I opened my eyes, but everything was a blur. I couldn’t make sense of anything. The only thing I felt was warmth surrounding my tiny body, and before I knew it, I was crying. I didn’t even know why—it just felt like the only thing I could do.

Then, I felt myself being lifted. Two hands held me carefully, and something warm and soft pressed against the top of my head. It calmed me down almost immediately.

Time passed, though I didn’t know how much. I just lay there, wrapped in that warm feeling, my eyes slowly starting to focus. Shapes turned into figures, and soon, I could see them clearly—a woman and a man. The woman’s face was kind, her voice gentle as she spoke to the man. He looked strict, but there was a flicker of happiness in his expression. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was obvious—they were my parents.

My eyes wandered down to something else. Two big, soft pillows. They looked almost unreal, with a pinkish tint at the tips. Before I could figure out what they were, the woman—my mother—held my head and gently guided me toward one of them. I didn’t know what to do, but instinct took over. Warmth and comfort filled me as I drank what could only be described as the essence of life itself.

Weeks went by, and those pillows didn’t seem so impossibly big anymore. But they were always there when I needed them, and I always felt better after being close to my mother. I started to notice how people treated her. There were always men standing guard nearby, watching her every move. She wasn’t just any woman—she was someone important.

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Months passed. I was finally moved to my own little bed, away from the warmth I’d grown so used to. I started noticing how they moved their mouths when they talked. They kept trying to get me to say two specific words: “Mama” and “Dada.” I didn’t really understand, so I just mumbled, “Ma… Da…” They seemed satisfied with that.

I saw my father less and less. He came and went, always looking serious, never staying long. It was my mother who was always there, cheering when I finally said my first “Mama.” She was so happy, but my father wasn’t even around to hear it.

Time moved on, and I learned to crawl, then walk, then even jump. One day, my father returned and said something I didn’t quite understand. “It tim.” Those were the words I caught. My mother’s expression shifted. Her smile was still there, but it looked different. Nervous.

She changed out of her usual clothes and into something beautiful—elegant, even. Two maids appeared to help her, fussing over every detail.

Not long after, we were led outside, and that’s when I saw it. A horse. A real, living horse. My mother smiled at me and said, “That’s a horse. Do you like it?”

I stared at the huge, graceful animal, awestruck. “Myas!” was all I could manage.

The horse pulled us along in a grand carriage. I had never seen anything like it. And then, as we moved closer, I saw it for the first time—a kingdom.

It was massive, with tall walls and bustling streets. It looked like something out of a story. My story.