A Bittersweet Birth
And when the day came, With a final, exhausted sigh, Mom cradled her new-born, whispering the name “Nacnad,” A tribute to the sturdy furniture that gave her satisfaction and was the bridge between her and the human world she so much wanted to explore. However, her joy was short-lived as she succumbs to complications shortly after childbirth, replaced by a chilling stillness as her own life ebbed away. In the sterile silence of the room. Left without my mother, became a symbol of both loss and hope for the future.
Years melted away, and my curiosity about my father’s frequent attic visits grew. One evening, unable to resist the pull any longer, I crept up to the attic where Dad spent most of his evenings. I peeked, only to find Dad watching a woodworker making furniture products, below us, towering furniture pieces, each emblazoned with a bold Nacnad logo, filled the room. The weight of my name, the echo of my mother’s legacy, settled upon me.
A Father’s Love
From Daddy, I began to grasp the depth of Mom’s love for human creations and her dream of forging a connection between our world and theirs. This revelation sparked a new understanding between Daddy and me. A spark ignited in my eyes, and I blurted out, “Maybe we can work with the human woodworker one day! Together, we could fulfil Mom’s dream, don’t you think?”
Dad and I establish a miniature workshop in a hidden corner in the attic. Where we meticulously crafted miniature replicas of the giant furniture. We would then leave these miniature pieces as silent pleas for collaboration and understanding, hoping to catch the woodworker’s attention. In return, the woodworker left food and written messages expressing his peaceful intentions. This silent exchange became the start of a fragile bridge between our two worlds.
The little secret
The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of our miniature hammers shattered the quiet of the attic one morning. Unbeknownst to us, the sound travelled down to a curious neighbour. His eyes widened in disbelief as he peeked through a crack in the ceiling. Panic seized him as he witnessed our secret workshop. He scurried back to the rest of the community, raising concerns about us interacting with the giants, which was unheard off. “Nacnad, the child named after the giant’s furniture store, and his father, are crafting miniature replicas of the human ones.” He told the rest of our people.
