Fantasy – Wolverine Lily

Think Your Work Is Protected? What You’re Missing About Copyright ©?

Today was a big day. I received the official certificate of registration for a book I wrote and plan to publish. It’s now protected under U.S. copyright law.
I’ve often marked my posts with © 2025 WolverineLily 🌺, but I started wondering… do people actually know what that means, or any text surrounding the © symbol? And does official registration change anything?

The answer is yes, and it matters more than most realize.
Let’s break down copyright basics, the meaning behind my little signature mark, why the Copyright Notice is important to creators.

What is Copyright?
Copyright is a legal right that gives the author control over how others use their work. It belongs to the person who created something (a photograph, story, or poem), and protects that work from being copied, shared, or used without the creator’s permission. There are a few limited exceptions (e.g., fair use), but in general, if someone wants to use your work, they need your permission.

Here, I’m keeping things simple and focusing on literary works (poems, stories, and blog posts). But copyright goes beyond. It applies to any original work that’s fixed in a tangible form, meaning it’s written down, recorded, saved, or otherwise captured in a physical or digital format.

However, writers must understand: ideas alone are not protected under copyright law. Only the original expression of those ideas are covered. So, if you write a story about vampires, pink dragons, witches, or talking cars, it’s the story itself (the structure, language, scenes, and dialogue) that’s protected. Not the general idea of your characters.

Copyright protection depends on how you develop and express those ideas, not the themes or concepts themselves. Think of it this way: there are countless books about dragons, right? Still, you can still write your own without infringing. Even if you invent a totally unique dragon, only your specific expression of that dragon in your story is protected. The idea of a pink dragon with yellow horns that sings opera is not protected — only the way you write it.

When does this right begin?
The moment you create something and save it in a physical or digital way. Whether you write it down on paper, save it on your computer, or record it — you automatically own the copyright. You don’t need to file anything or fill out forms. For example, when you write a blog post or poem— the right is yours the second you hit save. Copyright protects your ownership from that moment.

But what about this © symbol?
The © symbol stands for copyright. You’ve probably seen it on books, songs, and websites. But here’s the key: the symbol itself doesn’t create the right. It simply indicates that the work is protected by copyright.
It’s a way for an author to say:
“This work is mine. I created it, it’s original, and I hold all the rights. You can’t copy or use it without my permission.”

If you’re a writer or blogger, using the © symbol is optional — but smart! You don’t need to use it for your work to be protected. Copyright exists automatically once you’ve created the work and saved it in a tangible form. However, adding the symbol to your posts or stories sends a clear message that you are the creator, and others cannot use your work without your consent.
And no — you don’t have to file anything to include a © symbol under your work.

What’s all that other stuff next to the © symbol?

The © symbol can stand alone or appear with a name, a year, or additional notes. This combination is called a copyright notice.
Let’s unpack different types of copyright annotations and what they mean. Starting with mine.😊

© 2025 WolverineLily 🌺
I use this under my poems and stories. I include it for two reasons:
One, I like to think of it as my signature — a personal mark that goes below my work.
Two, it puts readers on notice that I am the creator, the work is mine, and it can’t be used without my permission.
It’s like leaving my fingerprint — a clear way of claiming ownership.
Instead of “WolverineLily,” I could use my legal name (or a pen name), but I prefer not to. I chose to keep things casual and on-brand 🌺.

There are also different versions of copyright notices you might see. Let’s look at a few examples and what each one means:

© 2025 WolverineLily
This is a basic copyright notice (a little more formal without the flower). It includes the symbol, the year of creation or publication, and the name of the creator or copyright holder. You do not have to use your legal name in the copyright notice—a pen name, brand name or a corporate name are fine.

© 2025 WolverineLily. All rights reserved.
Here, “All rights reserved” adds a layer of legal warning. It emphasizes that no one can copy, use, or distribute your work without permission.
It’s very similar to the previous notice, but with a stronger, more traditional message, reinforcing that the copyright owner retains full control over how the work is used.

