Snow clung to the cracked windows of the small house. The place was never warm enough, even when the heater rattled through the nights. Maureen sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, her hands folded neatly in her lap, staring at the wrapped boxes stacked under the tree. The lights on the tree blinked in uneven rhythms, a strand shorting every few minutes, but to her eyes it was magic. Though they were struggling, her mother made sure to buy some little gifts for her little girl.
Her mother was in the armchair across from her, wrapped in a quilt. Her face looked thin, skin pale against the glow of the television, but her smile was soft. She kept clearing her throat, fighting the weakness in her lungs. Every laugh came out wheezy, every breath shallow. Maureen had grown used to the sound, though every cough made her stomach twist.
Behind them, the man who called himself her stepfather muttered at the counter. He wasn't watching them. He wasn't watching the tree or the girl waiting for him to sit and open gifts together. He poured himself another drink, shoulders hunched, eyes tired of being here at all.
"Can I open them, mama?" Maureen asked, her voice hopeful.
Her mother's tired smile widened. "Yes, baby. Open the small one first."
Maureen tore the paper carefully, not wanting to ruin the bright colors. Inside was a porcelain angel with painted gold wings. The little figure carried a star above its head, face tilted upward.
"It's pretty," Maureen whispered, holding it close.
"It's yours," her mother said, coughing into the quilt. "So you always have someone watching over you."
Maureen hugged it, chest warm. She wanted to tell her mom she didn't need an angel when she already had her.
The front door opened so hard it rattled the windows. Her stepfather kicked it open and yelled. "I'm done with this. I didn't sign up for a sick house and another man's kid. I'm done."
The blast of winter air rolled through the living room, sweeping around the tree, sweeping across her mother in the chair. She gasped, her hand clutching her chest. The coughing turned violent.
"Wait," Maureen cried, scrambling up, but the door had already slammed again.
Her mother tried to push herself upright, but her breath wouldn't come. The quilt slid to the floor. The coughing broke into silence, her chest heaving but empty. The color drained from her lips as her hand fell limp against the armrest.
"Mama?" Maureen whispered, shaking her arm. "Mama, wake up. Mama, please." She ran to the desk and brought her inhaler. "Mama, inhaler. Mama..." She kept calling her, but her mom never woke up.
The tree lights kept blinking. The angel in her hand slipped, shattered on the floor. Porcelain wings scattered across the carpet, broken in half.
That night, Maureen sat in the living room with her mother's still body, staring at the cracked porcelain pieces until her eyes blurred. The cold air crept through the windows. She stayed anyway, dazed in shock and grief.
...
The days after blurred together. There were adults she didn't know who came to take her away. A woman with a clipboard and a heavy coat said words like "child services" and "foster care." Maureen bolted from the front porch before she could be touched. She ran until her legs ached. She found corners of the city where no one asked questions. She wrapped herself in trash bags and cardboard, her mother's face stuck in her head like a photograph she couldn't tear up.
Food came from church kitchens. Reverend Anderson left sandwiches by the back steps for her when she was too ashamed to walk in. He smiled at her when she did show up, like he knew she was fighting something too heavy for her age. She never smiled back.
She stayed in an abandoned cable car depot with other kids and people who had no homes. Some shared scraps, some shoved her away. The nights were always freezing. She would hold her arms tight to her chest, pretending she didn't care that the cold was cutting into her bones.
When the night of the Big Bang came, she had crept out near the waterfront looking for food. Smoke filled the air after the canisters exploded, rolling over alleys and streets. It burned in her throat, burned her skin, and then something changed. The cold stopped hurting. Ice curled from her fingertips without her asking. The others screamed when they saw it, backing away like she had turned into something inhuman.
The first time she froze a streetlight solid, she laughed. It was power, finally. The world couldn't push her around anymore.
Maureen named herself Permafrost and decided to ruin the lives of other families in the same way her family was ruined, as she had lost her own family and had never known real happiness.
...
[Present time]
The ceiling fan hummed softly above her, the steady rhythm tapping at her nerves. The blanket felt heavy, real cotton pressing down on her chest instead of damp coats or stolen blankets. She pulled it tighter, hating how good it felt. The pillow cradled her head in a way that scared her more than alleys ever had.
She turned her face into the fabric and whispered, "Why are you doing this to me?"
She had been ready. Hungry enough that her body ached, she had waited outside that pizza shop for hours. In her head, she pictured the scene: the tall man with stone eyes or the loud blonde woman would come out, yell about her scaring off customers, maybe shove her for good measure. That would be her moment. She would let the frost pour out of her palms, freeze the neon sign, crack the windows, coat the ovens in ice. A frozen monument to remind Dakota City that she was not weak, not someone to pity or shove away.
But it didn't go that way. Harley had walked across the street with a grin instead of a sneer. She didn't flinch when the frost bloomed across Maureen's hand. She laughed and called it "cool." She dragged her inside and shoved food in front of her like she was some guest, not a stray.
And John, the man with stone eyes, didn't threaten her like she imagined. He asked where she lived. He set rules, simple ones. Work, eat, earn. His voice carried authority but not cruelty. After surviving in the darkest part of the streets for years, she gained certain intuition and could tell who's bad and who's good. She could just tell that John was a good guy.
Maureen had eaten the pizza so fast and it was so tasty that she almost cried. She hadn't tasted anything that warm in months. Now she was in their spare room with a real bed, told she belonged here if she wanted it.
The guilt gnawed at her chest like a rat. She had planned to hurt them. Instead, she was full and warm.
She buried her face into the pillow, teeth gritted. "I didn't ask for this," she whispered. "You were supposed to shove me away. This isn't fair." Her hands curled, frost gathering at her fingertips before fading again.
The truth she hated most of all was simple. For the first time since her mother's death, she didn't feel invisible.
...
[Next Morning]
Harley opened the bedroom door.
"Rise and shine, Frosty Flakes!" Harley sang, clapping her hands. "Breakfast is served, and if ya wait too long, I'll eat your share outta principle."
Maureen startled awake, clutching the blanket like she'd been caught doing something wrong. Her hair stuck up at odd angles. The warmth of the room still felt unreal, as if it would vanish if she blinked too hard.
"C'mon, kiddo," Harley said. "But first thing's first: I'm givin' you the spa treatment, deluxe edition. You smell like alleyway mystery stew."
Maureen blinked. "The… what?"
"The bath," Harley said, hauling her to her feet. "Don't worry, I gotcha. Bubbles, bodywash, fluffy towels. Time to get ya back into the civilization. Let's go."
---
---[Don't forget those powerstones]---
If you like my work, you can support me on>: www.patr eon.com/XcaliburXc
[Read 16 advance chapters]