Cast into the drenched night by the poorhouse mob, consumed with wickedness and wrath, Ander found no refuge in the wild storm. The hammering winds and rain kept him from sleep, stringing out whatever endurance he had left. By sunrise, he was left weary and wet, betrayed by his fellow man, and by the ‘omen’ forged by the gods. Whether they had any part in his misery, or not, he cared little for it. Contempt took hold of him through the night, leaving him bitter and cold at dawn. The boy needed someone to offload the blame for his torment, someone he could point to to understand all that had burdened him. While, at the moment, he had no target, the seeds of his disdain for the gods were planted that horrid night.

The following day, he again approached the poorhouse but found himself keenly rejected. Word had spread to the staff and overseers about his origins in Sylrel, who proceeded to slam the doors in his face, bellowing similar phrases about ‘omens’ and ‘gods’. Being such a small trading village, the people were quick to recognize and reject the boy, offering him no business, work, or sanctuary in the town. With no other option, Ander was forced to flee Ver Del, taking up travel with whoever flowed through the village. If Sylrel insisted on being such a plague to him, he would do everything in his power to distance himself from its ruins. And so he traveled south, hitching rides and hikes with all likes of men, and even other sapient species. A peculiar day found him traveling with a band of Dark Alffs - the Svartálffa - who, out of entertainment, agreed to ferry the boy further on his way. It was the first time he had ever come in contact with Dark Alffs, but he found them a merry band, a mix between strange remarks, yet undeniable elegance.

As the weeks progressed, so did the young man's journey. Starting from Ver Del, he came across a great assortment of villages and hamlets, but all were too small for him to take an interest in. His sights were set on a larger town, one with a variety of work opportunities, somewhere he could legitimately survive. Each passing day bore the building fangs of Autumn, with Summer fading into the recent past. The trees, once green and mighty, now flourished with pallets of red and yellow, flanking the woodland roads with boundless beauty. It tore the boy apart. How could the world be so beautiful - so grand and wondrous - while also being so vicious and ruthless? Vivid images of the past became commonplace in his dreams, torturing him even in his sleep. Truly, there was no escape.

Eventually, after much wayfaring, there came a day when Ander found himself faced with the northern branch of the river Brux, a mighty waterway flowing out from the Sea of Enkaai situated in the east. It ran all the way from the Peaks of Aeon to the Gulf of The Centre. Being a wide channel, it was often exploited by ships and merchant crafts, gliding up and down its length to reach all of Sylvee. Along the river, only a few miles downstream from his position, was the bustling town of Vimbaultir. Being the major port of the upper Brux, it maintained quite an active population, composed of fishers, farmers, tradesmen, and the like. Filled with an excess of folks of all kinds, it was the largest settlement in the region, bar the capital some odd hundred miles east.

Even from a distance, Ander’s weary eyes could spot multiple labor stations, all marked with the telltale sign of the rune of Essa. Essa, being the goddess of growth and prosperity, as well as the consort of Aldrr the all-knowing, was often the champion of the poor and underprivileged. A class he found himself cast into. And so he journeyed to Vimbaultir, accepting his status as a castaway in the gutter, shunned by the upper echelons of the city.

He found occupation rather easily during Autumn, working alongside men and Feylings as they harvested field after field. It wasn’t all agriculture he found toil in; he took up as many lumber-related jobs as he could. Through it all, he made sure to keep his lips sealed, and his gaze turned downward. He couldn’t risk anyone discovering who he was. He couldn’t risk anyone discovering where he was from. Tales of Sylrel’s destruction, and its relation to being a work of the gods, had spread far throughout Sylvee. Thin ice paved every step he took, and he made it a note to not get too close or too open with anyone, regardless of how kind or caring they appeared.

