"if you want to fly, leave anything that weighs you down."
After the tragic loss of her mother, Aera's world was shattered. Her relatives, unwilling to take her in, sold her to the red-light district where she was forced to live a life of captivity...
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AERA EMBRACES SMILES WITH THE GENTLENESS OF A SPRING BREEZE, even amidst the rain or storms. The art of finding joy in the smallest moments had been a legacy from her mother, a cherished lesson instilled in her as they faced poverty and the isolation that comes from being shunned by their village.
Sumire, Aera's mother, was a vision of beauty. Lavender tresses cascaded like a soft waterfall, a trait passed on to her. Aera knew little about her father, not even his name, except that her mother's eyes sparkled with fondness whenever he was mentioned.
"Handsome, kind, and a bit awkward but he was a good man."
If he was all these things, why had he abandoned them? Aera wondered. But such thoughts didn't occupy her mind for long. She had her mother, the beacon of her life. Aera thrived on her mother's presence, finding light, hope, and purpose in their bond. She had no need for a father who was absent when they had each other.
Tragically, an unknown illness snatched Sumire's life when Aera was only seven.
With meager resources, they had been unable to afford medical help or attention. Aera's days became a desperate attempt to nurse her mother back to health, but time was merciless, draining away her life and strength.
Death claimed her mother in the stillness of night, leaving the young girl an orphan.
Passed from relative to relative, her existence became that of an unwelcome burden rather than a beloved family member. Aera's efforts were relentless. Cooking, cleaning, and tending to chores were not daunting tasks.
Aera tried her best. She does the menial chores, cook, and clean. It was not hard for her, she had inherited her mother's unnatural strength. She could carry anything twice her size, it was the gift from the gods, her mother used to say. Her uncommon strength, an inheritance from her mother, made even the heaviest loads feel like feathers. It was a gift from the gods, or so her mother would say.
She had yearned to repay her relatives' nominal kindness for taking her in after her mother's death. Yet, gratitude was a currency wasted on them, for in return, she was treated as if she were no more than an inconvenience, a commodity to be sold.
"Purple hair—how exotic. But... she appears rather young... how old did you say she is?" An opulently dressed woman arrived, her face adorned with layers of makeup.
Her uncle chuckled half-heartedly. "Ten years, madam. Her mother was quite the beauty, and she resembles her strikingly. She will surely be as stunning as her mother, once she matures."
The woman hummed, her smoking pipe tapping against Aera's chin, lifting her face for inspection. "I'll take her," she declared, flinging a pouch of gold coins to her uncle.
