An Affair With The Triplets
It had been a birth that had channeled the power of the bond into a torrent of life.
Two lives, in fact. Lyra and Niran.
My daughter, Lyra, slept peacefully in the basket, her dark hair and silver birthmark on her wrist making her the picture of calm and Earth Magic.
My son, Niran, was identical to me.
His aura was a mixture of chaos and potential, a small hurricane.
The sound was faint at first, a soft murmur that barely broke the peace of midday.
Wuaa. Wuaa.
It was the soft cry of Niran, my son.
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