writing – Page 2 – Wolverine Lily

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.

To be continued… maybe.

Toe-morrow Never Dies: A Battle with the Bone

Don’t judge the book by the cover. And don’t judge people by… their feet!

Let me tell you a story about one bone that invaded many lives (including mine), with one heck of an attitude—almost literally.

A bunion. Not a cute name for not a cute bone. Apparently, it’s very common among women. And, with age, it becomes more pronounced—in medical terms. But in plain English: it’s annoying and ugly.

Unlike the onion, you can’t peel off its layers. But it sure can make you cry! Bunion with a B for the Brute—a Brutal Bone! Not a B for “Beautiful.” Rather, a Bitch, relentless and rebellious, that often takes center stage in my life.

When it first peeked years ago, I thought it was a sixth toe about to hatch. Yet, many Easters went by and still no ugly ducklings—just five toes and one fat ‘plumpy’ egg.

So why not cover it with shoes?

But what type of footwear can accommodate this deformation? Thought of that?

Summers are terrible: a season of Toezillas storming in the sun. Forget flip-flops on the beach. It’s like Mount Toeverest on full display. Massive and entirely unapologetic. Unconquerable.

Strappy sandals are even worse because bunions always find a way to poke through the straps. They’re like little rhinoceroses, busting out of cages through the bars, claiming their freedom.

Shoe shopping is a disaster. Nothing fits! It’s not like I’m picky—Ms. Bunion is! She deprives me of stylish choices! Constantly interfering and always getting her way. Flats? If the cut isn’t deep enough, Everest gets sliced by the edge. Pointy shoes? It’s like walking in a funnel. I’d rather stick my foot in a blender.

And don’t get me started on the fancy devices promising miracles. The commercials scream: “correct alignment,” “overnight relief,” and “back to beautiful feet.” Lies! I’ve tried them all. I’ve imprisoned my foot into toe spreaders, medieval-looking separators, nighttime braces that make you stomp like Frankenstein on heels. I even bought something called a “bunion boot” once. It looked like a snow tire attached for punishment.

I remember standing on a beach last summer, when my friend casually glanced at my foot and said, “You’ve got one of those big bones. My mom had that.” I laughed it off saying, “Yup, I do. I can’t do anything about it.”

And that’s when the story flipped.

I have no control over my anatomy, but I have the mind-power to decide how I feel about it.

I’m done feeling embarrassed! I’ve decided to give my bunion the spotlight it demands. I mean, it’s been fighting for attention for years, right?

Why do we try so hard to hide something that clearly wants to stand out? Maybe that bone was never meant to be covered. What if it’s not a deformity—but a declaration?

In ancient Greece, a high forehead was associated with wisdom and intelligence. Large ears were believed to signify wisdom and attentiveness. In some East Asian cultures, elongated earlobes are considered a sign of longevity and good fortune. A prominent nose has been linked to strength of character and leadership, especially in Roman and Greek depictions of emperors and gods. In China, women bound their feet to make them smaller because that was considered beautiful. A long neck symbolized elegance in African cultures. Thick lips indicated sensuality and fertility, especially if you were channeling your inner goddess. And if your second toe was longer than your big toe, congratulations—you were born a leader.

For centuries, people found meaning in every curve, dip, and dimple of the human body. But somehow, the bunion has been left out. No legends… or at least I haven’t found any. Why? Because it was meant for embarrassment and discomfort? No, because nobody had assigned it a magical meaning.

What if the bunion is not a flaw—but a secret sign? A mark of resilience or a fighting spirit? If this bone can endure years of bad shoes, public toe-shaming, and test gadgets from late-night infomercials, it’s clearly not just a bone—it’s a warrior!

I’m calling it the “Woman who can walk through fire.” It’s time the bunion had its myth. Beauty has always been subjective—a performance.

So the next time you notice someone stare, just confidently say, “Yeah, I’ve got a superpower.” Because you do, so own it—with style, sass, and just a hint of bad-ass Toezilla.

Toes crossed!

The Mirror of Trust

I stare into the mirror.
I see myself—those worried eyes I know so well.
“What do you fear?” I ask.
“I’m afraid to take this step,” she replies.
“Don’t. I’ll be with you holding your hand.”

She doesn’t trust me but begins to climb.
Step by slow step.
I watch her go up beyond my reach.
My legs tremble.
My heart pounds in my ears.
She reaches the highest highs,
I can barely see her.

“I’m scared,” she screams as she looks down.
“How will I get down?”
“Jump,” I encourage her.
“Impossible! I will die!”
“You won’t. I will catch you,” I assure.

She hesitates.
“I can’t! I’m terrified!” she cries.
“Just trust me,” I whisper.
“If you fall, I’ll fall… with you.”

Her quivering feet slide to the edge,
I catch my breath,
She plunges into the unknown.
First, like a rock tossed in the wind,
Then she unfolds her arms—
Delicate wings, unsure they will hold her,
Yet she spreads them wide in growing confidence,
As feathers grow from her skin.

I hint a smile and behold her glide,
A bird soaring on a gale.
I extend my arms into the air.
“What if I can’t do this?” I doubt myself.
Terror embraces me from behind.
“If you fail, I fail too,”
Her mutter echoes in my heart.

She lands within me,
I ripple like a drop cascading into a lake,
Peacefully blending into placid waters.

Was it her or me?
Who truly made it?

I stare into the mirror.
I see myself—those worried eyes I know so well.
“What do you fear?” she asks.
“I’m scared to take this step.”
“Don’t. I’ll be with you holding your hand,” she replies.

I climb with trembling legs.
She will catch me, she’ll find a way—
As I once did.
I’ll find my wings…
Just as she once found hers.

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!

The Fiery Eyes Piercing the Night

I know why you left me, Mom.
I didn’t understand it then. How could I?
I was so young, a fragile leaf
tossed in a hurricane.

I still remember you standing
in that dim hallway,
determined to leave.
I heard the hollow echo as you opened the door,
but before it slammed shut,
the Beast crept in,
filling the emptiness with shadows.

That night, sleep eluded me.
I imagined you soaring through the sky,
chasing your freedom
like a ravenous bird after its prey.
Trapped in the darkness, I cried,
motionless, a girl clenching her fists.
The Beast watched me;
its big, fiery eyes piercing the night.
I was terrified.
But nobody was there to witness my horror.

For years, I begged you to come back,
but you never did;
and I never tamed the Beast.
It lingered, a constant reminder
of the void you left behind.

Three decades have passed,
and the Beast still remains.
I’ve grown used to its presence,
accepting that I can’t fight it.
I’ve built walls around myself,
so tall that only God in Heaven can see the true reflection of me.

But one day, someone will come,
and the Beast will be gone.
My heart knows it,
awaiting the day of liberation.

I’m no longer angry at you.
I’ve come to understand your struggle,
though I never heard you say plainly, “I love you.”
Maybe you never did.
You must have had your reasons.

But I can’t carry your pain for you anymore.
It crushes me.
I need to let it go.

Nevertheless, I love you. I always have.
My heart’s been beating with so much love
that I can’t feel otherwise.
I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy,
but it’s time for me to find my own peace.

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?