a reaction at his words of love. 

Robert snuck a look at his mother. Whenever there was some kind of conflict in the family, his mother was always the one who took charge to settle things down. 

But the countess pretended as if she didn't know what was going on nor did she speak up, keeping watch over the situation. 

After looking around the room for awhile, trying to make sense of the mood, Robert ended up making eye contact with his father. He immediately turned away his gaze and wiggled his fingers. 

His father's gaze was warmer than he had expected.

[I love you.]

His shock and surprise faded, to be replaced by confusion. 

He continued to fidget as he felt butterflies in his stomach. He wanted to swallow his words, but he ended up spitting them out. 

"….I love you too, Dad."

He couldn't look at his father as he spoke. His expression was as if nothing special had happened but his ears were bright red. At his son's appearance, the count smiled. 

He realized that seven years was still very young. And that perhaps his strictness might have been too extreme. His hand twitched. He wanted to pat Robert on the head but he felt awkward doing so. He had always scolded his younger son for his mischief and laziness and had never praised him for something. The count stopped hesitating and reached out, but before he could pet Robert on the head, Lucius replied. 

"I am always grateful to Father and Mother."

Well then. Those words sounded like something Lucius would say. 

But though Lucius had on his usual blank expression, his parents could see that he was actually embarrassed. 

The countess smiled cheerfully. She had thought her oldest son, who usually acted like a little adult, had lost all of his childish nature. Though she had been proud of his maturity, she had missed his cute side. 

But after Calliope was born, he began acting more like his age. 

"Mom and Dad will always love the both of you." 

Spring had passed but a spring breeze seemed to pass by. A soft, fluffy leaf sprouted in everyone's hearts. 

The countess always spoke tenderly to her sons, while the count was strict. He didn't express himself to his children, and thus his children could only act the same to him. 

Until this point, there had never been such a loving gathering in the family where they had spoken like this to one another. Though it was a little awkward, they were happy. 

Why didn't they do this earlier. They knew that everyone loved and cherished one another, and hadn't felt the need to express it in words. 

However, saying these words to each other gave the family a great feeling of happiness. To the point that just looking at each other would bring a smile to their faces.

Everyone's eyes fell on Calliope. If it weren't for her, they would never have had such a wonderful moment. 

The baby of the family brought them only joy and blessings since she had been placed in their lives. 

***

"No matter how I think about it, it's too early, right?"

The count nodded at his wife's words. 

The first words their baby girl had said had given their family such a precious moment together. It was a happy time that they as parents couldn't express in words. 

However, when thinking about this objectively. 

"At an age when she should be barely able to even say any sort of words, she was able to say a perfect sentence."

The count had a serious expression as he spoke, holding his chin. 

At that time, he wanted to respond to Calliope's loving words in kind to express his love for his daughter and to naturally move on from the event so that the other children wouldn't think of the babe's actions as strange. It was definitely not because they thought it was normal. 

"Before this, I had been so worried because she had been so quiet."

The countess spoke. They had always held worries, wondering if their daughter had some sort of condition or had an illness. The two parents had discussed and both had wanted to raise Calliope to be happy no matter what sort of body or mental condition their daughter might have. 

But now, their worries back then were nothing compared to now. No, well, of course they were happy that their daughter had shown signs of being a genius. 

It's just that the rate of learning was so quick that they worried. 

"What does Nanny think."

At the count's question, the nanny opened her mouth to answer. 

"Miss Lippe has been different from other children from the start. So I had also worried very much about the Miss's health, but…now that it appears that she acted differently because she has such an outstanding mind, I am relieved."

Animals are the same. When certain offspring have little movement nor response, they guess that those offspring will live short lives. And like their prediction, those offspring usually don't survive for long. 

Because they were afraid words would become reality, they couldn't say it out loud, but all the adults had worried that their lovely baby of the family would die early on due to poor health. 

But to learn that their daughter's different actions wasn't because she had a weak body, but because she was a genius…

'My daughter....a genius…?'

As their thoughts flowed to this point, the Rustichel couple widened their eyes in realization. 

Because of their shock and worries, they had forgotten a very important matter, that their daughter, not yet one year old, had spoken a perfect sentence. 

Which meant that their daughter was a full fledged genius. 

"Aren't there those stories of child geniuses who have been able to write poetry at the age of three. Our Lippe must be like them."

As he spoke and continued to think more about it, the count's lips turned up. 

No matter how solemn of a person he was, when the count thought about his child being a genius, his mood brightened. 

Calliope was not yet one year old, as she was born 11 months ago. But she was able to compose a perfect sentences. Thinking of the famous story of Kimsisbe, known for learning his first words at eight months and writing his first poem at three years, the count thought his daughter was more of a genius. 

"What do we do? Our Lippe is so smart. To think that when she's three, she'll be writing poems."

The countess was already imagining her daughter writing poems at the age of three. 

"Our Miss is sure to compose her first poem when she's two years old, not three."

The nanny, who should be bringing her lord and lady to their senses, was also lost in her own imagination. 

There was no one in the room to wake up the three from their idiocy. 

***

Late that night, the nanny finished her discussion with the Rustichel couple and returned to Calliope's room. The maid who had been watching over the child welcomed the nanny as she entered. 

"Is it true, Nanny-nim?"1

It was easy to tell what the maid was asking about. The nanny stopped the corners of her mouth that kept turning upwards, and acted as if she didn't understand the question.

"What do you mean?"

"That Miss Lippe spoke her first words. Anna heard that Miss actually said she was thankful that she was born. It can't be, or is it? Now that I think about it, Anna that little…she was just exaggerating, right?"

When the maid Anna had said that she had heard Calliope's first words, the others were green with envy. They had all been anticipating and guessing what the first word would be, but the answer was like so. 

No matter how much envy and admiration she wanted to receive, for Anna to exaggerate to such a point. The maid thought this as her lips bent into a frown.

"It's true."

"Huh?!"

"Not just that, she also told me that she loves me. And that she's always thankful."

The nanny spoke proudly, waiting to be acknowledged and flattered. 

But the maid was too shocked to even acknowledge that Calliope had spoken to the nanny. She was, one could say, still a beginner in the workforce. In other words, she lacked such awareness and tact due to her lack of experience. 

"Did she really say, 'Mother, Father, thank you for giving birth to me?' Those exact words? No other add-ons?"

"Even if it is so. Tone down your volume. The Miss will wake up if you keep shouting."

The nanny spoke, frowning.

She definitely didn't scold her because she felt sad that Calliope's words to her weren't acknowledged by the maid. It was because she was worried about the Miss. 

Really. 

Calliope has suffered through nature’s law and many accidents. Her family was murdered and an ongoing war ended her life, but she traveled back in time to when she was born?! While Calliope slowly grows, will she be able to figure out who killed her family and stop them in time?

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