Her determination left me thinking. If I were in her situation, I would probably have done the same thing. I have experienced firsthand what it means to share a bond with someone you love, a bond that sometimes drives us to act irrationally.

Having tended to her wound, I began to gather the rest of the bandages and place them back inside the first aid kit. Her eyes traced every move I made as if trying to understand the reasons behind my kindness. She rose from the couch and followed me to the kitchen.

"Are you upset with me for what I did to your store?"

"No. The vases are already broken; there's no point in becoming angry about it. I have a vague idea why you did it, at one point in my life, I was your age too. How about we move away from the subject, and focus on surviving the night? It's going to be a cold one; let me get you a warm blanket."

I turned around and walked away, immediately hearing a soft whimper coming from her. I glanced over my shoulder and saw tears streaming down Makayla's face. "I just wanted to help my brother. I never meant to cause any damage to your store."

I walked back to her and with a smile, I rested my hand over her head. "You have any idea how long those cheap vases were on the shelf? Since I bought the store 40 years ago. In my book, you just did me a favor."

I fetched a woolen blanket from the closet, intending to keep her comfortable until the storm passed.

"Here, this will keep you warm."

"Thank you," she said, grabbing the blanket from my hands.

"Care for a cup of tea? I just made a pot ten minutes ago."

With a smile widening on my face, I poured an extra cup of tea and handed it to Makayla. "I'm sorry to hear about your brother. I'm sure he deserves to live a prosperous life. But there are things beyond our control, and death is one of them."

She took a sip and then placed the cup gently on the table.

"I've let my brother down. I promised him I'd find a way to help him. Instead, I've just made a fool of myself," she said, her voice filled with disappointment.

"The boundary between life and death is delicate and elusive. The artifact you're searching for isn't meant to be discovered," I said, rising from the couch. "Would you like some cookies?"

I headed to the pantry and retrieved a plate of cookies, a gift from an elderly woman who lives in the building across the street. While I often found her conversation unengaging, her cookies were an entirely different matter. For a woman of her age, her baking skills were exceptional.

"Here," I said, setting the plate of cookies on the table. "These should bring you a bit of joy."

"Thank you."

She picked up a cookie, looking at it closely. After taking a bite, her eyes lit up. "Wow, these are delicious!"

"Indeed, they are. Her baking skills are second to none."

"Would it be okay if I took a few for my brother?"

I slid the plate towards her, "Of course, go right ahead."

Makayla carefully picked a handful of cookies and tucked them into her front pockets. "Thanks again."

The rain continued its relentless assault against the windows, and a chilling draft swept through the room, extinguishing the flickering candle flames.

"Oh, the lights are out again. Hold on tight, I'll get some matches."

Opening a drawer, I retrieved the matchbox. As I struck a match to light the candles, my thoughts drifted to the similarities between my own past and the situation of Makayla's brother.

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"Where do you live Makayla?"

She paused mid-bite, "At Oxford's House."

"You are an orphan?"

"Yes, both my brother and me. He's been under medical care for over a year now. Playing with the other kids at the orphanage is too much for him; he just doesn't have the energy. According to the nurse, his health is expected to deteriorate over time. But at least he isn't alone—I make sure to visit him every day."

"He's been sick that long? You said he is twelve years old?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He is my younger brother. It pains me to see him confined to that bed."

Sensing it was the right moment, I decided to reveal the true nature of the artifact to Makayla. It wasn't a tool for extending life, but rather a gift from a certain being, a guide for those transitioning to the next stage of their existence.

A smile flickered across my face as memories flooded in. "I remember the first time I saw her. It was all so baffling. I sensed something unusual occurring around me. But there I was, only twelve and battling a terrible illness. She was the one bright spot—the only one who would come out to play with me despite my circumstances."

"Who is she?"

"She is known as 'The Godmother,'" I said, settling back into my favorite chair, holding an old Teddy bear in my hands. "She isn't exactly a person who owns the artifact, per se. but she could manifest herself in various forms, and for me, it took the shape of an old woman. She acts as a guardian and a guide, especially for children who are transitioning from one world to the next. Her presence is both comforting and solemn, a beacon for those on their final journey."

"The Godmother? Then the stories are not true? ­­A writing artifact with magical ink that could cheat death? it really doesn't exist?"

"The artifact is a pen, and it does exist. But its purpose and the legends that have grown around it are far from the truth. It's not a tool for deferring death."

I could sense the disappointment and confusion in Makayla's eyes. It was clear that the myths about the Godmother's Pen had filled her with false hopes and misconceptions about how she might help her brother.

"It does not grant you more time. Then, what does it do?"

"My encounter with The Godmother was a unique experience, not like the stories told by the old ladies at the orphanage. From what I've read and heard about others' experiences globally, the pen often appears with a count on its dial of less than 10."

"A count?"

"The pen has a three-wheel dial. When you write with The Godmother's Pen, it counts down the words as you write with it. When I had it, the dial was at max capacity. I could use the pen to write 999 words."

Makayla looked at me with enchanted eyes, the moment I started to talk about the pen.

"Every word is gold. That's what the blind lady said to me. It was hard for me to understand what she meant at first." Makayla said, drinking from her cup of tea.

"Long ago, there was a belief that children suffering from terminal illnesses were watched over by angels. Some called it a myth; others find the tales of the Godmother to be a blatant lie, a fictitious story made by people. A fragile soul in a fragile body deserving divine protection. From there, stories began to emerge about an angel who would comfort and entertain these children as they neared their end. Seeing The Godmother is a sign – it means that one doesn't have much time left."

As Makayla's words sank in, a deluge of memories flooded my mind, each recalling my unique encounter with The Godmother. It felt as if I had been specifically chosen by her to bear witness and relay this tale.

"I understand now. Even if I wanted to help my brother, I would never be able to see her."

She had come to realize the partial truths in the stories she'd heard. "I'm sorry, Makayla. Your heart is in the right place, but trying to interfere with the natural course of death is a fool's errand."

Makayla rose from her seat and approached the window, her gaze lost in the rain-soaked world outside.

"I wish I could be with my brother right now." She said, her fingers tracing the path of the raindrops on the windowpane.

"I wouldn't advise running eight blocks to the orphanage in this weather. I understand your concern, but I assure you, he'll be there waiting for you in the morning."

"Sam, —Do you think I'm a stupid girl?"

"No, I think you're an incredibly brave sister. I can't say I've been in your shoes; I was an only child."

She returned to her chair, wrapping herself in the blanket I had given her, cocooning her body as if seeking comfort in its warmth.

"Well, I believe you're right, Makayla. It's time for us to get some rest."

At my words, Makayla abruptly threw the blanket off her head, her eyes wide with sudden realization.

"Wait, you said that you had an encounter with The Godmother?"

"Correct," I said, with a smile.

"Then how are you alive?"

"You're a bit slow on the uptake, kid. My interaction with The Godmother was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. While others dreaded her presence, I found myself longing for her company every day."

At my words, Makayla sat up straight, her interest reignited. "Can you tell me how you came to have the pen?"

I paused, realizing I might have shared too much. The night was deepening, and outside, the storm continued its relentless assault on the neighborhood.

"Alright, but let's have more tea first," I said, rising from my chair. A distinct feeling stirred within me, perhaps a sense of excitement at the prospect of sharing my story for the first time.