One look was all it took for the little ragamuffin to fall in love. She leaned forward, pressing her bony hands against the stone windowsill, carefully avoiding shards of glass. She could almost taste it, that damned sugar frosted cake perched cozily atop the counter of the bakery across the street. Her stomach growled viciously at her to just steal the damn thing and stop feeling sorry for herself, but she reminded her stomach that they wouldn't be hungry much longer. Anyway, stealing is wrong.

The streets of Selestos were terribly busy this time of year. To her, the streets of Selestos were always busy since this was only her second visit. She'd grown to hate the giant city, especially this one. Everywhere she went, there were things she couldn't ever afford. No one was nice there, not like back in her provincial town, where the people would at least say hello and good morning. The city folk were all pushy and quick to curse her. She couldn't understand how people could live so cramped and close together yet behave more aloof than country folk. Oh, and the smell was the worst of it all. Sick and wounded soldiers often stumbled and staggered through the streets looking for their family and friends. Corpses were constantly being carted around, this way and that. It was hardly worth looking out her window, but what was happening out there was far preferable to what was going on in here.

As she leaned against the window sill, standing on her little wooden stool to make her tall enough, her older brother pitter-pattered into the small room with his skeletal feet and face.

He was older by five years, aged fifteen. His eyes were surrounded by deep purple pools, and they caved in almost to the back of his skull. His frame was terribly gaunt, and he had this miserable slouch where his spine would curl over his empty stomach.

"Venia," he called the little ragamuffin, his voice gentle and trembling. "Venia, it's father."

Venia gave him a knowing gaze before turning back to look at that frosted cake that could've saved her father if only they visited here a few days ago. What a stupid cake, she thought. She hardly even wanted it anymore.

"Venia," he called out again as he stepped over behind her, this time his voice cracked. "Please, come see him before—"

An ear splitting shriek rose up into the air from the room down the hall. Venia jolted to attention and caused her stool to tip over. Her brother was right behind her and caught her before she could hit the floor. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. This wasn't the first time this had happened to their family. Venia felt him quivering. His scrawny body made his hair look more bushy than usual. His cheeks were drenched with silent tears. Venia embraced her older brother, and they sat there on the floor, trembling.

A frantic, young nurse rushed past the doorway they were in. A moment later, she popped her head in and blurted to the two of them, "Come quick, you two! Come now, your mother demands it. Please, Thomas. Your mother is quite mad now."

Thomas, who was the ragamuffin's older brother, a ragamuffin himself, brought himself up and helped Venia get to her feet. He followed the nurse, and Venia followed him. The nurse made surprisingly long strides with her short, little legs. It was more like she was leaping with each step. Thomas had to tug on Venia's arm to keep her from falling too far behind. The three of them strode down the hall, passing other half-open doors, catching glimpses of sick men and women, clinging to life. They made a sharp right turn. Only one of the doors was open in this hall. They saw a blinding flash of light for half a moment flood the hall. It came from the open door. Venia recognized the sound of her mother's weeping. The nurse stopped them just outside the door and popped her head in, then motioned for the two siblings to enter.

As Venia followed meekly behind Thomas, clutching his cold hands and peeking over his shoulder, she saw their mother on her knees praying, or pleading, over her father's limp body. Their father was laid out on a blanket spread over some straw on the floor, his skin pale as paper. The healer was on the other side of the room, washing his hands and face in a bowl of water. Thomas rushed over to the other side of their father and gripped his hand, then he also started citing some prayers under his breath.

Venia stepped quietly over to the foot of the straw bed and sat on the floor, letting her hands rest weakly in her lap like dead spiders. It was so much easier to ignore from the other room. She remembered her younger brother in a similar situation just last year, when she was still nine years old. They had run out of food back at their farm. A famine burned through their land and consumed all their food before they ever had the chance. Her little brother collapsed on one particularly hungry day.

They had been out playing, Venia and her younger brother, Borcha. They were in the field full of dying wheat grains an earshot away from their cottage. Their father and Thomas were also out in the field, about a stone's throw away, looking for something edible. The day was hotter than most other days. The sun was in its zenith when Venia and Borcha decided to play hunter and the fox. Venia was to be the fox, which meant Borcha had to be the hunter. He picked up a stick to use as a sword.

"What are you doing?" Venia scoffed.

"This is my sword!" Borcha declared, waving it around above his head and pointing it to the sun directly above, posing with what strength and confidence he could muster with his emaciated physique.

"You don't use swords to hunt foxes, you dummy," Venia said.

"Why not?"

"Because you can't possibly run as fast as a fox to catch it."

"Says who? I can run faster than any old fox."

"You're supposed to use a bow and arrow."

"Well, I don't have anything to use as a bow and arrow."

Venia looked around and found a curved branch among the wheat stalks. "This could be your bow," she said, then grabbed the stick Borcha was holding and said, "This could be your arrow."

"But what about the string?" He whined.

"Just pretend."

"Pretend I have a string?"

"Yes!" Venia cried.

"And do I just pretend to shoot you with an arrow?"

"Yes."

"Then how would we know I hit you?"