Yet, fortune is a rather fickle beast, and as the trees began to shed their many shades of red and yellow, so did the air turn cold, and the sky dark and barren. It culminated one day with a single snowflake, falling to meet the warm cobblestone where it promptly melted. But then, another fell, as did another, and when Vimbaultir found itself under the coat of falling snow, all in the gutter realized what had come. Winter had arrived, and with it came a new severity in the young Idris’ fight for survival. Those who had once been kind and caring became cold and cunning, ready to take whatever wasn’t hidden or rob even those who had nothing to their name. The poorhouses stopped accepting workers, and the small, occasional flurries had morphed into almost constant snowfall.

During the days when work was in ample supply, Ander had taken precautions for the coming of winter. He had a small amount of capital saved up, as well as a trove of warm clothes and preserved foods. It would be just enough to keep him alive until late winter, when the poorhouses would reopen for all those still living. Until then, he found himself quite often huddled up in small alcoves across the city, buried beneath a heavy blanket as he kept himself breathing. It was wise to stay away from others during the winter, as many had ill intent, wishing to kill and plunder those who had items that could be of some use. Just like the others, Ander found himself cold and heartless, born out of self-preservation.

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

In the later hours of a cold mid-winter day, the blonde lad found himself snug beneath his winter coverings, flanked on every side by mighty snowdrifts. The air was host to a moderate amount of snowfall, which added to the hardened layers covering the stone grounds of Vimbaultir. Ander, having learned quite a bit about surviving in the elements, discovered early on that food shops and bakeries had vents leading from their ovens into the outside air, often situated in alleyways and backstreets. They were the perfect source of life-sustaining heat for all wise enough to use them, and thus he hunkered down before one, using his layerings to maintain as much warmth as possible. Sleep, despite being a great vice to pass the time, was used very sparingly by the boy. If one wasn’t careful and lost consciousness in a poor position, one could find himself succumbing to the cold, never to wake to a new day. Not only that, but one could be liable to wake up to find their possessions had been stolen, thus there was apprehension to rest with others around. With that in mind, Ander made sure to stave off rest until after the sun had fallen.

“Matches! Come get your matches! Always ready, never dry, never old. Matches for sale!”

The faint voice of a girl floated through the air, catching Ander’s attention. He looked to his left, shrugging off a small pile of snow at his side. Standing at the beginning of his alleyway was a girl, wrapped in brown clothes, waving above her head a small box. Going by what she said, he imagined the box contained matches. Not that anyone held any interest in them or her business proposition. All those who walked by the alley spared her no interest, pacing by as they hurried through the falling snow.

“Matches, come get your matches!”

In comparison to what he had, she was lacking a solid amount of clothing. Her hair, long and silver, flowed down her back, reined in by nothing more than a cotton hat. She did have a coat and a hefty pair of trousers, which were tucked into an old pair of snow boots, but besides that, she had rather little. Based on what he had witnessed, it was foolish to trust or keep company with those without much, as they were the first to take up burglary. He couldn’t blame them, it was a choice between larceny, and a cold, cruel death.

“Hey!” Ander called, making room in his layers to call out to her. Putting aside his pity, he did his best to shoo her off. “This is my alley! Go find your own!”

“It’s big enough for the two of us,” she turned around to throw him a scornful look, before facing back to the moving crowds. “Matches! Get your matches!”

“Foolish girl,” he sighed, pulling up his layers to cover his face. If she refused to leave, he would just have to stay alert around her. Regardless of the fact that both of them were malnourished, he still had the advantage of size over her. If he kept himself sharp, he wouldn’t fall prey to being robbed. That being said, handling women was exceptionally painful for him. No matter who they were, no matter how different they looked, he saw Elara in every one of them. The discovery that being cold to others kept them away was essential to his survival up until that point, no matter how much it stole from his soul.

Time had passed, but he found himself no better suited to mourn those who he lost. His memories of Sylrel were buried deep in the snow, locked away by the need to survive. So much of him had been lost in the cold, cruel world he found himself in.

“Matches! Come get your matches!”

