In a stone house resides two females and a couple of male servants, cough, I meant spouses. Well most are spouses.

These men are beautiful and strong but the most prettiest of these inhabitants is the very small female.

(Scene changes to a gorgeous petite black haired female sprawled on loads of fur while eating grapes that are passed by a bulky male sitting near her side. She has dark blue eyes, pale skin, a beauty mole underneath her left eye, and her body is adorned with a two piece tan striped fur suit).

No, that's not the prettiest female. Look again. Do you see that darker tan ball near the female's side? You know, in between the female and the bulky hulk, and righhttt beneath the fruit basket. Yeah, um, yeah, that's me with my finger caught in the cookie jar, cough, fruit basket. ⟵(๑¯◡¯๑)

Okay, so I'm not as pretty as the other female. I mean, instead of inheriting her wonderfully beautiful blue eyes, I ended up with my dad's muddy brown eyes. However, I did inherit her beauty mole. Yeah mama, I got a beauty mark, a beauty mark on my behind that is. I've been told that it's a cute heart shaped mole placed on my left butt cheek. And according to the gorgeous female lying next to me, it's so unbelievably cute that she can't help but give light kisses to it. My fathers and brothers on the other hand have warned me to keep it hidden underneath my one piece dress. Personally, no matter how much my toddler self rolls around I just can't see it. And hellooo I'm a toddler...

Ooh did you catch that? No, not about my bum. I'm talking about the plural in spouses, in fathers. So wallah, there are cute, handsome, scary, extremely model-like bodies with athletic looks and feel fathers, or as I call them, papas. As far as I can see, in my family there are tall, slightly short, skinny, muscular young dad bods. Sorry for the girls that like beer bellies, they don't exist... So far. Anyway, all those males belong to my mama. Thus all those papas belong, in a sense, to me, mama's only and first daughter. Yeah I'm rockin the princess crown in our house.

Before I go further into this story, let's start at the beginning. After the seventh week (as I was told) of the first day I felt cold (a.k.a. the day I came into this world), it was a no brainer that I had begun a new life. By new, I meant that I had a previous life, had died, and was reborn into this one. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I can't remember the people from my past life. Nor can I remember at what age I died.

Although I sense that I had a love for an image of what look like a pile of neat line drawings placed together in an object called book. I had and still have a yearning to be able to lay in comfortable beddings. And an ongoing desire to be able to jog, sprint, feel the wind in my ears. Though that's kind of hard to do with these two short thick legs. 

Cough, umm I'm getting off-track. Anyway, the first take of my mother on the day that my eyes opened was that she looked gorgeous. And that she likes tattoos. Like, really adores tattoos (I counted five). And the second take was that we were dirt poor. Literally. The walls were made of stone, the floor was probably made of stone, the roof was made of, yes, stone, and the bedding was la fur. Oh yes, my covering on that day was a skinned white fur. Well that material quickly turned yellow. After looking around, I was then beginning to think that could it be possible that I was born into the age of The Flintstones?

But hold and behold my third take of this new world literally took my breath away. Yeah, I let out a cry, so sue me. If you were me and saw a bulky giant looking down at you, what would you do? That giant was sitting beside the beautiful female. This male looked powerful. Say, with just one flick of his finger he would be able to squash my skull. He was tan, muscular, long legged, and his he man was covered by a black cloth (thankfully my eyes were saved). I also noticed that he had peculiar light brown eyes. His eyes, though widened from my cries, were calm and kept looking at me with a tender expression. His calm posture and eyes helped my cries to go down to a hick-up. It also helped that the smell from his dirty blond wavy mid length hair felt familiar. While my mother cooed at me, I remember that I kept sneaking glances at him. That's where I noticed that he had three dark lines stretched onto his face. More tattoos? And looking further up, he had something else that didn't belong in my previous life's memory. This blond man had two round fuzzy twitching blond ears on top of his head.

Feeling my own head with my short baby arms, I also felt what seemed to be the same round ears. Papa, are you my papa?

Last edited on February 15, 2022 in w a t t p a d