Her mother was a large woman, much taller than Aster had been in her past life - looming high at 6'8". Her brown hair was short and rough and she had a plain face, except for her eyes which were a beautiful shade of lilac. She wore clothes that were much too short for her. Skirts and trousers that were meant to brush the ankles lightly, as was the fashion in that time, could barely reach the midway point of her calves. Her mother was patient, kind, lovely and intelligent - the books that she had seen the day she had first woken up in this house, had been those of her mother's.

Well, with the exception of one.

"The Countess from the Villain's house is a Ballerina who loves." That was just one.

"The Male lead is a Sadist, but I am the exception." "The Evil Witch from the fairytale, is the Secret Saviour of the Kingdom."

"Mother! I am the Seamstress in this life!" "I was reborn just to love you." "The Duchess is lonely." "Ascending to Immortality to love the Goddess of Spring!"

These were just a few of the titles that Aster's father, Martin, razed through like starved cattle let loose on a rich meadow.

Her parents were people of the earth, they tilled, they planted, they tended. Everything they needed, they grew in the farm or gathered from the woods close to their home. There were just a few exceptions to this rule. Medicine and books were two of them.

Her father was as tall as her mother. Unlike the first time she had met him, he had turned out to be a stern and airheaded man. Regardless, he had the greenest thumb she had ever come across. With the exception of apples, everything that her father planted in their little farm yielded such abundance that they were in want of little.

Five years had gone by since she had found herself in the company of this kindhearted old couple and she had long begun to love them like parents - though unaware of it. Her black hair had grown till her shoulder and she kept it tied tightly with a red hairtie.

They had named her Stela. At first she tried to gurgle her name to them. She was Aster! The Saintess of the Holy See of Margelia! But the words hadn't taken shape.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Stela, Stela.", they had kept calling her in spite of her best protests.

One night, when she was 4, her mum sat her down on her small chair in the study and pulled out an old book from one of the shelves. Dusting the cover and turning the thick heavy leaves of the old book, she stopped at a page with a painting of the Ancients. The flame of a red candle burned brightly in the background, casting lively shadows on the stony walls.

Aster was familiar with the Ancients. They were a race of magical beings that had inhabited the Earth before the first humans. They were majestic giants who had powers equal to the demigods of present day. They had vanished from the earth in the first war between humans and giants. Even in the Holy See, information on the Ancients was scarce and lacking.

The painting that her mother had stopped at was one depicting an epic battle between a seven headed dragon and a giantess. The painting had captured the battle midway through its occurrence.

Three heads of the dragon lay impaled on the jagged rocks in the cavernous deep below the sky in which the battle was being fought.

The giantess had one arm raised against two heads of the monstrous beast. A second arm held a heavy shield close to her while two heads of the dragon fought fiercely to wrest it away.

"No one knows who won this battle.", her mother whispered reverently.

Aster stared at the painting. It was clear that the book was very old and rare. In fact, Aster didn't recall seeing such a book even at the Library in the Holy Seer's Temple. But she recognized the four headed beast that had been immortalized in battle. The four headed dragon Styrh was portrayed in the Holy Tomes as the evil demon that opposed the Holy Beings. But did it really have 7 heads?

"The name of this Hero was Stela.", her mother continued, "Grey eyes are rare in Margelia, Stela. Legend has it that only descendants of the ancients have grey eyes."

Then shutting the book, her mother pulled her into a deep embrace that muffled her breath, almost suffocating her in the folds of the coarse linen dress. When Aster managed to take a breath, she caught the smell of baked apples. It seemed, her mother had been baking an apple pie before taking her to the study. After all, it was her birthday and apple pies were her favourite.

Outside, the moon began to glow brightly, as if agreeing with the story.

Afterwards, Aster stared at herself in the mirror for a long time.

"Stela."

"Stela." She repeated.

Though the Holy Saintess Aster had died four years ago on the seventh month of year 875 of the reign of King Reiss - this night would mark the real date the Saintess died. For thenceforth, she was no longer Aster, but Stela.