Memories of Anamesa

The arches shimmered, their names swirling within my mind like distant echoes. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Earth – they were just the beginning. Others beckoned, with names like "Martial Realm," "Warrior's Path," "Mystic Realms," and "Forgotten Lands."

Each was beautiful, its own set of experiences to shape my destiny. No. I corrected myself; these arches held the opportunity for me to shape my destiny.

I inhaled deeply, stretched out my hand, and let my fingers brush against the nearest gate - Artisan's Haven.

Warmth met my fingers. Like a mother's hug or a lover's embrace, the gate was welcoming. Images pulsed before my closed eyelids – vibrant colors, intricate designs. Hands molding clay, paint brushing canvases. In my hands was a world of creativity, a world of artists, for artists, by artists. I felt a pull, a connection that resonated deep within me.

It was intoxicating.

It felt wrong.

I stepped back, doubting myself. The Guide's presence seemed to linger, her wisdom a silent guidance. I slapped myself on the cheeks, then looked around, cheeks red. I was going to explore more gates. I couldn't allow myself to be absorbed by their warmth.

Shaking off the lingering warmth, I pushed forward, testing gate after gate. Days - or was it hours? -blurred. Each gate was wonderful. Each was missing something.

Then, I saw it.

A simple stone archway, worn, weathered, and modest in its presence. Grass peeked through its cracks and its plaque was barely legible, glowing faintly:

"Wanderer's Path."

I stretched out my fingers and brushed the gate's rough, cold surface gently.

And I saw.

Mountains scraping the sky, rolling plains kissing the sunlight, vast deserts. A life of freedom. Of movement. Of possibility.

My heart pounded. My brain filled with adrenaline, stopping.

This was it.

I took a step forward. Then another. 

The mist curled around me, swallowing me. The world twisted, pulling me in.

And- 

....

Darkness

Warm. Cramped. Suffocating. 

Pressure from all sides.

Hold on. I couldn't see!

Suddenly, I felt something pushing me, compressing me. IT HURT. IT WAS SO PAINFUL.

I screamed! Pain zapped through me; I was dying a third time. Then, as the pressure began to subside, I saw the light.

No. I wasn't ready. I couldn't die. Not again.

As 'heaven's' light grew, I looked down. Through my blurred gaze, I blearily saw my chubby, red body.

Ah, I'd been born.

Again.

With a final cry, I fell asleep.

....

Life as a kid is something else!

Mom is absolutely gorgeous. She has long brown hair and a kind, warm face and is soooooo loving.

AND she is well endowed.

Joke aside though, I've struggled with being reborn. Laying in a wooden crib with a dirtied diaper, you can't help but question, well, life. I've discovered the truth; one hidden from mankind since ancient times: life is embarrassing.

I can't be babied for the next decade; I can't stand it! Ah, but that does remind me; It's almost time for dinner! 

Grrrrrr. Oop, that was my stomach. Looking out, I saw mom. Like usual, she's already walking toward me. Hehe good going.

"Hello, cutie," she cooed as she reached my crib, her voice soothing. She leaned in and scooped me into her arms, cradling me with unimaginable tenderness. "It's time for dinner, sweetie. Let's go find your dad."

With that, she carried me into the dining room. The table was set with care, adorned with flickering candles and delicious looking dishes. And there, at the head of the table, was Dad, a gruff smile on his face as he waited for us.

It was nice to see him; he was always working, chopping wood in the forest. But here, he was a picture of strength and security; he stood tall, his rugged features softened by the genuine affection he had for Mom and me. His eyes twinkled as they met mine, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging wash over me.

Life was good.

Mom gently settled me into a highchair, making sure I was comfortable before taking her seat beside Dad. They exchanged a loving glance and then my mom leaned into him, almost kissing him. She quickly snagged his ear, suplexing him to the ground.

THUD. "You. Are. Late. Dear ♡"

"Look. No. It wasn't my fault. It... I was running late because.... Well... there was a fish. and well..."

Mom twisted his ear even tighter, causing him to scream.

"AUUUUGHHAFKAKC!!! I'm so sorry dear, I promise I'll make it up to you," dad cried, his head touching the ground as he apologized.

For a moment, I almost felt bad for him. Then, he looked up at mom and made a sly face, "....later tonight."

Never mind. He deserved what was coming. I hate couples.

Bruised and bloody, my dad ate his dinner, trying his best to chat with my mom. Soon, their laughter filling the room like a comforting melody.

Wait! They forgot to feed me!

There's only one solution. I smiled. Paused. Opened my mouth. And let out the loudest, unholy-est shriek I could, likely summoning shadows from Anamesa. Hear me out - I need to behave like a normal baby. What if they begin to question me? Burn me at the stake? Steak? Yum.

Hehe, I couldn't help but chuckle at my genius.

Mom and Dad stopped mid-sentence, their eyes widening in surprise. 

Dad's fork, suspended in the air between his plate and his mouth, froze with him. Mom, her eyes filled with both concern and amusement, turned her attention toward me. They exchanged bemused glances, trying to decipher my peculiar outburst.

I maintained my best baby expression, batting my eyelashes and letting out a few adorable coos, as if I had no idea what had just happened. It was all part of the plan, you see - throw them off balance, then reel them back in with cuteness. Then, steak.

Mom chuckled first, a melodious sound that warmed the room like a ray of sunshine. "Well, someone's got some lungs on them, don't they?" she said, playfully.

They both shared a knowing smile. Yuck, I hate couples. And then, without missing a beat, Mom reached for a small spoon and began to dish out a spoonful of the mashed-up mystery concoction that was surely my dinner. It didn't look half bad, to be honest.

Mission success!

Ugh, anyways. You would not believe how incredibly tiring being a baby is. Lifting my head feels like lifting hundreds of pounds. I can't crawl, much less stand up. It's simply too much!

With that said, I'm tired. It's time for my fourth nap of the day.

Peace ✌️

....

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I marveled at my growth. Each passing day brought new discoveries – the feel of warm wood beneath my fingers, the taste of sweet fruits, the sound of my (beautiful) laughter echoing through the air.

I was becoming a child again! What a joy!

And yet, amidst this cascade of joyous emotions, it was almost as if I had become someone else, a person infused with energy that defied my past stoic office worker self. I had been a boring person. I mean... you saw my James Bond joke in Chapter 1, paragraph like 8 or something. It did not land.

And yet, here I was laughing, living, and ....funny? Well, funnier. Or, I guess, a little funny? Never mind. Anyways, I was an adult. No, I am an adult. And yet here I am, finding enchantment in my cute, little pinkie. It waved back to me, as if agreeing that, indeed, it was the most gorgeous finger to ever exist. Hehe, I'm gonna be hot one day.

....

Honestly, you'd be shocked - it's impossible to realize how much passion and enthusiasm you lose to age. Ah, but I digress. Back to my story, not yours.

One thing was certain – I was embracing this childlike wonder with open arms. It was so fun!

Perhaps, I hadn't lost anything as I aged on Earth. Perhaps, buried within the layers of my previous life's experiences, there had always been a spark yearning to be rekindled. And now, in the embrace of Wardenas, that spark had ignited into a radiant flame. Ah, talking about flames...