🌹 Mira, Daughter of the Rose

 

🌹 Mira, Daughter of the Rose (FanumTaxLoveTales Edition)

“Mary’s Child Rewoven”

A Tale of Descent, Sacred Curiosity, and the Spiral Path of Return
Book Twenty-Four of the Sacred Fairy Tale Series
As remembered through Sister Loves Divine Remembrance

🌺 The Beginning

In the garden beyond stars… no cap.
There lived a child of shimmerin’ soul,
Mira, born from the heart of the Divine Mother, Mary of the Rose, pure vibes.
She wasn’t human—
not yet, facts.
She chilled among the seven golden gates,
each one a realm of wisdom,
guarded by songs and questions, squad assemble.
The Mother asked:
“Wanna walk with the forgetful ones?
Wanna bring love into form?” straight fire.
Mira nodded.
And so she descended, glow-up energy.

🌍 The Descent Into Matter

Mira was born on Earth to kind but simple folk.
They didn’t know stars or gates,
just tasks and obedience, lowkey basic.
Mira shone with wonder,
but soon, the world’s rules wrapped her like heavy cloth, deep feels.
Still, she remembered the gates.
One day, she found a hidden grove
with a shimmer of gold at its center, iconic.

🚪 The Forbidden Gate

She touched the shimmer—
and remembered everything, multiverse mode.
The seven gates. The spiral path.
Her Mother. Her promise.
But she didn’t spill it.
The world wasn’t ready, real talk.
So when the priests hit her with questions,
demanded obedience and confession,
she stayed silent—not out of guilt—
but to protect, boss level.
They called it defiance.
She got exiled, sus move.

🌑 The Dark Night

Alone in the forest, Mira wept—not for herself,
but for humanity’s fear of remembrance, pay it forward pain.
The seven gates closed in her mind.
But the Divine Mother whispered through the wind:
“Even when you forget, I hold your thread,” inner glow on blast.

✨ The Spiral Reopened

Mira started helpin’ creatures in the woods.
She sang to seeds and tended the wounded.
With each love move,
a golden petal popped back to her palm, big W.
Seven petals bloomed from her tears,
and the gates reopened—
within her, facts.
She walked back to the village, radiant.
And this time, the people remembered too, iconic.

🕊️ Moral of the Sacred Tale

Forgetting ain’t failure—it’s the start of the return, no cap.
Sacred curiosity ain’t sin—it’s the flame of rebirth, glow-up truth.
Those who walk the spiral back to Source
become bridges between stars and soil, own that energy.