From the moment of her birth, all she knew was the Cold.

It was biting, a constant chill that numbed her skin, robbing her of the warmth of touch.

Robbing her mother of her life.

Still, her father kept her alive, though she did not know why. Perhaps it was from caution, the fear that if she died something worse might have taken her place. However, life was all that she was granted, for her father kept her sequestered away in a small wooden shack, split from the house where the Cold would not touch him, nor touch her siblings. He had first left her there in the Winter, nothing more than a babe that could barely stand on her feet. No doubt he had intended to let her die there all along. Still, she would live.

For though the Cold was always with her, it never harmed her.

Her cries continued through the night, summoning the last dregs of pity from her father’s soul as he kept her fed, just barely. Kept her alive.

Just barely.

And so she would come to know that shack as her home. The packed dirt in patches from where the floor rotted away, the constant creaks throughout its old, weathered make, the stars that she could count through the holes in the roof over her head, the small pillars of light that the Sun would grant her through those same holes in the morning, its warmth denied by the Cold that was always with her. In her early days, she could hear cries from the house, wails that called out for the woman that had brought her into this world, cries for a mother that could no longer grant her warmth.

Would she have been able to feel it? A mother’s warmth?

Twelve years passed, and the cries eventually stopped. Instead, she could hear laughter from the house, cheers as growing children ran outside her shack. She wondered how it must have felt to feel such things, but it appeared that the Cold had robbed even that from her. She was not sad, she was not happy.

She was just Cold, and that’s all she would ever be.

Though she was confined to her shack, she was familiar enough with people from the few rare times she had been let outside. Men and women, those that caught a rare glance at her faded white hair, at the frosted blue within her eyes. All looked at her with either horror or disgust, but none had ever approached her. The Cold had kept them away.

That is, until He arrived.

They called him the Gods’ Chosen, one who had been blessed with powers unimaginable to the common man. To the townsfolk, he was unapproachable, a being that could only be looked to from afar. To her, he was like any other human man. Perhaps it was the Cold that dulled his image, reducing what should be a man resplendent in holy energy to that of a man. A man that made the village women swoon, with lustrous blonde hair that just touched his neck and clear, hazel eyes that looked like jewels in the sun. His face was angular, but possessing a softness to it that made him look both handsome and beautiful, if the village women were to be believed. When he approached, a smile was on his face, bright and honest.

He spoke to her in a kind tone, the strength within him radiating outward in a brilliant white light. As the words parted from his lips, something stirred in her heart, a feeling that she had never felt before.

Warmth.

The Cold left her as the Chosen weaved his spell, placing his hand upon her forehead. Holy magics bled from his fingertips, pushing away the Cold as the warmth in her heart began to spread. She could feel her fingers, her toes, feel the racing of her heart as senses unfamiliar to her flooded her mind. She could smell the sweet scents of Fall, feel the dirt that caked her feet, and truly see the face of the Chosen as she grasped his head. He beamed at her, the majesty of his radiance so brilliant in the presence of his joy.

Though she did not know why, she began to cry.

The Chosen left soon after, his companions by his side as his light disappeared over the horizon. The Cold was gone, and she could now live the life that she was always meant to live.

And she tried, for a time.

Chosen’s blessing or not, the townsfolk still stayed away from her, and the shack remained her home. Perhaps they were still scared of the Cold, even when they all knew it was gone, or perhaps they were just set in their ways, having treated her like this all her life. Fear still remained in their eyes as they looked upon her. Familiar looks, familiar distance. Nothing had changed, but she knew that was not the case.

The Cold was no longer there.

Pain crept into her heart, a dagger that flared with every dirty glance, every wide berth she was given. Was it sadness? Was it anger? The emotions were so fresh that she could not differentiate between the two, and she would find herself hiding away in her shack more often, not wanting to feel the things she felt when the townsfolk looked at her. She, like any child, sought solace with her family. They had no no reason to fear her anymore.

Yet fear her they did.

Her father remained distant, avoiding her gaze when she looked at him, staring at places around her, but never at her. Her siblings, only slightly older than her, did the same. This was not unusual behavior, she had seen them do this to her all her life.

Yet why did it hurt so much now?