Time ticked by, and with each passing minute, the energy of the girl’s cries fell fainter and fainter. The streets had cleared for the most part as the denizens of Vimbaultir returned to their warm abodes, certainly preparing to consume a hot, hearty meal. No such fortune was afforded to those of the gutter, and when the sun passed behind the stone buildings of the town, the girl’s voice dried up in its entirety. Ander, still trying to stave off sleep, jolted up as he heard something collapse into the snow, sounding off from near him in the alley.

The silver-haired girl, having curled up into a tight ball, sat opposite to him in the alley, surrounded by snow. Not only did she have substantially fewer layers than Ander, but she also had no heat vent to supply her with warm air. Based on his experiences, the young Idris had little faith in her ability to survive in the position she was in. That was until she pulled out her small box, flipped it open, and lit a match on the course surface of the brick wall behind her. It flared to life, but its life was short-lived, as only a moment later did the match die out, leaving the girl open to the cold depths of the alley.

Even with her layers covering most of her face, he could tell that a great depression had taken hold of her. It was common for those cast out by society to be twisted with grief. For him, due to the sheer amount of trauma he had endured, he felt almost nothing, like his mind had clogged up. He was indeed a husk, but the girl was full of emotion, making it obvious as she let out a muted whimper.

Elara.

It almost broke him. Her small, quiet whimper almost broke him. He steeled himself, pushing down every thought, regardless of whether it was good or wicked. I have to feel nothing, I have to feel nothing. He repeated the phrase over and over, closing his eyes to block out the girl’s growing whimpers. The sounds of another match being lit met his ears, melting away his resolve as it sizzled out not a moment later.

Seeing as it was late into the day, he felt a ping of hunger rise from his stomach. His diet, consisting of bread and dried meats he would source with his savings, or from trash bins, was just enough to keep him alive. His weight loss had been substantial, which made it just the more challenging to survive winter. Ready to eat, he found his satchel beneath the insulating layers and sourced from it a small stale cracker which he brought to his lips. As he took a bite of the cracker, he made the mistake of looking across at the silver-haired girl. Despite how quick of a glance it was, the pain and frailty in her eyes made his heart skip a beat. He could tell how sorrowful she was, and how she almost definitely had nothing to eat.

This is your food, you need this to survive! His inner cynicism called out to him, trying to push away his thoughts of the girl. It’s her fault that she doesn’t have anything.

It doesn’t matter if it's your food, the girl must be starving! One cracker might be the difference between life and death. A separate voice, his compassion, made conflict with the other voice, trying to open up his sympathy to the girl. You have some to spare if even a little!

Will a little be enough to keep her going? This is a waste, she’ll be dead by tomorrow’s daylight!

Are you really so devoid of compassion that you would let a young girl starve?

In the midst of his inner turmoil, he noticed that his right hand, once tucked snuggly under his layers, was now open to the world, holding out a piece of cracker to the shivering girl. It seemed his body was much more decisive than he was, and as the girl looked up, he called over to her.

“Here… Eat.”

Her eyes widened, her head cocked to the side as she looked him down. “...M-Me?”

“No, the other freezing girl. Yes, you,” he shook the cracker in his hand, once again restating his offer for food. Despite her rigid response to his initial call for her to leave his alley, it seemed her inner self was much more timid. They were alike in that way.

She put up a show of indecision, unsure of whether to trust Ander. He couldn’t blame her, if he was offered food by a stranger, he would be cautious as well. In her mind, notions of it being a trap were most certainly present, but eventually, she gave in to her hunger and rose from the ground. With heedful steps, she approached Ander, keeping her guard up as she came in arms reach of him. There she stopped, standing above him, the cracker continually held out in her direction.

“Are you going to take it?” Ander asked, feeling the growing cold whip at his arm.

“T-Thank you,” she stuttered, shivering. With both hands she took the cracker, holding it dearly as if it was bound to jump loose.

“Sit down, it’s colder up there,” the boy spoke. He moved a bit to his right, revealing the heat vent stationed behind him in the brick wall. He padded at his side, looking straight into her cautious eyes. “Or don’t.”

