《Serene Winter》 Credits Cover art: Yelena Editors: Arifan, Java, Yelena, Rain All drawn works are credited to: LinzzThe narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. All written works are credited to their authors: "Dandelion Miracles" by Arifan "Never Fade" by Erii "Wendigo" by Yelena "Wren''s Wintertide" by xxblackstarlightsxx Linzzs Gallery This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Dandelion Miracles" by Arifan "Do not pluck the dandelions." I told him I was unaware at the time¡ªunaware of the story of the glorious sacred flower of our ruined battlefields. These battlefields were once our treasured lands. In these lost treasured lands, we prospered and lived bountifully. Though, for only a short period during medieval times. I said I did not remember. Like everyone else, I could not remember. Why? He held his calloused palm out to me, showing me the mercy I had asked for so desperately. Simultaneously, the sores and bruises that his hand was decorated with reminded me of how unworthy I was to be receiving such benevolence. How pitiful a swine I was¡ªattempting to amend all wrongs with such outright disrespect. The intention of genuineness was false reassurance that I could be instantly purified of all past crimes, both minor and immense. All pining and whining did pay off little by little. Forgiveness. A word that meant pitying those who had suffered poverty for malicious deeds. The cold touch of his hand sent my skin on a craze of goosebumps and my spine shivering in fear. It was the deliciousness and brilliant emotion that wells up in a person after being given what was rightfully deprived of. An ordinary person he was, and a typical person he may be. However, there had to be something wrong with someone who tries to act too normal. The only thing I envy about him was his ability to communicate with others so easily. He was always so calm and gentle with the loveliest smile there was. With an especially pleasing charm and the most gracious manners, his presence glittered brightest among all others despite his "normalness." It''s as if he was some saint, preaching peace and sensibility. I laughed to myself as I thought about the pure beings humans referred to as saints. I contemplated the possibilities and shook my head in denial. No, not a saint, maybe a god! The idea amused me greatly, and I scoffed disapprovingly at my childlike imagination. Perhaps, my grandiose creativity amassed only due to my miserable knowledge about being pitifully adopted. Often, my mind would wander off when my old friends spoke about their own united family. The ability to live in unison with the parents that gave life to you is one of my secret longings. It frustrated me every time I let the thoughts crawl into my head. Always¡ªevery single time, they end up something like this: Family! I wonder where the mother that nurtured me in her womb went. Oh, she must''ve hated me if she abandoned me. Cue the mime gestures of rage and sorrow, and that was what the whole scene looked like. At least, how I reimagined it. Part of me wants to believe that there was a reasonable explanation for her to leave me. Perhaps, she had died, and there were no known relatives. I was always wild on a rampage, trying to conjure up stories to make sense of all the nonsense. It always gave me a pounding headache thinking about it, so I usually cast all these "maybes" aside and set my head straight on living in the present. On the other hand, in the present was this annoying itch in the back of my mind that kept nagging at me. It was as if I had forgotten something important, something that was precious or valuable. It pissed me off! Seriously. What am I so ignorant of that I have this horrible, irritating feeling? "What are you thinking about?" his cheerful voice asked me. The gentle snow falling outside the window behind him set a serene backdrop. It suited him. I felt relieved to have him interrupting my train of thoughts. If I had gone any further, how lost would I be in the dreams I sought out for and the memories I wished I had? He is my savior in times like these. "Don''t worry about it," I said with a long sigh, "it''s just stupid stuff." "Ah, of course," he mumbled to himself. He rolled his dark eyes and brushed back his vibrant hair. I always thought it was strange to have such unnatural hair color. His wisps of hair were like fire, and his face captured the devil''s alluring gaze. I wrinkled my eyebrows together¡ªin disbelief at his sarcastic tone of voice. "Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?" I questioned him, placing down my black ink pen with a tap. His face wore a mourning expression. In his eyes, I saw great sadness and this frosty energy that exuded menacingly. At first, he was merely upset, but