"Ugh!" She snarled. "Do you want to play a different game?"

"No, this game will be okay," he assured her. "I just want to be clear on the rules, so you don't cheat again."

"I don't cheat!" Venia snapped.

"But you always find some way to bend the rules," he said, shooting a pretend arrow at a crow circling above them. "If I just shoot pretend arrows, you'll say I miss my shots."

"Let's just play something else then."

"No, we can play this if you want. I could just throw my arrows at you," he teased her. Venia picked up a nearby stick about the length of her arm. "On guard!" She shouted, pointing her imaginary blade at Borcha. Their father had once been a soldier and taught them the formal rules for sparring.

Borcha dropped his curved bow stick and crossed his sword with hers. "Ready," was his response.

"Go!" Venia yelled, and the battle commenced. They circled one another, keeping their swords aimed at each other. Venia attacked first. She jabbed her blade toward his chest, but he deflected the blow and swung for her arm.

"Ow!" She cried. "You're not supposed to actually hit me!"

Borcha threw his head back in laughter. Venia's stick came crashing down onto his forehead.

"Hey!" He screamed, then fell onto his back.

"Ha!" Venia laughed, then ran into the stalks of wheat. Borcha regained his footing and chased after her. Venia fell into a prone position and crawled carefully through the withered crop, listening for Borcha's footsteps. She listened intently, but only heard bugs and birds and Thomas chattering in the distance. She laid in the dirt and dust for a few more moments before giving up.

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"Here I am!" She declared, popping her head up, waving her hands over her head. She looked around for Borcha but only saw their father walking through the field with Thomas.

"Borcha?" She called out. "Borcha, come out! Let's start again."

Their father took notice and stopped to look. He said something to Thomas, but Venia was too far to hear.

"Borcha?" She cried. "Papa, have you seen him?" Their father looked at her over the wheat grains and shrugged. He said something to Thomas again, then motioned toward Venia with his hands. Thomas made his way over.

"I bet he's playing with you," he called out to her on his way over. "Let's head back. He'll give up once he realizes he's alone." As soon as Thomas reached her, he placed his hand gently on her shoulder and guided her home. Their father stood watch. It didn't take more than a few minutes for everyone to realize Borcha wasn't hiding.

Venia ran back to their cottage to get their mother, and to fetch their dog, Geoff. Thomas and their father combed the field for nearly half an hour. Geoff eventually found him unconscious on the ground, face-down in the dirt. They brought him to the city to find help in the very same building they're in now and tried all sorts of spells, poultices, brews, and prayers.

He died.

Venia's parents told her that he was just too weak and sickly to recover. She couldn't understand why. They were just playing before he collapsed, after all. He didn't seem weak at all then.

Venia felt her eyes well up as she looked up to her mother, who was now pressing her hands against their father's chest. Her mother's face was red. She had puffy eyes, and her deep brown hair poked out from beneath her head cloth.

"Come, one more try," she told the healer, who was still nervously washing his hands. The healer came over to their father, knelt, and placed both palms over their father's temples. Venia looked down at her father, who had always been strong and able, who was now lying still with a limp jaw. His eyebrows were contorted as though he were in pain. She noticed the deep black circles around his eyes. They were deeper and blacker than usual in contrast with his pale skin. He'd always had them. The famine was in its second year, but it wasn't until now that Venia had realized the danger she was in. Who would die next?

"I need you to stay calm now, Rona," the healer told their mother after he noticed her quivering hands. Then he directed his attention to the two kids and said, "Thomas, Venia, give us some space."

The nurse pulled Venia back a few steps and Thomas stood beside her, fidgeting with his bluish, bony fingertips. For a split second, like a strike of flint, a bright glow rose from Rona's palms and flooded the room with a flash like sunlight. Venia's eyes widened with wonder. "Too much, Rona. You have to relax," the doctor said sternly, with the discipline he'd accumulated over the years.

"I know. I know!" Rona shouted back.

She took a deep breath, then placed her palms over her husband's unresponsive chest again. Her hair started to rise and flow backward, away from her palms, as though a gentle breeze were pushing it back. Venia noticed her own hair was being pushed back by the same magical breeze. The glow steadily rose in intensity. Color and life seemed to return to their father's skin.

"Steady," the healer reminded. "Steady. Steady. Steady."

The sight of life returning to her husband's corpse caused her to smile, and she started laughing uncontrollably. The radiant orange glow became brighter and brighter, and the breeze grew stronger, throwing around papers from their shelves and straw from the bed, blowing out the candles and lantern.

"Steady," the healer reminded, trying to swallow his alarm. "Steady, Rona! Steady.

Dammit!"

The nurse gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. Then she hugged Venia from behind and hid her eyes. Venia tried to break free to watch but was easily overwhelmed, and she fell to her knees. In an instant, the room went dark. Venia heard her mother gasp for air, then wail hysterically.

"One more try!" She pleaded. "We can try one more time!"

"Get them out," the healer ordered.

Thomas and Venia sat beside each other outside the building. This building was owned by their father's old friend, Mister Martin. The two kids had been told it was an inn. Really, it had been a brothel before Mister Martin refurbished it into a hospice of sorts for victims of the war and famine. As the two of them sat against the wall, Venia pointed to the bakery across the road.