“O-Okay,” her lips chattered as she spoke, and upon seeing the heat vent, she promptly sat down beside him. Her shivering, once intensive enough to see from the other side of the alley, fell to a faint quaking when the heat of the vent hit her. Unable to fend off her starvation, she was quick to take the cracker in her mouth, gnawing at it hastily. As the interaction continued, the young Idris was hit with a wave of déjà vu, remembering his short time with Mr. Etro many months prior.

“W-Why,” the girl tried to speak, but her shudders made it rather difficult to pronounce anything. “Why would you help me?”

“I…” he looked up at the sky, gazing at what little light remained behind the looming clouds. Snow continued to fall, landing on the bare portions of his face before melting away. “I really don’t know… I suppose I saw myself in your shoes.”

“W-Well, thank you,” she turned to face him after finishing the cracker. “What’s your name?”

“...Ander…” he replied, taking his time to do so. Just as he had done with everyone else who asked for his name, he never gave them his surname, worried it could trace him back to Sylrel.

“I’m N-Nina,” came the silver-haired girl, still shivering. Feeling the pity in him continue to grow at her sorrowful stature, he decided to make a rather brash decision. The boy shifted around one of his layers and stripped it off his back to hold in her direction. It was a light coat, but it would do no harm with her borrowing it.

“*Sigh*, here, take the damn coat,” he spoke with conviction, looking her in her eyes. Matching her hair, her pupils were a pure silver, bordered by white and black as they shone in the low light, staring off into his green ones. Upon making the offer, she again showed a sense of caution, before deftly taking the coat and layering it around her body.

“Are you still hungry?”

“Am I still hungry?”

“Yeah, are you?” All of his concerns regarding his food supply were fully vanquished as he asked the question. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Y-Yesterday,” she looked down, seemingly embarrassed by her statement. Yesterday, he cringed, feeling ever more condolence for her. Against his better judgment, he pulled out his satchel and placed it between him and Nina, stationed before the heat vent to allow the food to warm up.

“You’ll give me more?” Her silver eyes lit up, as did her shivering reduce slightly.

“I guess I will,” his response bore no amount of regret as he spoke. A minute passed, and when he assumed the dried meat was dethawed, he opened the satchel to pull out the food. All it held was a few more crackers, some rye bread, a handful of oats, and some dried pork, salted to maintain its cleanliness. He took the pork, and with his cold hands, he tried to break off a piece for Nina, but to no avail.

“Wait, let me help,” Nina, with a newfound sense of vitality, reached into her inner coat and pulled out a small bundle of cloth. When it was unrolled, it revealed a small, worn knife, coated in rust and other dried debris. She cleaned its edge off in the snow, and then took to the pork, cutting it up into smaller pieces. The girl glanced up at Ander, wanting to confirm this is what he wanted.

“Thank you,” he nodded softly as she resumed her work. She left the pork diced into smaller chunks, and the rye bread cut into loaves. Without noticing it, the two found themselves sharing a meal, an experience neither had participated in for quite a while.

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“No, thank you!” She waved her hand, leaning over to move closer to Ander. As her coat brushed up against his, a strange sense took hold of him. It had been so long since he formed an actual connection with someone, a mutual friendship he could fully rely on. He had no clue if, deep inside, Nina held malicious intent, especially with a knife at her disposal. But nonetheless, he chose to trust her, going by what his gut assured him was safe.

“C-Cheers, I suppose,” he layered a bit of pork on top of the bread and held it up. The silver-haired girl did the same, and they tapped their bread together. It was a quaint meal, but still the best either had received during the harsh winter.

“How old are you?” Ander, waiting until he finished chewing, asked the girl, who herself was showing restraint in her consumption of the food.

She waited to swallow and then replied. “I’m almost sixteen… How about you?”

“Same here, my birthday’s a little after the summer solstice,” he sighed, the thought of his fifteenth birthday bringing back all forms of sickening thoughts. He was still as dull as ever, but something was different about these memories. Maybe Nina, being the first person he had truly spoken to in a while, had changed things, even if just barely.

