A fire flickered in the fireplace, sending sparks up and out the bricked chimney. Azral smiled, the dull orange light reflecting off her while pearls, illumination her pale features. Her blue eyes stared at the lambent fire, sparkling like the sea as the sun beat down on a hot day. She had inky black hair, dark as the sky at midnight, with small flecks of color glazing off as the light of day reflected off her black curls. They fell in ashy waves down her back and hugged her waist as she swayed back and forth, her head moving a slight pattern that would’ve left a ballet dancer speechless.

Shadowy light speckled in the room, casting intricate shadows around, darkening the faces of the mother and child who sat hunched near the orange-red flame. Their gazes were fixated on the moving, alive element that warmed their hands as they rested them mere inches away from the heat.

“What is that, mommy?” Azral asked, learning her head on her mother’s soft, inviting shoulder. Her mother wore a silk robe reaching to her feet like an elegant dress wore only to bed. Dull blue slippers coated her feet, scratching the wooden ground as she slid her feet across the wood. Azral’s inky hair spilled over her mother’s shirt, filling the empty space between them. Jasamine laughed, her adult voice ringing out and resonating off the brick walls. She set her head gently over her mother’s forefront, their hair tousling and tangling with each other’s.

“It’s a fire, sweetheart,” Jasamine said, running her hand over her daughter’s soft hair. She let her hand fall to where Azral’s hand lay on the floor, entwining their fingers with one another’s.

“It’s pretty,” she said, drawing out her words, her toddler voice unable to recreate the vowels her mother used so flawlessly. They both laughed, their voices filled the air around, the sound rippling in the space.

“It is pretty,” Jasamine assured her daughter, rubbing her hand over her back, soothing her to the point of a sigh. She slipped into a dreamless sleep, letting her mother’s pacifying touch calm her to slumber.


When she woke, the sound of crying filled the room. Azral curled herself up, hauling her knees to her chest in an attempt to comfort herself. She closed her eyes and listened, letting her hearing wander through the house. For a moment there was nothing. Not the slightest sound. Only the relentless wind howling against their cottage. The fire had burned itself out, the wood finally turning to dust after its long night of warmth.

Azral couldn’t help but find that odd. Her mother always kept a steady fire. Always made sure her precious daughter was comfortable in the small space they were confined to while her father was away. Azral took in a breath of air, letting its cold touch envelope her lungs; but too soon it was over. She sighed and the air ran out of her, spiraling in the air, its warm touch comforting until it dispersed, leaving Azral with a longing for the warmth her icy body desired.

Azral jumped, hearing the sound of pans hitting the wooden ground, sending a splintering noise resonating through the subzero cabin. Her mother screamed, Azral shut her eyes tighter, seeing only the black nothingness of her mind. A tear squeezed its way through her shut eyelid and painted a trail down her face, leaking to the cold cabin floor. Her mother screamed again and Azral lost it. She stood up and ran to the kitchen, only a few feet away. Her mother was on the ground, tears stinging her eyes and blood staining her face and clothes.

A man stood above her mother, his face a mask of rage. His eyebrows her sewn to his eyes and his mouth was as sharp as the knife he held in his hands. The man’s hand was clenched tightly around a cleaver. He held it above him, blood dripping from it and splattering his face. The man had a dark complexion. His hair was midnight black, reigning down around his face in greasy waves. His narrowed eyes shone blue, his sea color boring into her mother’s horrified face. Jasamine turned her head to gaze at her daughter. Azral hugged her arms to her chest as her body shook, sending waves of sweat down the child’s flawless pale face.

“Azral,” Jasamine screamed, struggling up as she waved her arms in shooing, tears streaming fluidly from both eyes. “Get away. Run, sweetheart!” Azral turned on her heel and ran. Her feet hit the ground hard as she ran across the wooden ground and threw open the wooden door. It squeaked just a few inches, but it was more than enough for Azral to get though. She shot out the door like a bullet, hearing the man behind her stop in his tracks as he attempted to pry the door open more. By the time he had, Azral was already long gone; disappeared into the never-ending woods that lay around her house.

The last thing she heard before she collapsed was the sound of her mother’s screams.

Azral dreamed about many things for the rest of the night. Her mother’s screams, the man’s knife, his face as he saw her daughter. She could only imagine what had happened to her mother because she didn’t want to have to face the truth about what had really happened. Azral knew full well what had gone down between the two adults; she just couldn’t bring herself to think about what the outcome was. It was too much, too much for her to process on her own. She needed someone, someone to help her.
She needed her mother.
But she knew that wasn’t an option. And it probably never would be again. Her mother was gone. And she would never see her again. Azral’s breathing speed up as she began to hyperventilate. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her rapid intakes of breath, but it did little to no good.
Sobs struck her eyes, rolling down her face as they dripped to the now snow crested ground. Azral had just noticed that. Last night it had only stormed, but apparently sometime during her horrifying night, snow fell from the sky, bathing the land in white riches.
Azral looked into the distance, spotting the white snowcapped mountains, their haunting tips poised at the bright blue skies. At that moment, looking at her favorite landmark, she knew—
Her mother was dead.