...THE GOLDEN CLOUDY bands over the glaciers is a crystalline mirror of my surround - snow melts from the mountaintop of Avesha and a creek, like a lull, flows behind me.

The meadow is a kaleidoscope of flowers and trails are dust in colours of the rainbow, each leading to a different realm.

I am going to make a destiny-choice.

It may seem bizarre to Earthers how green and ice co-thrive in our plane, but that is the least of befuddling oddities.

I trace my finger through sparkles of slippery particles that is the air, and they diffuse. A pleasing shock snake down my veins.

The Rosha waters slosh in a deafening roar faraway, but to my ears, plays like a lyre.

I am forestalling.

I immerse the picture of the Angelic Ports, where I am, in my subconscious, hoping to remember it for an unknown period of time, to soothe me and symbolise home: where I may never return or belong.

I am an exile, and a road must I take coming of age, to fulfil the Intertwine Rituals, existing from before I form, and mandate for all fair Greenbloods.

Doggone be all of this!

What do they all mean, anyway?

My Fraiers—parents, that should mean in earthy terms, if my memory isn't cranky—raise me a blank slate. I have no knowledge, or so do they intend.

(Truly, I know nothing and by accident, I know something).

It is an upbringing of conditioning, as same for other greenlasses, where they feed me only ideas of my fated life in a tether universe. Nobody ask questions; nobody deviates. Life is shred in that planar in Rudrow - our home town - and no one I know is daring to break out of the settlings.

My mound of stowage satchel (a knitted, hand-painted, tie-dyed lucrosse fabric by me) draws my attention, resting on reed sandals that cover my feet. It contains pith properties I have.

An ethereal leaf; a woody-tasting ointment; bracelets of myrrh scent; twenty duros; enchanted hex dairies I stole; some serpentine jewels; cut lucrosses and other things I do not remember.

A butterfly flutters next to my irises. It is gray, and I am impress with an overwhelming sense of delight. It dances in front my face - amusing me.

A tinkle of laughter bounces out my parch lips as the tiny creature flies higher, and I lose myself in its flight.

I wonder if butterflies feel insignificant or important.

Perchance, no inkling do they have of the vast world around them.

I watch as the white-dappled gray buzzes and whisks yonder to one of the polychromatic paths – a reminder of the painful decision I have to take.

I. Won't. Break down. In tears.

A sly alter ego comes to allay me.

There are paths, tens of thousands of paths, Eielidrya. You don't have to take any of these seven. Look around! See! There are other portwaves...

My head moves out of place, nimbly, teal tresses shake after my nay response.

You can go to Aisopeia, or Faeydal, or even Niervalna. Earth?!

How- how can I- I can't be froward. It is suppose of me to choose one of the rainbow ways. Tis—

And go with a lifetime of what you do not even know happen in the Bounded Realms the red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo or violet road leads to?

A grave irrevocable errant that will be. If I break the course.

Um, who cares? Another persona.

You have a choice now. All your life, it is the sole expression you've been denied. You have read about choices in those banned books. This is what it is.

My will straightens. I consider the elysian portaland about me—Angelic—shimmering, casting glows, tinkering and trashing wildness of aesthetics. There are rivers, falls, gardens, and luring phantom circles of space alchemising into blasts of realities.

I suck a sweetened breath, and take a step. . .

.

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