© 2025 WolverineLily. All rights reserved. Copyright Registered.
This version lets people know that the work has been officially registered with the U.S. Copyright Office. Sometimes, this kind of notice may also include the registration number.
Registration offers significant legal benefits, including: proof of ownership, eligibility for statutory damages, and the ability to sue in federal court.

Here’s the key: you can’t file a copyright infringement lawsuit unless your work is registered.

If my work is already protected, why register it?
It’s true, copyright exists the moment your work is created and saved. But registering it gives you real legal power. You can’t sue for copyright infringement unless your work is registered (this is a big one). Early registration lets you claim statutory damages and attorney’s fees, and it creates a public record that helps protect your rights.

In short: registration isn’t required, but if you want full protection, it’s a smart move.

If you’ve written something amazing, it’s worth protecting — Register it! It gives you the strongest legal shield. But, of course, you won’t register every single post. So drop that © symbol. It’s a tiny but mighty statement: “This is mine.”

This isn’t legal advice — just basic info to help writers understand their rights as creators.

The Kingdom of Sepharis

The fire was dying—just a few driftwood sticks crackling low on the sand, surrounded by scattered rocks and shells. Embers exhaled their pulsing glow as the sun sank beyond the horizon, spilling its fading citrus warmth across the beach.
Kalia sat before it. Her legs crossed at the ankles, knees pulled tight in, and chin resting atop them. The small urn cradled in her hands felt heavier than it should have. It held grief and years of unanswered questions. Too many. She asked, but her father always found a way to evade her, slipping into silence like a wisp of smoke. And now he was gone. The truth was cremated with him inside this urn.
Tears burnt her eyes, blurring the darkening clouds reflected in distant waters. The dusky sky quietly mirrored the inevitable present.

It was time.

She stood. A quiet breeze swept from behind, pushing her forward. Kalia stepped into the silver arc of wave. Her trembling hands opened the urn and tipped it. For a moment, the ashes swirled on the wind, but then a sudden gust lifted them again. In an instant, like a mini-tornado, the ashes twisted into a spiraling column of light, churning with a brilliant glow.

Kalia’s lungs locked. This contradicted her belief about scattering ashes. Perhaps the wind was playing tricks on her—in its own way, saying goodbye.
But the ashes began to gather. A face formed in the air, then a body. Her father. He stood before her, just as she remembered—whole.

Kalia froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said at last, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. The voice was his, but—it wasn’t.
“What took you so long? I told you to release my ashes during the full moon, but I didn’t mean next year!” He chuckled, but there was something urgent in his tone.
“I—” She couldn’t finish.
“Did you think I’d died?” His grin widened, flashing familiar teeth.
“Didn’t you?” she finally whispered, her eyes wide.
“Well, not exactly. But I can’t explain everything right now.” His expression turned serious.
“I am a Sepharine, Kalia. I couldn’t tell you during my time as a human, but now—I must leave you the key.” He gestured around them. “Take care of our kingdom.”

The tide stilled. The air didn’t move. Even the wind seemed to hold.
“Let the low tide guide you, and the full moon illuminate your way.”
“What?” she finally mumbled, even though she wasn’t sure if this was real. “What key?”
His face flickered and began to fade, scattering to ashes once more.
“Wait—what kingdom? Dad—”
“Don’t waste your time,” his voice echoed as the ocean roared back to life. A wave crashed against the rocks, its spray catching the remnants of ashes and pulling them into the sea.

Kalia stood motionless. Had she really seen her father? Heard his voice? Or was it just another dream—like the ones that haunted her since the funeral?
She lifted her gaze. A full moon stared back—rising. This was real.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air, searching for clarity.

A low, intermittent clicking interrupted her concentration. A gentle but distinct tik-tik-tik intruded into the sound of waves. Kalia scanned the beach and spotted an emerald frog with iridescent wings. It leaped energetically along the shore, leaving soft prints on wet sand.