When they began to eat, the two had pulled down the front of their coats to allow access to their mouths. As the meal went on, Ander’s eyes found great interest in Nina’s looks. Much like her silver flowing hair, and her glistening eyes, her skin was rather pale and smooth. It was cruel to think, but it seemed to him that she belonged in the snow, like a personification of winter itself. There was a beauty to her, no doubt, and as the emotion abscess in him swelled, he could only get a little attached to his new friend.

“Where are you from?” He continued the conversation, all the while sneaking peeks at Nina’s charming looks. “Are you from Vimbaultir?”

“Yes, I am,” she nodded her head in thought. “I’m not quite sure where I was born, but I was certainly raised here… I was brought up in the northern orphanage, the one just beside the upper lakes. It was my home for, let’s see, for as long as I can imagine…”

“I never met my parents. I can only assume they weren’t, well, they weren’t prepared to look after me. That’s what I hope, at least.”

“Did something happen?” Ander pressed forward before apologizing. “No, forgive me. I don't mean to intrud-”

“-No, no. It’s fine, really… In the summer, we received some grave news. Some very grave news. Because of shortages for the solider stationed in Vimbaultir, the orphanage was forced to let some of its kids go. Normally, we would be thrown out after turning eighteen, but when their hands were forced, they changed it to fifteen, and so… here I am.”

“I’m… I’m terribly sorry, Nina,” he shook his head, to which the girl tried to contain her sorrow as the thoughts of her past life drifted across her consciousness.

“What about you?” She looked up into his green eyes. “Are you from around here as well?”

“I… I’m sorry,” he shrunk into his coat, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t often talk about my home. It’s quite… painful. I’m sure you would have no interest in it either.”

“Of course I would!” She exclaimed, leaning towards him. “You showed me- Ander, you’ve shown me kindness. True kindness. I sat in the snow, not a spec of food or hope to spare, and you lent me a hand. The least I can do is listen to your story… I’m sure if you tell me about it, well, maybe it could… help?”

“You won’t-” he gulped, pausing before speaking any further. “-You won’t judge me for my past? The few people I’ve told my origins to, let’s just say they found me quite repulsive afterward.”

“Who am I to judge you?” She was absolute with her words, moving a bit closer to the boy again. He could feel her breath reach him through the dry, cold air, even through his many layers. “On the little life I have left, I will show you no judgment. Honest.”

“A-Alright,” he stuttered, preparing himself to divulge his past, the very past he had hidden deep within the recesses of his soul. “I… I come from Sylrel. The cursed city. I was there when it caught aflame, and I fled during its fall. But not without scars, I’m afraid...”

He removed the mitten from his left hand and presented Nina with his palm. The chars of his burns were now permanent in his skin, the lines of black making sharp contrasts with the pale skin it resided on. While his burns were no longer infected or dangerous to him, they had made eternal residence on his flesh, forever with him even as time went on. She gasped in response, covering her mouth as she examined the burns of his hand. That act of sympathy, her display of care and compassion, only tore Ander apart further. Am I… falling for this girl?

“I lost… Everything in that fire,” he mouthed the words, going on as he reached into his coat. He pulled out a small piece of parchment, folded up to preserve what was transcribed on it. Handing it to her, she opened it up to stare down at his family portrait.“I lost… Them.”

Nina, with eyes full of sorrow, examined the lost faces of the Idrises, tearing up as she took in the magnificent portrait. Being his most, and only, prized possession, it was in the same condition as he had received it in, regardless of the many long, cold nights. Even without knowing anything beyond his name or place of origin, Nina found herself crying over his dead family, wiping her tears so as to not let them fall on the paper. When she finally gave it back, Ander stowed it away as the girl stowed away her emotions.

