Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero

Chapter 84: Euphoria



The ground of September evening, sweet, cold breeze feathers over the golden leaves, swaying gently, under the warm setting sun.

Ponderous, saccharine scent of apple orchards, wafting, withering leaves wriggling out the slender twigs, waving away, along the gusts of approaching autumn wind.

Her little yard, rooting home for the nostalgic meadow, the blossoms of flowers the brightest. Vibrant bees and butterflies, hovering over, elfin seed-eating birds, sneaking away in a glance.

Sweet whistling of the kaleidoscopic birds, the aura romantic and warm, the magic of the while, the heaven's showering miracles upon the cottage; a herald of a poetic, faithful fairy autumn.

Neva hums, singing a symphonious lullaby, resting on the vintage, faded moss-green cushioned rocking chair. Her newborn baby, nestled in her embrace, she sways him—ever so tenderly.

Her motherly, loving gaze on the angelic baby's face, his own little blurry coffee eyes, blinking at his mother's alluring eyes.

She smiles, leaning down slowly, she plants a doting kiss on his delicate forehead. Her heart swelling up in euphoria; she couldn't be anymore grateful for baby Rhean in her arms.

He was all wrapped up in a wooly warm, beige hooded blanket with tiny ears, over his tiny beanie, with a set of white sweater and pants, and the plushy socks she knitted.

She's teary eyed; the angel-faced baby; the most precious child.

The sleepy baby—closing his eyes, Neva peers over her flowering yard, she sighs softly in serenity. A week over after she gave birth, weaving of overwhelming happiness, tears of nervousness, foreign emotions rained down on her.

This new colourful journey; all tough and somnolent, but abundantly rewarding for her and her husband.

She adjusts her lukewarm shawl, closing lightly over the now slumbering baby. A loud crier, however, he's mostly been a calm baby. All the painful kicks in her belly, clouding her in wonder of how he's the same baby. "Is he asleep?" His sudden voice has Neva flinch away from her daydream.

She glances at Rhett, walking closer to her with a charming smile. She smiles at him, then looks down at their babyboy.

"Yes, he is." She replies glancing up at him, hovering, leaning over them, his gentle eyes trailing up from their son to her glistening eyes. He caresses her cheek, feathering a loving kiss on her lips.

She smiles, "I didn't realise you were close." He mirrors the delighted smile, placing himself on one of the chair around the coffee table next to her. He waves a black camera before her, "I was always here, recording memories."

Neva's orbs glitters in surprise, "Of course you've secretly captured another souvenir." "Now, a close-up." He says, holding up the camera, he leans back slightly—and clicks an unready picture of the mother and son.

"Gosh, at least let me pose." She huffs, in return, he exhales out a low chuckle. "You're heavenly just breathing." He says, and a deep shade of crimson red roses up her fair cheeks.

Her elegant hair, messy-braided, free curled strands falling all over, a maroon shawl over her comfy floral, white prairie dress. She's always looked enchantingly beautiful than ever.

She's a perfect mother to their boy, and he can't ever keep his entranced eyes off of her. Falling deeper and more, he smiles and glances at their son, his little family; sprouting deep and blossoming over his heart.

He could've never dreamed, he could be capable of loving someone this intense. He never had imagined; anyone but him could be this blessed.

"You wanna hold him?" Neva asks, he looks at her, threading their eyes. "Alright," he replies, placing the camera on the coffee table—he amends his creased black t-shirt.

He reaches out to cradle him, as Neva murmering sweet nothings, carefully, gently places the little shuffling baby, making small baby noises in his arms.

He smiles, the baby relaxing again in his embrace. "Rhean looks so much tinier in your arms." Neva smiles, her chin propped up on her palms, shoring on her knees. Rhett glimpses at her, "He does," he looks down again at the baby, "God he's so tiny." He says, stroking his pink and fair little chubby cheek with his thumb, earning a little shifting motion from the newborn.

"I know, but he's gotten so much bigger, and he's not even two weeks old." She says, awe floating in the eyes, her gaze secured on the pleasantly sleeping boy.

"Well, he's one of a big eater, and a deep sleeper." He shrugs lightly with a tilt of his head.

Neva chuckles, and she takes a hold of the camera from the table. Focusing on the handsome husband and an adorable son, her left eye veiled, with a smooth click, she conquers a lovely picture of her two favourite boys.

The backdrop being the meadow of her adorned flowers, and the green trees, weeds, nature of earth in the cottage yard, in the scenery of memoirs.

A sweet while later, the sun dimmer, the moon fluorescent, the gusts of cold wind mellow, colliding with the opened windows, flying the white cotton lacy curtains. The balcony breezier, Rhett suggests, they should get back inside the closed, warmth of their home.

"What will you have for dinner?" He asks, cradling the baby in his arms, strolling inside with Neva beside him. "You don't need to make anything, Mrs. Barlowe insisted, she'll bring us dinner tonight."

Embraced in euphoria, the evening in the warm haven tranquiled.

Faints away the voices... The shadows concealed in the assured, cottage home.


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