Kalia watched the hops with surging anticipation. The frog stopped in front of her, locking its amber eyes with hers. For a moment, none of them moved. The frog’s throat pulsed gently and its delicate wings shimmered softly in orange. Suddenly, the amphibian’s slick tongue shot forward—not to snatch prey, but to deliver something. Kalia flinched, noticing the silvery gleaming at her feet. The frog swiftly pulled its tongue back in. Then it blinked once and hopped toward the sea.

Kalia knelt and reached for the object. It was an oversized key. This must be the key her father mentioned, she thought. It felt much heavier than she expected. And it was unusually warm—almost hot.
She stepped into water, trailing the frog’s leaps.

Let the full moon illuminate the gate, she recalled.
Without thinking twice, Kalia dipped her foot in the moonlight’s reflection in water—a stretched silvery triangle shimmering like a floating lunar shawl.
She immersed the other foot and touched something. A stair. Then another.

Suddenly, the water began to part. The waves split in halves, rising up into walls on both sides. Breathless, Kalia descended until she saw a massive anemone swaying gently. The purple tentacles, as long as Kalia’s arms, pulsed—waving to her, inviting her closer.
The anemone’s mouth opened, revealing a crystal-blue hallway. Kalia stood rooted, yet she couldn’t resist leaning closer. She peeked inside the grand foyer, where the sapphire walls and ceiling bathed in luminous tranquility.

A gigantic jellyfish emerged, uncurling gracefully into a woman from the waist up.
“Welcome home, Kalia.” She spoke melodically with a smile, showing pearl-bright teeth. Her jelly-skirt pulsed with divine elegance, mirroring her brown hair, floating with delicate grace.
Kalia was captivated. This place felt like a familiar fairy tale.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the jelly girl added, stretching her arms.

Kalia remembered her father telling her stories about a magical underwater world with mystical creatures and luminescent corals. This was what he had described. In her childhood mind, it was only a bedtime story. But now it was real.
She slipped in.

The air was moist, radiating with crystal blues—the living heart of the sea itself. Towering coral spires extended upward like guarded cathedrals, emitting gentle light. A school of electric blue fish passed by, leaving behind trails of silver stardust. Starfish and anemones pulsed with color.

But something was off. Random dark patches dimmed the glow. The kingdom was fading.

The jelly girl danced and spun happily, despite dark spots spilled like black ink on her skirt.
“I’m Tessa, your sister. Father told me so much about you.”
Kalia’s lips parted in disbelief. She had always wanted a sibling—but a half-jellyfish wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined.
“Sister?” she whispered.
Tessa laughed softly. “Believe me, I wasn’t thrilled you have legs.” She rolled her skirt and flipped above Kalia’s head. “That’s what makes up a family. It’s never what you expect, but somehow what you need.”
“Dad never told me…” Kalia shook her head, unconvinced.
“He couldn’t tell you everything. But he shared a lot. And there is so much to talk about.”
Tessa positioned herself in front of Kalia—face to face.
“I am truly glad you’re here, Kalia. I’ve waited so long. You’re exactly as I hoped.”

There was honesty and sincerity in Tessa’s eyes.
She lowered her head in silence for a while.
“Sepharis breathes life into the ocean. Through our glow, youth and balance flow into Earth.” Tessa’s voice filled with painful intensity. “But our world is dying. We rely on rainwater from the Sapphire Oak, a rare tree. It contains the substance that gives us our glow and vitality. Even a few drops could restore Sepharis.” She paused, looking Kalia in the eyes. “None of us here can survive in your world for long. It’s been too long since our father’s last delivery.”