From afar she would look at them, see her brother and sister hug their father, see him wrap his arms around them, laughing as he carried them. Again, something that she was used to seeing, but why did she feel the need for it now? Why did she want her father to embrace her so much?

She mimicked her siblings, catching her father’s legs from behind with a hug. She was not as tall as her brother and sister, but he did not seem to know the difference. He reached back and rubbed her hair, and she could feel her heart grow lighter as joy filled her eyes with tears. She nuzzled against him, and with a laugh he turned around, stopping as soon as he saw who was touching him.

Heat flared across the side of her face as her father struck her.

Instinct told her that it was pain that made her cheek ache, and without the Cold that pain was like fire. She sobbed, reaching out to her father, confused as her joyful tears were replaced by ones of fear. He stepped towards her, but stopped, staring at her for a moment, his eyes twitching as she crawled to him, begging for his help, begging for him to stop the pain. He pushed her away and walked back to the house, shutting the door behind him. She followed after him, words leaving her as she clawed at the entrance, stopping as she felt bits of wood dig under her fingernails. She pressed her head against the door, crying, begging for anyone to answer the door.

No one did.

___

A month had passed since the Cold was taken from her. The chill of Winter settled over the village of Redhaven, keeping the ground a constant shade of white as snow drifted down from the skies above. The air bit at her as she walked, but compared to the Cold , she almost didn’t notice the chill seeping into her skin. Though the Cold was sealed away, it appeared she still held a resistance to it, letting her wear her worn, tattered dress without issues. Her bare feet skipped across the frosted cobblestones of the village’s main street, absent of the people that normally walked its length during the day. She hummed a tune to herself, one that she had heard her sibling sing so many times outside her shack, one that others in the village children had hummed when she spied on them.

Spying was all she had done as of late. Her father never paid much attention to her so long as she stayed away from him and her siblings, but when she still felt the Cold’s touch she held no other desire beyond sustaining herself with the scraps provided. Now that it was gone, she was no longer satisfied with just sitting in her shack, staring idly at a sky that was filtered through the frame of rotted wood. It also kept her away from the gaze of her father, who, after he had struck her, kept away more than he did before. Her siblings had followed suit, pretending that she did not exist beyond the food that they left in front of her door every day. While she still felt the sting of that day on her cheek, she could only feel what she believed to be relief when they did nothing to her beyond that.

The townsfolk, however, were very aware that she existed.

While they did not strike her, they did not spare her from their glares, the fear that wrinkled their brows as they widened their eyes in fear at her approach. She felt something in her chest when they looked at her that way, but did not know what it meant.

She only knew that it hurt.

To avoid the pain, she started to leave her shack at night, walk the streets when no one else would, so their looks could no longer hurt her. She would wander the streets and alleys of Redhaven, which did not take long given the town’s small size, allowing her to memorize the town’s paths within the span of a week. When she had grown bored of the village’s streets, she would wander its outskirts, walking the edges of the forests that surrounded it, but never going further beyond that. It took her another week to grow used to the trees and shrubs that she could climb, slip through with an energy that was unbecoming of a frame that others would consider thin and frail. Familiarity led the way for further curiosity, but this was directed back towards the village itself. On some days, she would sneak out during the day, slipping through the alleys that no one would walk, watching the townsfolk from afar, peering into their windows at night, seeing how people talked to one another. How friends laughed with one another. How wives and husbands would bicker, but never leave each other’s side. How mothers would hug their children, scold them, encourage them.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Love them.

The pain in her chest returned whenever she looked upon the townsfolk, but still she would watch them. Still she would feel the want grow in her heart.

Then she met Erik.

Owner of the town’s tavern, The Wandering Fowl, she had first met the man as he was stumbling out of his back door, the load of crates in his hands too numerous to manage. She froze when she saw the boxes crash, the event so sudden that she was not sure how to react. When the man had eventually recovered, his eyes fell to her. At first, he looked at her like all the others, fear and uncertainty in his eyes as he backed away, retreating into his tavern. She remained frozen in place for a moment, that hurt in her chest, not knowing where to go to run away from it. While the thoughts raced in her head, Erik returned, carrying with him a simple bowl of porridge. Hurt gave way to curiosity as she saw the steam wisping from the bowl. Cautiously, both approached each other, and before she could scoop the food with her hands Erik stopped her, showing her how to use the spoon he brought with him. She followed the man’s suggestion as best she could, eventually scooping the heated porridge into her mouth. So long had she grown used to moldy bread and scraps of vegetables that she did not know what she was tasting. She could only feel the warmth it gave her.

