Book One {The Aeon}

Kaiylah M. O’Quinn

A Chapter From: “The Magnanimous Majesties: Grace Filled Endeavors”

The remnants of a tree;s roots may reveal its medical history, and from there can one begin anew.

From the deepest sea floor, rose terror. A notice had caused great fear within the woman capable of manifesting abundance to no end. Her demeanor: stoic yet carefully attuned to the environment, proved beneficial when placed under the surveillance of death himself.

“No petitions are being taken at this time,” seldom being crucially reminded.

She was reprimanded by the harshest of the winds, clutching dearly to the most tangible feature of being she could.

“Transitioning would occur, and painfully soon,” this she knew intuitively to no avail. Sensations startled sickness, striking suddenly.


Madam Magus could no longer deny the inevitable: her traveling spirit would be withered before the end of the Aeon. Had there not been resistance, the journey could be ever more soothing, as her inner being was in deep need of resurrection from the burdens of yesterday.

Being revoked of the opportunity, she wanders in a fixated pseudo-station, an endless time loop of stagnation. A disposition truly seen by His grace as an abomination, thus igniting indignation in ferocious fiery form.

“What strange scenery,” she privately remarked, noting the sarcastic undertone she possessed whilst taking note of the familiar sensations induced by intentionally constructed circumstances.

She, in her disharmony, witnessed the hunger within a plateau of dandelions, desperate for the sun’s touch. And, she too was filled with such a longing, inexplicable to communicate with the royal family of Asteraceae. Grey in their transparency, and withered from the changing, the dandelions still rebelliously reigned tall against the sunlight, sprouting unapologetically from the surfaces, and she could not relax her thoughts when the sun’s ray ignored her desolation. Petite stems, ignoring her misfortune against the tides of change, stretched confidently, perceived in His likeness as swords glistening alongside the enchanted rays.

From the Moon, however, is where the rays protrude and under its illusion, the wanderer perceives its shine as the sun’s opulence.


The Wanderer, like Madam Magus, is bewildered, baffled, and bombarded by beastful images of total consumption. It tries, futilely, to escape this desolate disposition. Panicking, its perception of where the control lies is fogged significantly. These misgivings were ardently observed amongst the trees by the nightbird, who made sure of noting both, the Wanderer’s, and Madam Magus’ reluctance to simply stay still. Just long enough to receive the tidings’ tele, which would be brought to their minds’ eye through the nightbird. The Wanderer, in his perplexed state of having glared at the moon’s full face, is stealthing through the forest, being drawn in through the enticement of indolent wonder at what is temporarily shown amongst the field. It too, dwells in the realm of uncertainty, shared with Madam Magus, and those living entities belonging to the Anthropoid Kingdom. Her majesty, Madam High—Priestess, oversees the realm and its many incubated inhabitants.


Suddenly, an urgent notice has appeared in the mind’s eye of Madam Magnanimous Marie McNeal. A figure is flashing in the corner of her eye, but when she turns her head, nothing is there. Her body is still and her hands begin to catch the coolness of the wind. Her eyes—white—are wide, trying their best to capture every particle of light, gracefully lent to them. Dryness makes its home in her mouth and silence finds solace in the vibrations that fill her ears. She is completely numb of all feelings upon her realization of what the tiding’s notice is, and who could have brought it to her attention.

To not persevere through pain; To fight the tides of change; And to wander these pretentious fields that possess no name, is held in deep contempt in the heart of His Divine Grace, and will certainly bring about shame, the sudden, powerful voice had gently spoken, seeming to come from the breeze of the trees. A shelter for a select few nightbirds belonging to the Anthropoid’s pilot team. Because she was so stubborn, her mind was closed off to the possibility of her observations—regarding the scenery before her—as being a mere mirage. The members of the council had long kept her under close surveillance, observing her carelessness travelling through the Portals of Remembering, and having irresponsibly discovered the realm of uncertainty. They waited patiently for her to acknowledge her footsteps. Yes, she tried onward, with no care. She was too enchanted by her own desolated disposition she shared with the Wanderer. Treading with little to no regard as to the impression that her presence made on the witnesses sitting at the feet of his divine grace.


Beneath the wide blue sky, lies a deep blue ocean. The still waters. Dwelling along its edge were more dandelions: The Royal Family of Asteraceae. Beyond these waters, one could have entered upon the gates of Malkuth, leading to the heavens of Kether, where the council members of his grace dwelt. For their adobes are amongst the Solar’s elaborately exquisite administration.


To Be Continued…