Kalia remembered a childhood story about a magical tree growing at the foot of the mountains. But until now, she thought the unique quality of its moisture following rain was just fantasy. Meanwhile, her father had educated her through fascinating tales.
“You need me to get the rainwater from that tree?” Kalia questioned hesitantly.
“Our father’s soul is tormented and will not rest until Sepharis is healed,” Tessa continued. “Only Sepharians can extract the moisture from the tree, and only the one with the key can enter our kingdom… Father chose you.”
“Why? What am I?” Kalia’s breath shortened. She thought she was about to faint.
“You are a Sepharine, just like your father. You can survive underwater longer than others. But you are also partly human.”

Kalia staggered back. She recalled a childhood boat accident. Her mother drowned, yet Kalia survived. Doctors called it a miracle.
It all made sense—she could hold her breath longer than anyone she knew.

A sudden, sharp vibration rushed through the air, sending a shiver through the glowing kingdom.
Tessa began to shrink, curling her human body back into the top bump of a jellyfish. Her glow flickered in neons—a warning sign.
“The tide turns. Kalia, you must leave.”
“No, I have questions—” Kalia didn’t move.
“The gate will seal. We won’t survive another moon cycle. Go now!” Tessa urged.

The kingdom trembled.
The anemone’s door began to shut.
Tessa folded like an umbrella and unfurled with massive power, forcing Kalia outside the gate.
A final whisper: “Please, help us.”
A wave ripped Kalia backward. All lights vanished. The ocean roared around her.
Then fell silent.

Kalia woke on the beach. Sand clung to her clothes and skin. The rising sun peeked through billowing clouds, sending its warm rays across the peaceful water. Her father’s urn rested in the sand beside her.
Memories of last night rushed back in. It was the most bizarre dream, she thought.

Kalia rose to her knees, feeling the discomfort of the cold.
But something was in her hand.
The silver key—bigger and shinier than any other.

The kingdom was real.

She looked at the mountains and thought of her father disappearing during storms. He was a Sepharine with a purpose—whatever it might have been. And now it was hers. She had to save Sepharis and let her father’s soul rest.

She looked up. Gray clouds gathered in the distant sky.
“The rain is coming,” she whispered. “I must find that tree.” She turned sharply and strode off.

Behind the trees, three men with binoculars watched her.
“It’s her,” one whispered. “She has it in her hand.”
“The glowing jelly trace on her leg confirms it. Classification: Lumenflora—AeQ-3,” said the second with distinct precision.
“We can’t lose her,” the third ordered, sliding his binoculars into his uniform pocket.

Chicago Winter Haunt

The tower clock struck 1:00 am. The cold of the Chicago night was more than just winter’s bite. I raced toward the train station, feeling a presence behind me. The sensation gnawed at my nerves, each step amplifying my mounting dread. I stopped and turned around, scanning the empty street. Nothing. Only the faint hum of distant traffic. Yet, the cold was strange, unnatural even for a Chicago winter. It was as if I’d opened a freezer, and the frigid air engulfed me, and the night itself held its breath, waiting.

I descended into the subway station, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The chill seemed to seep into my bones. God, I would give anything for a hot cup of tea. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, trying to preserve any remaining warmth.

“Got a light?” A deep male voice shattered the silence. I jolted, my heart leaping to my throat. A dim light revealed a towering figure emerging from behind a poster post. It wasn’t a man—it was a horse-like creature walking on two legs. Four deliberate steps, each click-clop of hooves echoing ominously, brought him closer. He wore black velveteen trousers and a perfectly tailored tuxedo jacket, and an oversized bow tie. A long wool scarf that hung almost to his knees completed the odd vintage wardrobe. His horse head was real, crowned by a magician’s hat.

“No,” I mumbled, my breath visible in the now Arctic air.

“No, you don’t,” he confirmed, his voice a melodic contradiction to his horrifying appearance. “But you have something else I want.”

Terror surged through me. His eyes—or rather, the dark, smoke-filled voids where his eyes should be—seemed to pierce my soul. His cigarette lit itself, the ember glowing in the dim station. I was paralyzed, unable to look away.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, a blend of fear and curiosity.