“I’m, *hicc*, I’m so sorry, Ander,” she shuddered, but not from the cold. “Forgive me, I didn’t know. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s… It’s quite alright,” he shook his head, looking conflicted all the while. “It’s rather strange, really. It’s been so long since it all happened, and yet… I just can’t bring myself to, to…”

Tears swelled up in his eyes. It was all coming undone. The cold, impenetrable tomb of his emotions and plagues was beginning to burst open and out came the torrent of all his woes and torment. He did his best to stifle his sobbing, and Nina was quick to try and comfort him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, clearing his eyes of emotion with the fabric of his coat. “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to well up like this.”

“No, Ander, I mean…” she put a hand on his shoulder, eyeing him with a sincere gaze. As his vision cleared, he couldn’t help but revel in her beauty. Her pale lips, her pert nose, her glistening silver eyes and her slightly crimson cheeks. Whether it was the excess of emotion running through him, or the months he had endured without a lick of kinship, it didn’t matter. He was absolutely smitten by the young girl, he could say that for certain. “I’ve heard things about Sylrel. I had those I cared about at the orphanage, but… to lose your family, I just can’t imagine.”

“...” He had no response as the two continued to look deeply into one other’s souls. The thoughts of his familial tragedy crept down his back, replaced by an overwhelming urge to speak his mind. His extreme lack of connection, the ages he spent alone: it was all too much. He was at his breaking point, and at last, he spoke.

“N-Nina, I think… I think I’m in love with you…”

“Mhm!” She froze up, her silver eyes widening as her back straightened. A thousand thoughts rushed across Ander’s mind as the two stared at each other, unwilling to speak. Everything had happened so fast. Not five minutes ago, the two were total strangers. All it had taken was a small showing of humanity to make the boy fall head over heels for the silver-haired lass. “M-Me? N-No, you cou- Mhm!”

Without any intent on his part, he leaned forward and kissed the girl, making contact with her lips as her disjointed response ceased entirely. There was tranquility in the exchange, and, surprising to Ander, there wasn’t any rejection put up by Nina. It lasted no longer than a second, after which the boy leaned back, his face painted with dark crimson. It had been his first kiss, one that his body made for him.

“I think I am.”

Seconds of painful silence ensued. Fearing he had made a grave mistake or one that would make Nina run off frightened, he began to apologize profusely for his actions.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He waved his hands in the air, flustered beyond belief. “I’ve just been- I’ve been so alone! I’ve had no one, Nina, no one, and, and, *hicc*, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to, an-”

He was cut off as a hand was laid on the front of his coat, silencing him in an instant. His eyes had strayed away from the girl out of embarrassment, but when he fell quiet, he gazed over at her. Much like in his eyes, tears began to form in hers, running down her open face as snow drifted down from above. Tranquility regained the air, and as Ander’s heart continued to beat like a little steel drum, Nina spoke softly to the boy.

“I-It’s okay,” she said, a smile on her pale lips. “It’s… Okay…”

Slowly - very slowly - the two crept forward, inching closer as their eyes began to fall close. Feeling one another’s breaths on their cheeks, they closed the distance, and kissed again. Heat flourished in the embrace, far stronger and more abundant than any vent could muster. The seconds ticked by, but neither felt any insistence on pulling back. For the first time in months, Ander, with all of his body and soul, felt warm, and above all, he felt connection.

The kiss ended with a quiet *Chuu*, the two of them wearing dark shades of rose on their cheeks. They couldn’t bring themselves to look one another in the eye, finding sights to look at so long as it wasn’t their partner. Their relationship, which just a moment ago had been a simple friendship created over a meal, had grown into something much stronger. Neither had any idea what came next, but worry wasn’t present in them. Finally, Ander spoke.

“Do you promise not to laugh at me, Nina?”

*Nod*

“That was my… That was my first kiss, right there… honest.”

Silence returned as he finished speaking, but only for a second as a few chuckles began to manifest out of Nina’s mouth. Ander, feeling betrayed, looked up at once and admonished her. “H-Hey, I said no laughing!”

“No, no,” she giggled, covering her mouth, “It’s just funny - it was mine as well.”

“Hah, hah,” he began to smile, relaxing against the increasingly warm brick wall. He felt no hesitation looking into her silver eyes. They gleaned with hope. “I suppose that is funny, really.”

