The wind blows like hail of knives,
Carving the lows and the highs,
It calls upon a slumber,
For the mighty and timid just,
But in those white sheets,
A flower still survives.
Year: 1288 O.S
In the northernmost reaches of the kingdom of Isvalar, the snow came early to Greyhollow village this year and thus it got hidden in a blanket of white.
It was just the start of 8 months of endless hail and storms. In the continent of Orundin, the summer only lasts four months, and rain falls seldom.
Isvalar, a grand kingdom of the continent, couldn't escape from the breaths of Goddess Oruniel too.
The winds creeped and whirled close through every crack in the wall of a cottage at the edge of the village.
In that cottage, close to the cracking fireplace, there was a child covered in a blanket, shivering like small squirrel in hail.
She rubbed her hands and blew in them with hot breath to keep them warm.
She held her chest and started coughing, which she held back for moments.
Every cough felt like it would pull the lungs out of her chest, but she tried her best to hold back the pain, then she remembered somehow.
She held her breath and counted —
"O- o- one, to- t- two-, th- thr- three."
It was difficult because of shivering due to cold, but she tried the way her mama had taught her, until it calmed down.
The cottage was small, with two rooms, a kitchen, bathroom, and a small shared fireplace to eat dinner.
There wasn't much of decoration or furniture, mostly flowers and some memories of good hunt or fish.
It was small but it was well kept and clean.
It was Maria who made it like warm place.
The village was at the edge of fields close to the riverbanks and frost stayed in the village even on hottest day.
The Greyhollow got its name because of it.
Though small, it was tightly knit. There was folklore, music, and tales old people shared as bread; it was not for leisure but necessity, to survive.
The little girl inside the cottage was watching her mama eagerly, she moved around kitchen cramped space, preparing the breakfast for her.
**
"Breakfast, Littlebird!" She called the little girl.
"You're staring again, Violet," Maria said without turning around.
As if she had eyes in the back of her head, or maybe she simply knew Violet so well that she was able to feel when she was being looked at by Violet.
Violet slowly stood up and walked to the window following the giggles and cries. The neighbor's kids were outside again. He was playing with snowballs with other kids.
"I hope they invite me. But I can't, I'm sick." Violet thought.
"It started getting cold again. I need to go back to the fireplace!" She trodded back to fireplace.
She looked at window once again, and suddenly her eyes met the boy's. He rushed at her with a snowball.
"I can play with him!" She thought with gleefull smile.
But then a sharp voice scared me. I hid behind the window and saw it was the last boy that lived nearby, the boy mama...
"Stay away from there, Hannes!"
Suddenly he ran away! Why? Did I do something bad?
I looked at Mama again. She stopped chopping for a second. Did she hear it?
It's getting cold! The fireplace isn't hot enough! What should I do?
Oh, I know!
I ran toward Mama and hugged her legs.
It's warm! Maybe I'll play with him some other day, but now I still have Mama. I still have Papa. That's enough.
Her name was Violet Holloway.
She was 9, but her frail frame made her look no older than five.
Her hair, rough and dry with pale white roots, fell in uneven wisps around a face far too thin for childhood.
Her eyes, like glowing violet flowers- were the only part of her that still seemed alive, though deep shadows pooled beneath them like bruises.
Her skin was like a this sheet of ice around a branch, as if even the air itself might be enough to crack her.
"What are you thinking about, little bird?" Maria stirred the stew with little Violet hugging her legs like a bug clinging.
"Why don't boys and girls play with me?" Her frail voice filled with innocence, striking a string in Maria's heart.
Maria's hands stilled on the porridge pot. For a moment, she stood very still. Then she turned and knelt to Violet.
"Oneday," Maria said in a gentle but stern voice filled with conviction which Violet didn't understand, "one day you will be warm. You will be strong and healthy and run through summer fields and not even remember what it felt like to be cold. I promise you that, little bird. I promise."
She filled her arms with the frail girl in front of her and calmed her shivering body.
