Chapter Text
Finally, in the dead of night, the world fell silent, setting aside its anxieties about the unknown until morning. The trees stand like quiet silhouettes against the pale glow of the snow, their shapes softened but not erased by the dark. Moonlight filters through their branches, catching on the snow that clings to every limb, so that each tree seems traced in silver. The contrast is striking—black trunks rising out of a luminous white ground, as if ink had been brushed across a sheet of light. Their branches, heavy with snow, bend slightly, forming gentle arches and layered patterns overhead. Some look delicate, laced with frost, while others appear solid and still, like watchful figures rooted in place. When the wind stirs, it’s barely a whisper—just enough to send a faint dusting of snow drifting down, sparkling as it falls. The only sound that the world seemed to still be alive was a soft panting from a young girl.
Huff…huff…huff…
Visible puffs of air came from the girl’s lips, almost like perfect white clouds grazing past her soft, rosy cheeks. Her full lips were chapped in the cold which felt tight and fragile, as if the skin had been stretched too thin. Each breath of icy air seems to pull more moisture away, leaving them dry and rough. Bare feet in the snow met a shock of cold so sharp it almost feels electric. The surface looks soft and inviting, but the moment skin touches it, the chill bites deep—first a sting, then a numbing ache that spreads through toes and into the arches. The texture shifts beneath—powdery in some places, crisp and compact in others—crunching lightly or giving way in silence. Snow clings to the skin, melting just enough to glisten before the cold hardens it again. The air feels even sharper close to the ground, and every movement becomes deliberate, as if the body is negotiating with the cold itself. The body feels heavy, as if each limb carries its own weight, dragging slightly with every step. Muscles burn and tighten, but the sensation begins to blur, dulled by repetition and exhaustion. The cold air cuts into her small lungs, yet even that sharpness fades into the background as the girl’s focus narrows to movement alone. Numbness settles in—not a complete absence of feeling, but a distant version of it, where pain exists without urgency. Her feet strike the ground in a steady rhythm, almost automatic now, and the strain that once demanded attention becomes something quieter, easier to ignore. Thoughts thin out. There’s no room for anything except forward motion, breath, and the quiet persistence of the body. In that rhythm, the pain doesn’t disappear—it just slips out of reach, replaced by a strange, steady calm that carries her onward.
I need to keep going.
I-I can’t stop.
My body hurts so much…
W-why? Why did this happen?
The little girl wore a white dress and was barefoot, with bandages wrapped around her head. The only part of her face exposed to the cold was her blistered mouth and button nose. Her once-unpigmented dress was stained red, as was her pale skin. The blood dried on her skin and cracked with each movement which began to flake. The dress felt heavier once the blood settled and hardened, scraping against her body. The girl could barely see through her bandages but could make out some of the obstructions with the aid of the moonlight and the snow’s reflection. Unfortunately, after days of running, the fatigue took its toll on the young girl’s body which caused her to trip on a tree root. As if the world could not give the child a break, she fell down a hill. Gravity took the child and she descended down the snowy path hitting some spare branches on the way down which cut her skin. The girl landed on the bottom of the hill with a thud and landed face first on the ground. Soft crying came from the tiny figure, but deafened by the snow, almost like they were wanting to muffle her cries so nobody could hear her despair.
They were right.
I am a freak…a monster.
All I wanted was to be one of them.
Like everyone else…
I should give up and just die here.
Nobody would know.
Finally, I could have peace.
The girl’s consciousness was beginning to slip away when she could faintly hear footsteps coming towards her. A shadow hovered above her body, observing the predicament she caught herself in.
“Er du okay? Trenger du hjelp?”
The girl slowly lifted her head up and squinted to differentiate the figure from the moon shining above. She could not focus on the figure’s face but concluded it was a young child. Straining to push herself up, her body was pulled back to the earth and she whimpered in defeat.
“Vennligst ikke beveg deg! Du trenger hjelp.”
The young child knelt down and turned her body over. The girl’s hidden gems looked at the child’s face one more time and made contact with the prettiest blue eyes she has ever seen.
Their eyes are…so pretty…like the ocean.
The boy was talking to her in an unknown language but all she could concentrate on was the white halo that seemed to encapsulate his form, almost looking like an angel that was taking her away. The girl’s eyes felt heavy and darkness began dragging her away not before stealing a look at the angel’s face one more time.
Gasp!
Serelith’s eyes snapped open, their red glow cutting sharply through the darkness. She gripped her blanket to her chest, white hair fanned around her as she shook from the lingering echo of a vivid dream. She stayed there in bed, willing her heartbeat to settle before sitting up. Serelith grabbed her phone at the nightstand and observed the time:
3:36am
Sighing, she dragged herself out of bed and headed for the restroom. The moment her feet touched the wooden planks, a cold shiver ran through her body, as though it still remembered the unforgiving Norwegian winter from her childhood. She turned on the sterile lights in the bathroom and headed towards the shower. Serelith removed the clothes from her body and stepped into the shower, reveling in the hot water fighting off the cold that still lingered in her body.
Why? After all these years, I still dream about you…Toki.
After about 20 minutes in the shower, she grabbed the black, fluffy towel on the rod and wrapped her curvy body in it then stepped out of the shower. Steam still clings to the bathroom air, curling in faint ribbons around the edges of the mirror as she stands in front of it. Water droplets slide slowly down the glass, distorting her reflection in soft, wavering streaks before clearing just enough to show her face. Her hair is white—strikingly so—as if it has never known pigment. It falls in damp strands around her shoulders, some pieces sticking lightly to her collarbone and cheeks. The contrast against her skin is almost ethereal. Her eyes, bright red and steady, hold an unusual intensity in the mirror’s surface—less harsh than vivid, like embers caught in quiet flame rather than fire. Her cheeks are faintly rosy from the warmth of the shower, a natural flush that softens her expression and gives warmth to her otherwise cool-toned features. The color lingers gently across her cheekbones, blending into the pale smoothness of her skin without sharp lines or harsh angles.
There is a delicacy to her face—fine, subtle contours, a softness in the curve of her nose and the gentle shape of her lips. Her cupid lips draw the eye without effort: soft and full, naturally tinted a light red, as if they carry their own warmth. They rest slightly parted, relaxed, adding to the sense of stillness and introspection in her expression. Nothing about her appearance feels exaggerated; instead, everything is refined, almost fragile, as though she might belong more to a quiet painting than a real room with fogged glass and tiled walls. She studies herself without urgency. Just the quiet act of seeing who she is in the aftermath of warmth and water, as the last droplets trace their way down her reflection and disappear.
Today is going to be a long day.