A long pause. He stepped closer, the click-clop of his hooves unnaturally loud. I stepped back, but he matched my movements perfectly.

“Your grandmother never told you the truth. You left before your 17th birthday, never to see her again before she died,” he said, his voice unsettlingly calm. “Your grandmother was a witch. And so are you.” He smiled revealing his half-rotten yellow teeth. The stench emanating from his mouth was hardly bearable.

My mind reeled. “What do you want from me?” I demanded, the words tasting of panic.

“We need you. You need us. Join us, and…” The roar of the approaching train drowned his words. Without a glance, he jumped onto the tracks, disintegrating into a cloud of smoky dust as the train barreled through him.

I bolted up the stairs, adrenaline turning my fear into flight. No way was I getting on that train! My heart hammered in my chest as I ran through the city’s early stirrings, barely registering my surroundings. Familiar landmarks blurred past me. Somehow, I found myself in front of my building. Had I really run five miles?

I stopped, gasping for breath, when I noticed something was off. Looking down, I was shocked to see my feet hovering inches above the ground. I wasn’t just standing; I was floating, suspended in the air. Panic escalated to a new high. This was impossible! But as I willed myself to descend, I gently touched down on the sidewalk. The realization hit me like a lightning bolt: I was a witch! This wasn’t a dream or a hallucination—it was real.

I stood paralyzed, staring at the lake. My thoughts raced, heart pounding with the shock of the revelation. Words about my grandmother echoed in my mind, the truth undeniable. I was a witch. Maybe that’s why people felt intimidated around me.

* * *

The sound of a helicopter roused me. My hands and feet were numb from cold. I was still by the lake, the sunrise partially reflecting in the calm waters. Had I fallen asleep standing there? The memory of the subway encounter felt like a bizarre dream.

“Good morning,” said the doorman as I entered the lobby.

Awaiting the elevator, I smiled at the absurdity of being a witch. My grandmother, a tiny yet formidable woman, always seemed to have superhuman energy. Barely five feet tall, but her presence was like a force of nature. She lived on a farm her entire life. I recalled her talking to animals, particularly her cow while milking. Could she have been a witch? The thought of her hidden objects, candles, and mirrors now seemed less whimsical and more significant. I have a vague memory of an accident during a hot summer harvest, where she lifted a horse! I never knew how she had found the strength.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped, and an intense light pierced through a small opening above, stretching like an aurora. It grew blinding.

“Your thoughts are all correct, my dear,” came my grandmother’s calming voice.

“Grandma?” I whispered, feeling like a child again. The sweet scent of her apple pie filled the air. Tears streamed down my cheeks. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. I never got the chance to tell you, but you always had a sense of it, didn’t you?”

“Are you really a witch? Am I?”

“There isn’t much time left. You must discover your powers quickly. He wants you, and you must find your abilities before he does.”

“Grandma, what are you talking about? What powers? How do I know my powers?” I was overwhelmed with questions. “I was flying. Is this my power?” I asked, curious.

“Flying is a natural gift, just like playing with light. The four elements—Water, Earth, Wind, and Fire—are your playful friends, too.” I sensed a smile in her warm voice. “Animals and plants are gifts of the Earth. They are already in your heart. Keep them close. But you must find your own unique powers,” she emphasized.

“How?” I was desperate.

“You must find a way. Find them before He does.” She paused. A small box landed in my hand. “Accept being a witch before sunset. There is a full moon tonight. As a sign of acceptance, put one of the rings on before the sunset and the moon rises. If not, you decline it. The rings not only bestow powers but also protection. Wear at least one on your ring finger.”

“But if you accept it, there is one trade-off: You must give up love. It’s hard for witches to find real love—not impossible, but difficult and impractical.” She sighed. “Remember our relationship with your grandfather? Witches are cursed. We can’t find true love.”

This was too much for me. My head was spinning.

“I have so many questions…” I started, but she cut me off.

“You can do so much good, dear.”