"I'm going to go to that bakery and not buy that cake," she announced.

"What?" Thomas asked.

"If we had that stupid cake before papa got sick, he wouldn't have gotten sick."

"If we had any food at all, then he wouldn't have gotten sick."

"Well, what difference does that make?" Venia reasoned.

"You're crazy," Thomas laughed.

"But it's true!"

"You're right," he said. "Let's go over there now and not buy that cake." He stood up and held his hand out for Venia.

"No, I'm serious. When we get our gifts, I'm going to go to that bakery and make it a point to buy something that is not that cake."

"What?" Thomas pulled his hand back. "Are you stupid? Don't talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that, you idiot. Besides, he might still be alive."

"You think so?" Venia said hopefully.

"I'm not sure," said Thomas before sitting beside her again. "I wonder if they're trying again."

"Are they trying to bring him back?" Venia inquired. "You know, like from the dead? They didn't try this one with Borcha."

"I've read about something similar in some stories, but those are just stories," Thomas said thoughtfully. "I heard you can heal people, but when they're about to die, you might kill them instead. I overheard ma and pa talking about something like this too. Pa said he would teach her."

"I hope it works," Venia said with a frown. "It hardly seems fair that you could kill them by trying to help them."

"Well, life and death are delicate things," Thomas said solemnly.

"So . . . do you think ma killed papa?" Her question was innocent, but her brother seemed bothered by the idea.

"Shut up, Venia," he snarled. "He was too sick anyway."

"So . . . You think he can't survive?"

"Listen—" Thomas snapped, but caught himself and recollected. He thought carefully how to answer his little sister. "No normal person could survive, but papa isn't a normal person."

Venia nodded.

"Besides, you saw how close ma got. Didn't you see his skin get better?"

Venia nodded. Just then, the nurse poked her head through the front door and said, "Thomas, your mother wants to see you again." She spoke clearly, like a professional, rather than the frantic chicken-with-no-head that she'd been the last time they met.

"Let's go, Venia," he said as he stood and smacked the dirt off his rear

"Why?" Venia asked, staring across the street. "She only called for you. I think I want to sit out here a little longer."

"Oh. Are you sure?" He asked cautiously.

"Yes," Venia replied, her eyes glazed over.

Thomas followed her eyes and could see she was staring at the cake again. "Don't go anywhere," he ordered, then followed the nurse.

She led him back to the room they had just been in. Thomas saw his mother sitting on a stool just beside the door, pressing a damp cloth to her eyes. Their father was still on the floor. This time, he was wrapped up in linen cloth. Thomas noticed Mister Martin standing in the far corner of the room with his head bowed, dressed in a black tunic, leaning on his cane with one hand and holding some papers that had been scattered about the room earlier. He was an elderly man with some sort of leg problem caused by an injury on the field of battle ages ago, or so Thomas was led to believe.

"Mister Martin was kind enough to give us some linens for your father," Rona said. She stopped wiping her face. Her eyes were swollen and red from weeping. She sniffled. "We have to head back home soon, Thomas. Thank Mister Martin and the healer for offering their help."

"Oh no, it's quite alright," Mister Martin called from the other side of the room. "Thom was a very good friend of mine. I'm happy to offer what help I can." Thom was the name of their father. Venia's older brother was named after him.

"Oh, well, we can't thank you enough, Martin," Rona said anyway. She stood and made her way across the room to hug him.

"Please, Rona," he stopped her before she could hug him. "I deal with sick people all day. I'd never forgive myself if I went and got you sick too." With that, she bowed and stepped out of the room. Thomas followed closely behind her.

"Where is your sister?" She asked Thomas.

"She should be right out front," he answered.

They made their way to the front door and couldn't find her. They noticed a commotion across the street, at the bakery Venia had been yammering on about all afternoon.

"No way," Thomas muttered.

"What?" Rona inquired.

"Look," he pointed at Venia, who he could barely make out through the small crowd that had formed. Rona and Thomas made their way across the busy street to find Venia in the middle of the crowd with cake and frosting all over her hands and cheeks. The owner of the bakery was furiously scolding her ears off. She ran to Thomas as soon as he came into view and hid behind him.

"Get me out of here!" She giggled.

"What's going on here?" Rona looked for an explanation.

"You are the mother?" The baker asked in a thick accent.

"Yes, I am."

"This little thief-girl walked right up to my counter and took out a piece of cake with her hand! I want to be paid for the whole cake. It is ruined now. Ruined!" The baker exclaimed, red in the face.

Rona looked to Venia in disbelief. Venia smiled innocently.

"Look, she's been through a lot today—" Rona tried to explain.

"Look!" The baker shouted, motioning to the street behind them where carts of dead men and women were being pulled around by horses. "We're all having a bad day!"

They heard chuckling from across the street and could see Mister Martin making his way over to them.

"Let me buy the girl the cake," he called to the baker.

"Oh, um," the baker cleared his throat and composed himself. "Yes, sir."

Venia smiled.