The tears that flooded her eyes as she ate.

Erik let her eat in silence, reaching out to her when her bowl was empty. The moment he touched her shoulder, she leapt back from him, dropping the bowl to the floor, hearing its clattering echo off the alley walls as a phantom of the pain against her cheek returned. When she looked at Erik, the fear that was in his eyes was gone, replaced by another look that softened his eyes, but she did not know what it meant. He left her alone after that, cleaning up his mess and walking back into his tavern without a word, leaving an apple out as he left. She grabbed it out of curiosity, eyes widening as she bit into the fruit’s sweet flesh, having never tasted anything like it before. Before she knew it, it was gone, and she wanted more.

With that desire, she would return to Erik’s door over the next two weeks, figuring out when the man would wander out into the alleyway. At first, she would be hidden as she watched him work, though the man’s keen eye always found her quickly. Each time he would give her food. Meals that gave her a warmth that she never felt before. He made no moves to touch her as she ate, only taking the empty plates from her and letting her run off. Still, she would return, and he would always be ready with food in hand.

One day, while he turned away from her, she reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, muttering the words that she heard her siblings tell her father every day.

“T-thank y-you.”

Erik knelt down in front of her and, gingerly, placed a hand on her shoulder again. She stiffened from his touch, but did not run away.

“You’re welcome.”

Those were the only words exchanged as the two spoke, and he let her go, watching her run off before walking back into his tavern. He would eventually tell her his name, but she had none of her own to give back. She recalled the man’s face as she told him that, the frown that tugged at his lips and the quiver to his eyes.

Tonight, she found herself wandering back to The Wandering Fowl. Her thoughts were singular as her feet carried her, wondering what food Erik would give her today. She imagined the man’s smile, the shorter, stout man carrying a kindly look to weathered features framed by a thick beard. It was a smile that comforted her, one that quickened her step as she started to become more aware of the chill that nipped at her skin.

She slipped away from Redhaven’s main street and into an alley, skipping along its length and turning corners she had walked so often over the past two weeks. She continued to hum to herself, gaze staring up at the cloudy sky above, the twin moons peaking through their shroud to cast a pale light over the village. There was a peace to it all, one that she lost herself in for a moment.

Only to be brought out of it by the crack of thunder.

At least, that is what she thought it was. There was no storm this night, and the clouds above remained calm amidst the night sky. She jumped as the sound repeated itself, the pace falling into a steady rhythm. She turned towards the direction of the sound, realizing that it was coming from the tavern, from the spot that she always met Erik at.

Her steps quickened, curiosity driving her as the sounds started to slow. When she turned the corner, she saw a small light radiating from the back of the tavern. The area where she and Erik would meet was wider than the rest of the alley, something that she didn’t question in the past, but she now knew why as she saw it was occupied by a wheelless wagon, a beast sleeping right beside it. She had seen them around town plenty of times, enough to know that they were called Aurocs. They always looked to be gentle beasts, and this one in particular looked especially docile as its form steadily rose and fell as it slumbered. The thunder had stopped at this point, and her curiosity was now directed at the sleeping beast. She approached it gingerly, holding a hand out to touch its soft mane. The beast’s fur slipped between her fingers, and she found a brief sense of bliss that made her pet the Auroc out of impulse.

“Bloody hells Leaf, you just had to pick the most twisted piece of wood you could find.”

She shrank back as she heard the voice, one that she’d never heard before.

“This is a competition, isn’t it? I’ll take every advantage I can get.”

Another voice, this one with a harsher tone. Instinct told her that she should run away, but curiosity took control, pushing her to peer over the Auroc.

At the center of the clearing behind the tavern, a large man stood, ax in hand. Even in the cold weather he wore only a simple tunic and pants, steam emanating off of him as sweat glistened over his brow. He was large, taller than any man in the village, and even through his simple clothes his muscled frame was evident. He was clean shaven, showing off a strong jaw that was softened by the slight smile that seemed to quirk up his lips at all times. His brown hair was cut short, and he ran a hand through it, closing his blue eyes as he let out a sigh.