Her voice faded, replaced by the hum of the elevator. My mind was racing. Could I embrace this legacy? Did I have a choice? I held a box of rings in my hand. I couldn’t stop staring at them. The box emitted a soft glow. Then I looked down at my feet planted on the floor. I rose onto my toes, pointed them, and pushed hard. And it happened. I took off, levitating a few inches above the ground, just like before. This was real. I was a real witch! That would explain so many mysterious things. As the elevator door slid open, I floated out of it toward my door.

I spent the entire day in front of the window, staring at the lake, rewinding my life in my head, while holding the box with rings in my hand. The realization that I was a witch came with a heavy burden. What are my gifts and powers? What will I do with them?

The sun began to touch the horizon, and the hardest question still lingered: Am I willing to give up love—the one thing I have always wanted so much? But what if I am really cursed and there is no love for me? The thought terrifies me. To give up on love feels like giving up on a part of my soul. Yet, love has evaded me for so long. Can I keep chasing something that might never find?

I took a deep breath and opened the box. One by one, I slipped the rings on my right ring finger. “I will be married to myself,” I whispered. The words felt both empowering and heartbreaking.

As the last ring settled, I felt a surge of energy. I was a witch. I had chosen power and purpose over a dream that seemed out of reach. Perhaps this was my own form of devotion, a commitment to a different kind of life, one where I could still do good, even if it meant giving up on love. In that moment, the sun immersed in the lake. I watched it disappear, casting a warm orange glow.

This is my first stab at a fantasy piece. I drew inspiration from the cold Chicago Metro and my wild imagination.

A Stormy Encounter: A Kiss Worth Waiting For…

Author’s Note:
I’ve always wanted to write a passionate scene, even though, in my opinion, romantic plots are often overdone. Still, many horror stories I’ve read miss something… that subtle romantic subplot showing the soft and vulnerable side of the character. I needed to make sure my story didn’t overlook this aspect. True and authentic love is incredibly hard to find, right? Maybe that’s why we turn to books, hoping to glimpse and experience its magic through the characters we follow. Yet, if you’re lucky enough to experience the perfect kiss even once in your life, you’re truly fortunate. It’s worth the wait! On that note, as a self-proclaimed romantic, I had to weave this delicate thread into my dark story, obviously. 🙂

Here’s a glimpse of that moment from chapter 14 of my project, without giving too much away. ❤️

He put both hands firmly on her face, preventing her from slipping away. There was no way he would let her go this time. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

Before Nayah could respond, his lips found hers, soft and gentle at first, but full of hunger and intensity, waiting for her for far too long. She realized in that instant how much she wanted this—wanted him—more than she had ever admitted. She wrapped her arms around him, one hand sliding into his drenched hair. Her fingers dug in, feeling the tenderness of his skin. It was soothing and addictive—his warmth against the cold rain.

His hand shifted to cradle her neck, drawing her closer, as though he would never let her go. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was the way his entire body leaned into hers, every movement charged with meaning. His chest pressed against hers with desire to fill the spaces she had kept hidden from the world. Nayah responded, releasing a soft sigh. Her knees buckled slightly, but she shifted closer, seeking more of him. The kiss wasn’t just physical; it was an unraveling, a collapse of the last walls between them.

For a moment, nothing else existed—no haunted houses, no missing journals, no demons or keys—just this.

But the passionate kiss was interrupted when a sudden, loud crack of thunder reverberated beneath their feet. They pulled apart, both gasping, startled by the sound.

Nayah stepped back breathless. “What… what was that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice tight with unease.
The sky had darkened even further, thick clouds rolling in, casting the town square into a dark twilight. But something else felt off. Nayah sensed it—a prickling fear crawling over her skin.

The Bird – (The Hidden Legacy)

NOTE: I wanted to share an update on the latest chapter! In this excerpt, things take a dark turn as a raven descends, transforming into something far more sinister. Who—or what—is the woman emerging from the darkness? As I’ve mentioned before, the story is full of secrets, and this is yet another one for Nayah to uncover. Will she? Stay tuned for more as the story unfolds. I’ll share more soon! For now, I’d love to hear what you think.