then a flame of frustration sparked. The mood swings were becoming routine, and it came to the point where I could tell when he would lapse into his puberty-like phases. "Nothing. Nothing at all," he told me vaguely. It appeared to me that his jaw was clenched tightly, and his fists were squeezing until they were pale. His actions always left me in a state of puzzlement. As much as the whereabouts of my family were a headache, he was twice as much. Because for him, there were no viable explanations for his constantly fluctuating attitude. Even more so for why he visits me so often. I saw that with others he grinned and laughed with joy. He was always the highlight of the fun. Never has he ever given off such a dismal air in front of anyone besides me. That was what kept me in a constant flurry around this man. "Oh!" I suddenly exclaimed. "Do you remember Dandelion Miracles?" As if I had triggered some kind of booby trap, he jerked back. "You...you remember?" he gasped, his eyes widening with surprise. "No? Remember what? I recently published the first book of my new series, you idiot! Dandelion Miracles is its name! I was hoping you had kept up with my new work. I guess it was too much to ask for," I told him with disappointment written all over my face. He slumped a bit after hearing my adamant "no." This time, he turned his whole body away from me and crossed his arms. Like a little child, he seemed to be protesting. "When will you remember, little dandelion?" he sang with such despair. "Oh, so you did read the book! Why didn''t you just say so? Then, would you like to tell me what you think about it?" I asked excitedly. I didn''t notice how my hands clasped together or how my eyes glowed with the utmost happiness. Neither did I see how the man kept wiping his face with one arm and then the other while his face was turned away. One side. The other side. Then repeat. "Hey! Why are you..." I reached out to grab his arm, but he shook me off as if I were some trivial bug biting at his skin. So small and frail he thought I was. I reached out again. And again. And again. Smack! I stood up and clenched my teeth. With my feet grounded and my fingers twitching, I couldn''t help the words that flowed out. A rush of adrenaline had already filled my veins. "What''s wrong with you, huh? You don''t hit someone that''s trying to talk to you!" I yelled, rubbing the fresh red mark that he left. "Well, who are you to act so damned ignorant? We''ve spent lifetimes together and you¡ªnever mind. You''re just some irrelevant weed," he said, grabbing his stuff with one swoop. "Weed?" I asked. I was going to ignore his insulting behavior, but for once, I felt hurt by something that a saint¡ªno, a "god," told me. "You''re a nuisance, and you always get in my way.... They say you''re a miracle, and I''m some disaster waiting to happen. They say without you, I wouldn''t exist," he told me, opening the door and taking a step out. "Who says that? I know I''m bothering you a bit...but you''re being unreasonable!" I yelled at his back. The door slammed with a bang, and the sound of his footsteps softened with each tap. I sighed and hid the book I thought was my most exceptional achievement behind my back like a complete disgrace. I fiddled with the cover a bit before I gave up waiting for him to come back. I traced the outline of the words, "Dandelion Miracles." Then, I traced my name, which was in small print at the bottom. My name in this life, Lionne Gardener. My heart pounded with fifty percent of pride and the other half of sadness. I painfully smiled for myself before I shelved the book. ... Smile. They say you''re most beautiful when you smile. For when you smile, you share a little bit of happiness with those who witness it. It''s a special thing, so use it often and make those around you smile too. It''s a gift, that girl. She''s a gift. "A gift, my ass!" he said, kicking a rock out of the sidewalk and into the snow-blanketed street. "What about me? Why does no one care about me?" ... My body has always been weak, ever since I was born in this life. If he thinks I''m a weed, then at one point, I was a stubborn seed¡ªstruggling to live. Doesn''t that mean I''m at my peak? Doesn''t that mean I''m stronger now? Why is he calling me a weed? I know I''m crippled, but still, I don''t understand.