“I’ve been alone too, Ander,” she looked off at the wall opposite to them, hugging her padded legs against the front of her coat. After their embrace, the two were considerably closer, as close as they could be given their winter layerings. “All I’ve had are these, these matches here. That’s it. No friends. No family. Just a box of matches I found the day it began snowing, discarded on the street. I’ve been trying to sell them ever since, thinking I may get another meal out of them… To be honest, I’m surprised I’ve made it this long… Alone.”

“Nina-”

“But,” she put a hand up, silently requesting his patience. “But you… I moved on your alley, I brushed you off, and yet, you still chose to help me… There are some pretty bad people out there, Ander. But every once in a while, you find a good one. I have half a mind to say I found a good one today… Thank you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, pushing herself closer into the boy, trying with all her ability to feel his heat through his coat. In response to her words and action, he put an arm around her, holding her in his arms. The day for the most part had faded from the sky, and little light there was came from the stars above, shining upon the two outcast children in the gently falling snow. They sat there, held together by their shared grief, and gazed up at the drifting constellations of the early night. Ander hadn’t a clue what to say to follow up her confession, and so he just let his gut speak for him.

“You know, the last person I sat to watch the stars with was my sister,” he looked down at her, seeing a frown come over her face. “Nina, in our world, pretty much anything could happen at any moment. It was luck that I found you… and I’m grateful for it. It’s the first thing I’ve been grateful for in a long time.”

Her eyes lit up, and in his arms, she shifted around to produce her small box of matches. She took one in her hand and struck it up using the brick wall they were propped against. Faint luminescence painted the white snow around them, reflecting off the falling flakes to sparkle light into the sky above. She held the match close so they could take in the feeling of the flames. Ander, feeling his nervousness grow in the presence of fire, tightened his grip on Nina, who noticed the reflexive action.

“It’s okay, Ander,” she gazed into his eyes, stretching up to plant a peck on his cheek. “You’re not alone. Not anymore. Okay?”

“You won’t leave me?” He gulped, doing everything he could to stop his voice from breaking. “Not like she did?”

“I already told you. With the little life I have left, I’ll be with you.” As the flame died, and the shadows of the alleyway consumed the air, Nina rested her head into the nook of Ander’s neck. For so long had he been barren of any emotional connection, someone he could truly rely on. Yet over the course of just a few minutes, that lonesome fact had dissolved. There was still a little pork and bread left in their meal, and over the duration of their star-watching, it was all but consumed. The heat vent continued to feed them reliable warmth, and as the night stretched on, the two embraced the caring arms of sleep, together.

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

The morning light bled through the air, piercing Ander’s closed eyes with a bright red glow. He was roused to a lively morning, with crowds moving about the street which the alleyway fed off of. Calls and chants bellowed from the road, carrying harshly into his freshly woken ears. The snowfall had stopped, yet it was still as frigid as ever, and with every breath, there manifested a cold plume of frost from his lips. High above, sat on the edges of the buildings that formed the alleyway, was a murder of crows, cawing about themselves as they fluttered from rooftop to rooftop. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, with just the bright rays of the sun falling upon the hardening snow.

As his mind began to return to him, he felt a pressure against his side. It was Nina, still wrapped in the embrace of sleep, propped up against his shoulder as she carried on her silent slumber. Memories of the night before flashed in his mind, bringing him to smile at the warmth they brought him. For so long he had been alone. For so long he had been deprived of connection, friendship or love. But now he had her, and even with the little he knew of Nina, he was enamored with every aspect of her.

“Caw!”

The crows above sounded off, generating flapping noises as they shuffled around. It was an unusual sight to see crows in the winter, that was for sure. He looked over at Nina again, feeling slightly off about the whole ordeal. She was quiet. Dead quiet.

“Caw!”

He gently shook her, wishing to stir her from her slumber. But yet, he found no response. Her face was mostly covered with the fabric of her coat, and as he stripped it away, he made contact with her soft skin. She was cold. Dead cold.