“You could have just used Ether. Only one of us is an Awoken,” the man said as he pointed his ax at another, the one he called Leaf.

This man sat at the steps of the Tavern’s rear door. Like his companion, he too only wore a simple shirt and pants. He possessed a more lithe frame, and while he was not sweating as much as the other man, there was a slight sheen to his olive skin. His hazel locks were lazily tied back, allowing whatever was remaining to form the semblance of bangs that nearly touched his brows. A grin twisted his sharper features, green eyes shining with mischief as his pointed ears twitched slightly.

“Well that wouldn’t be fair, would it, Helbram?” Leaf said, “I’d rather win this one with my wits,” he pointed to the two stacks of cut wood next to the stairs. One was slightly taller than the other, “Gotta make sure you’re nice and winded so I can catch up to you.”

Helbram frowned and looked down at the piece of wood in front of him. She followed the man’s gaze, noting the darkened log that lay on top of a cutting stand at his feet. Even to her eyes she could tell the wood had grown in a twisted pattern, with no defined grain. It was darkened as well, and there was gash at the top of the log, evidence of Helbram’s repeated strikes against it.

“It is waterlogged as well,” he said as he nudged the piece of wood, “how far did you dig into the pile to find this?

“The very bottom,” Leaf said with a satisfied nod. He tapped his temple, “Wits.”

Helbram snorted.

“You did accept to try,” another voice said, a woman’s voice, light and cheery, “I’d say this is as much your fault as his.”

She turned to the voice, seeing a small woman, smaller than even she was, sitting on the ground, resting against the Auroc. Blonde hair framed her wide face, which held wide, purple eyes that were just a tad larger than what she was used to. The woman’s skin was pale, flushed with a tinge of red at her cheeks as she sipped at the steaming mug in her hands. She was bundled in robes, but had the addition of a coat over that, making her appear more clothes than person. She looked at Helbram with a mischievous smile that quirked up her lips.

Next to her, another woman sat. She was taller, much more like the women that the girl was used to, but the shade of the woman’s skin gave her pause. Its tone matched the darkness of the sky above, standing stark against her long, silver hair that trailed down her back. Her expression was more subdued compared to the smaller woman, but there was clear amusement in her golden eyes and sharp features as she looked at Helbram. Her pointed ears, even more so than Leaf’s, twitched as they poked through her hair, which betrayed her emotions even more.

“Your support is noted, Jahora,” Helbram said with a grumble. He hefted the ax over his shoulder and brought it down on the wood, striking it with enough force to produce that loud crack she heard before. The wood did not give.

He sighed and looked towards the taller woman, “You must agree, right Elly?”

Elly held her own mug to her lips, taking a sip as she breathed in some of the steam that wafted from its top, “Indeed, though would it not be more impressive were you to succeed? Success in the face of adversity is always more satisfying in the end,” her voice was lower, but there was a melodic tone to it.

Helbram muttered to himself and hefted the ax again. Elly and Jahora giggled to themselves as he did so, sharing a knowing look with one another.

The man closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. His posture stilled, and as he let go of the breath he brought the ax down. It bit deeper into the wood, triggering a crack that trailed down its length. Helbram’s companions leaned forward when they noticed the damage, and in haste the man hefted the ax again and brought it back down, striking the same spot as before.

The wood split, its pieces clattering to the ground as the ax stuck itself into the stand.

A cheer rang through the group and Helbram raised his hands in triumph, taking a celebratory walk around the cutting stand and bowing at his now clapping friends. Leaf especially clapped with an exaggerated enthusiasm, nodding along with a fervor and smile so absurd the girl could do nothing except giggle.

It was an action that she was not familiar with, and as a result she could not stifle it until it was too late.

The sound of her laugh silenced their cheers, causing all of them to pause as they looked at its source.

At her.

She stumbled back, tipping over her own feet as she scrambled to get away. She fell to the ground, and before she could do anything else the smaller woman, Jahora, stood in front of her. There was no fear in the woman’s eyes, no disgust that the girl had grown so used to. There was only concern as Jahora stood over her, hand outstretched.

“Are you alright?”