The neighbors never talked much about Violet to Maria and Garrett, but their questions and doubts were loud enough to crack the walls of their home.
Mothers pulled their children away if they lingered too near Violet. Fathers clicked tongues with contempt, saying prayers that whatever clung to her wouldn't affect them and their children.
Violet believed her. For her aunt, who she called mama, was one of the only people she felt safe with.
Suddenly, the door burst open with wind and snow. Her Uncle, whom she called papa Garrett, stomped in, ice falling from his thick beard and furs.
He was a big man, bigger in winter clothes like a giant bear, but even his fierce eyes softened on Violet.
"Morning, little one," he grumbled, warming his hands. "How are you today?"
"Better," Violet said. A lie, but he knew, and still smiled, pulling her up in his arms.
It was her kingdom, where she ruled alone.
Garrett pulled two rabbits from his pack, already cleaned. "Got lucky. We'll eat well tonight," and sat close to the fireplace, pulling out berries and washing them. He gave them to Violet, who started eating like a chipmunk.
Maria's shoulders eased. One less worry, for now.
**
Maria PoV
What can I do for her? Why do they avoid her? She is a child too, she has a heart too...
I crushed herbs for Garrett's joints, listening to the boys laughing outside. Will she laugh like that if she were well?
I don't know when will it happen, but I'll wait, maybe one day she will. My heart ached, but I need to hold on to hope.
I should put meat in the stew, she likes eating it with bread.
**
Garrett does not speak much. He keeps to himself, believing that a moment of weakness will make his family prey to hostile eyes around.
He rose early, worked the fields, then hunted and checked traps. He came home smelling of earth and sweat.
He saw the way Violet's eyes followed the village children with longing. He saw the way Maria wiped her tears because she felt helpless seeing Violet trapped in walls.
And he saw, too, how Violet smiled for him, soft and shy, clinging to the carved toy horse he had made her. She was his light, fragile though it burned and kept him warm.
Garrett had always made sure they never went hungry. He stored grain and roots in the cellar, smoked meat when he could, and hunted even in storms. Whatever else the world took, he fought to keep his family fed.
Violet's eyes were stuck on the rabbits, her face got brightened up at the stew.
"Alright, let's do our best to make it delicious!"
Maria eased her heart.
**
Maria PoV
While stirring, a thought came to my mind. Calla had always claimed Violet's sickness was rare, incurable. Sickness named Mana Deterioration disease—a disease that drains mana and deteriorates the body from birth. Yet the medicine never cured, only soothed. And always, Calla appeared just when Violet's weakness was worst, as though she knew the disease too well.
The firewoods cracked, and shadows leaned long across the walls. Then the door slowly creaked open.
The door opened, and Calla entered, frost clinging to her cloak, green eyes behind round spectacles.
She was my half-sister, the rightfully daughter of our father. While I was a mistake from a forgotten night.
She raised with privileges I only dreamed of.
Ever since coming of age, she had served as the lady-in-waiting for the royal family.
I was raised as liability not as child, where much was asked and less rewarded.
Only with Garrett, and later with Violet, had I learned what family could feel like.
With Calla, it had never been that way, as we met only a few times in childhood.
Calla was the birth mother of Violet.
She asked me to take care of Violet because she couldn't, due to duties and her Illness.
She promised me that she would help in any way she could, and I couldn't refuse just like always.
But that wasn't all, I unable to conceive any child because of infertility, I doubted myself weather I could care for a child or not.
But when I looked at the frail little Violet before me, something pierced my heart. I felt something i can't put into words, a strange love.
At that moment, I made a promise to myself: whatever the cost, I'd make this small babe happy.
Calla swept Violet into her arms, holding her too tightly. I couldn't help the faint rise of hope,
perhaps the medicine would ease her pain, at least for tonight.
**
Meanwhile outside, the winds howled, and the forest whispered of coming dangers.
Greyhollow would not remain safe much longer.