“Caw!”

“Nina?...” He whispered, shaking the girl again. Something was truly wrong, there was no reason for her to be in such a deep state of unconsciousness. There was no reason for her to be so cold, almost lifeless. And just as that thought crossed his mind, his heart skipped a beat, and his eyes flew open, bloodshot.

“Nina!” He continued to shake her, calling out her name. But there was no response. “Nina! Nina?”

As he continued to shake her, the box of matches came loose from her pocket, falling open to spill its contents into the snow. Ander continued to call to her, his voice growing to a yell.

“Nina! Nina!... NINA!”

It was then he realized something. She wasn’t breathing. Her sleep was truly silent, as not a breath came through her cold mouth. Sweat poured down Ander’s forehead as his hands began to shake. His heart, once belonging to the girl, quickened its pace with every passing second. His eyes threatened to fill with tears as he called her name in a broken voice.

“Nina!... NINA!”

She was dead. Consumed by the cold of the night. Never to wake from her eternal slumber.

“NINA! *Sob*, *Sob* NEENAHAHAH!”

Ander was entirely broken, sobbing profusely as he shook the girl. Still, there came no response from her corpse, but he had no will to stop trying to revive her. All those who passed by the alley didn’t care enough to offer a passing glance as he yelled into the morning air, barely able to breathe as he choked out his breaths.

“You can’t leave me! Not you too - NINAAAaaa…”

His calls ceased entirely, leaving nothing but his harsh sobbing. Unable to bear it any longer, he collapsed onto her still chest, burying his head in her borrowed coat as he let out all of his suppressed misery. He was alone. He was so alone, in every regard. All of those he held dear to him, everyone he ever loved, were all dead and gone. His mother. His father. Elara. Mr. Alchov. Beatrice. Nina. They were all dead.

“...*hicc*...*hicc*... Ninaaa…” he called her name for the last time, holding her with all the strength he had left. True to her words: she was by his side with what little life she had left.

The moment stretched on, and eventually, he ran out of tears. The shambles of the person he once was took hold of the girl, and with trembling hands, he brushed away her silver bangs. Even in death, she was beautiful.

With a deep breath, he steadied himself and began to inspect her body for items. When encountering one who had succumbed to the cold, it was standard practice to take anything that could aid in one's survival. He loved Nina, with every shred of his soul. But in all honesty, there were few shreds left of his soul for him to love with. He took from her his jacket, made of green fabric, and fitted it back onto himself. Next came her matches, which he collected out of the snow, wet and most likely ruined. Finally, there was her rusty knife, tucked securely in a cloth wrapping for safekeeping. He hesitated to take it, remembering how she had prepared the food the night prior. But he needed it, so he took it.

When all was said and done, he pulled her in close, reveling in the feeling of her skin against his. The first person he had truly given his heart to - his first love - died the day after they met. So was life in the gutter. It was just as his father had enunciated it, No one knows what lies ahead, for any of us. Yet, things were different then. Back in Sylrel, he had family, he had friends. Now all he had was a cold corpse, and a broken, tattered heart.

“Caw!”

With due respect, he laid her in the snow drift and began to bury her below its layers. He did so without gloves, wishing to be as close as he could to the woman who provided him company in his finest hour. Before he covered her face, he leaned down to give her a final kiss, filled with longing and sorrow. A hand ran through her silver mane before grouping it up to lay around her still visage. With one final motion of his hand, he buried her completely, laying her to rest in the alley where the two found a respite from loneliness.

He stayed there for quite some time, entrenched in silence and sorrow. In his hand was her rusted knife, held keenly in his perfectly still grip. It was all he had left of her, a single memento to the great gift she had given him. Their time was short, but it was sweet.

“Nina…” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I… Will live… I will live on, for us.”

With a final show of respect and a short prayer to the goddess Essa, he gathered himself together and made for the exit of the alleyway. The breadlines would be forming soon, and thus he was off on his way.