The evening cast a somber veil over the landscape. The final, waning rays of the sun painted the sky in bruised hues of purple and gray. Nayah’s house stood isolated, surrounded by a forest of lifeless trees. Silence hung heavily in the air.

Then, the stillness was broken.

A dark shape descended from the obscured sky, a raven slicing through the dimming light with sharp precision. Its black wings beat the air with unnatural force, as though fueled by a dark essence, pulsing from hellfire itself. As it dropped rapidly, its form began to shift grotesquely, expanding not just in appearance but in actual size. It landed at the edge of the porch steps, a faint thud echoing across the silent ground.

The bird’s form contorted and stretched. Feathers dissolved into a swirling vortex of darkness. The murky mass writhed and grew, the silhouette of the infernal bird stretching taller and more distinct. Its wings spread wide, morphed elongating into human arms as the shadows reshaped into the body of a woman.

The transformation was monstrous and mesmerizing, unfolding with chilling inevitability. The figure solidified. Black and gray hair unfurled from the now human-like head. Yet, her movements were fluid and deliberate, exuding an unnatural elegance and confidence, as though she commanded the very darkness around her.

The Hidden Legacy – update

Read Chapter 1 Here

Thank you for following along with Nayah’s story here.

After much thought, I’ve decided to delete chapter 4 and onward, and I won’t be posting the remaining chapters here. Instead, I plan to complete it as a novel. What began as a short story has grown into something much more extensive, and I’m both thrilled (and also terrified!) to turn Nayah’s journey into a full-length book—my first novel.

Nayah will uncover deep family secrets, including a cursed legacy, and unravel terrifying mysteries within the house she unexpectedly inherited. Her journey will be unforgettable, and I can’t wait to share her adventure with you—when the time is right.

In the meantime, I’m slowing down on blogging to focus on completing this project (and likely giving it a new title). That said, I might drop a poem or a funny story if I need a break from Nayah. 🙂

Thank you so much for your support—it truly means the world to me! Stay tuned for updates!

Constellation of Unspoken Promises

A dreamy glimpse of you,
and the whole Universe disappears.
Irresistibly captivated;
I venture into the cosmos of your glowing eyes—
The only two stars left in the vast multiverse,
so dazzling;
so bright.

I dive into their stellar space…
Eclipsed in the moment,
I surrender to your orbit,
Lost,
like a silent asteroid in an endless cosmic sea.

Tangled in the gravity of your embrace,
Time slows,
a mystical clock suspends its hands.
Only a breath divides us.
I gravitate toward you,
like stardust drawn to light.
The magnetism of your heart
pulls me near—so near
my pounding heartbeat dances with yours,
a cosmic rhythm—
Two souls meeting the unknown.

Yet, you bring me closer,
and our breaths melt into one.

In the heat of supernova passion,
my eyes close;
like clouds veiling the sun,
awaiting the magic astral tick…
Our lips collide;
like two meteors in a vast galaxy,
Painting a new constellation of unspoken promises.

Stirs in the Cauldron of Twilight

In the stillness of the night, I sit by the glowing campfire,
Embraced by an endless blanket of warm stars.
I lean my head on the moon’s shoulder,
And he envelops me gently with his radiance,
Shielding me from the encroaching shadows of loneliness.

I stir my dreams in the cauldron of twilight,
Each bubble—a wish sent on a moonbeam,
Every string of steam—a spiral of hope,
For your fleeting gaze to fill the hollows of my heart.

Like a Witch amidst the dancing flames,
I fervently invoke the celestial light.
Could I cast a spell to attract your affection?
No…
I can’t…
I won’t bewitch your heart…
I loathe cursed adoration.
I shun false and deceptive masquerades.

Still, Evil sneaks in with his deceits,
Haunting me with wicked lures of delusion,
Invading my thoughts, polluting my consciousness.
At night, when darkness closes my eyes,
His demons plunge their claws into my bleeding heart.

Yet, bolted to the sacred stone of pristine sincerity,
I tower tall, siding with purest honesty,
Inviting blooming, genuine love.
I yearn for crimson passion, an ethereal weave,
And your heartfelt desire for me—rooted deeply in utter truth.

I nurture a single seed of hope that
One day, a flicker of your attention
Will find its way to me
And ignite sincere feelings for me.

Why is love so elusive?
Do the flames’ gentle flickers hold the answer?
Their tender whispers enchant me,
Soothing my heart as I wait for you.
For I cannot erase you from my mind.

Would you rather be Pretty or Ugly: Unveiling Society’s Dichotomy

Have you ever come across the saying, “Pretty girls have it easier in life”?

Pretty girls seem to breeze through life, dodging traffic tickets, catching the eyes of admirers, and effortlessly securing drinks at bars. But what about the flip side? The not-so-pretty girls face a different reality. They become targets for bullies, often finding themselves disliked or disregarded. Their situation worsens if they wear glasses, opt for no makeup, or dress in unstylish clothes. Some of them shrink into themselves in the presence of pretty girls, feeling intimidated and staying quiet, hoping to blend into the background, unnoticed.

However, there’s another stereotype lurking in the shadows: the notion that pretty girls lack brains. With this stereotype, pretty girls are unfairly deemed as shallow or unintelligent. If they have blonde hair, the stereotype exacerbates, branding them as brain-dead. At work, pretty girls find themselves constantly scrutinized, as if everyone expects them to slip up. The tiniest flaw is magnified, seized upon as an opportunity to label them.

Yet, if you want a date then ask “that pretty girl.” In this scenario, going out with an attractive girl scores big. Also, Instagram favors pretty girls over intellectuals; girls in bikinis (or nude) tend to have way more followers than accomplished female scientists.

Therefore, which girl has more opportunities? Who has a better chance to meet Mr. Right? Who has it easier?

As I see it, the average person has the sweet spot. A girl must not be too pretty or too ugly because being very pretty intimidates while being too ugly repels. If you fall on either side of these extremes, you are likely – screwed!

Similarly, who has it better in school settings: the genius or the struggling student? Exceptionally smart kids and kids who struggle don’t blend in with others, and both are ideal targets for bullies because they are either too smart or not smart enough to fit in. Indeed, no matter where you are, how you look, or what industry or environment you find yourself in… the average person will fit in best because they do not “stick out.” If you are better than others in any category, you are likely discriminated against because of your exceptional abilities. This hatred is motivated by jealousy and fear. If you, however, fall behind others, then you are considered inept, unsuitable, and incompatible.

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To thrive in today’s society, one cannot stand out in any category. If one falls on either side of the spectrum, whatever it is (smart or not, rich or poor, talented or not, hardworking or lazy, etc.), then he or she will face injustice.

Finally, would you rather be fit or fat? Who has it easier in life? Boy, I can tell you that I have seen it all! Ultimately, it boils down to feeling comfortable in your own skin, whether that means being fit or not. However, as a fitness advocate, I should encourage people to get fit. Stay on the fitter side but without falling into the extreme end of fitness, and here is why. The fitter I get, the fewer people talk to me in a gym. Fitter = less approachable. Perhaps, intimidation factors in? It sure can be difficult to make friends in a gym. Talking may be mistakenly perceived as “hitting” on others. It’s a fine line to walk, especially for single individuals who actually want to meet someone. On the other hand, having fewer acquaintances in a gym means less socializing and, therefore, less distraction and more time to work out. Bottomline: if you choose to get fit, or have a specific objective in mind, then surround yourself with people who support you and your goals.

So, the question lingers: who do you think has it easier in life? Pretty or ugly, or fit or fat?