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Sometimes, in my dreams, I hear this voice. The voice tells me pretty random things. There''s no rhyme or reason in what it tells me. Though I remember one time, it told me: "It''s a gift, that girl. She''s a gift. Although you are my gift, you are only half of the package." I always thought that the last sentence was unique, so I wrote it into my book. Should I consider this plagiarizing? I can''t do anything else but write, and when he is my only guest, it makes me feel lonely when he leaves. I thought I should at least share my only creation with someone. When I wrote the story, I had the idea of a tale of sibling gods. I''ve always dreamed of having a sibling. They would be polar opposite twins. One child was honest and too ambitious, and the other, a pathological liar with no direction in life. Goddess of Peace and God of Chaos were the titles they were given. One was named Miracle, and the other was titled Disaster. While Miracle was praised for her existence, Disaster was feared for the unsuspecting danger he wrought. Disaster waged war after war, started feuds among the most bonded friends, and caused one storm after another. Despite all his fuss, Miracle always consoled him. Then, it started all over again, like a cycle of peace and chaos. At the end of the story, a dandelion would sprout from the barren land, its vibrant green tainting the darkest era. That is what we would call our hope in a world where light couldn''t shine. People around me have told me it was quite a depressing image, but I believe it is more beautiful and glorious than any flourishing field. No painting of heaven''s gardens could ever replicate the message behind the single flower in the middle of a battlefield. That, my readers, is peace in the dreariest times of our lives. I''d like to say that I strive to give hope with my words, despite my inability to convey my heart to others as Zion does. Zion¡ªa man like a saint, but more like a god. Each morning, I would crawl out of my bed, open the curtains, and bask in the dim sunlight of winter. Then, I would return to my sheets and receive my breakfast. Typically, I had a glass of milk with all sorts of fruits, bread, and some smoked meat. Sometimes, I''d have butter or jam with the bread. Occasionally, I would have chocolate pudding. Oh, how I treasured that pudding when I had it! Before all those foods, I''d have my supplements. There were numerous pills I needed to wash down with the milk. I had to have my blood pressure taken, and then I needed to carefully measure my weight and height. They never improved. I always had a vitamin deficiency, so my meals had to consist of hearty foods. The pudding had to go. I had a decent height at five foot six, but my weight was never proportioned with how tall I was. I was thin, and although I consistently had at least ten hours of sleep, I always looked exhausted. Dark circles hung under my hazelnut eyes, and my lips were chapped, peeling away like dried school glue on the skin. Blood had already deserted the apples of my cheeks, and it wasn''t long before the children next door referred to me as "Miss Ghost." Don''t pity me. I don''t want that. I want to keep lying to myself. "Miss Gardener¡ª" Please, let me live my lie! I could feel myself becoming delirious with the maliciousness that teased away at my soul. However, I did not allow myself to be subdued so effortlessly. My heart throbbed like the sounding of a gong. It prepared me for a war that needed to be fought¡ªa battle that needed to be won no matter what. A distinct knock sounded around in the room, shocking me back into reality. My head snapped towards its origin. Then, I crept to my feet and wobbled over to the door. I opened it slightly, seeing a familiar shadowy silhouette. The young man tried hard not to appear rude and overbearing. Despite this, I giggled at his suit and tie and combed back hair. It was pouring, and believe me, he was soaked head to toe. "I brought flowers. I wanted to...say sorry for what I said last time," Zion bashfully admitted. "Flowers?" I asked, looking at the colorful bouquet he held in his hands. "Yeah, a few roses, tulips, and daisies," he told me. He handed them to me, and I reached out to grab them. I trembled as I did and hugged them with my skinny arms. "Thank you. I''ve already forgiven you. Come in for a moment. I still want to show you my book. I didn''t get a chance last time," I said with a wide smile. "Really?" Zion asked, his eyes glazing over. "Yes, unless you''re afraid of weeds," I joked and whisked to my bedside for a copy of the cherished novel. I placed the thick book into his hands, trading the novel for the bouquet. "Once you''ve read it, let me know what you think of it. I take criticism well, you know? Also, being called a weed is a pretty feeble insult. You could do better next time," I said to him firmly. "Next time? I''m not going to insult you again," Zion argued, twisting his eyebrows. "Don''t say that. It''s not the first time you''ve done this. I like the flowers. Make sure to bring another bouquet for your next visit." He gave me a sigh, and I waved him goodbye as he departed with the novel wrapped tightly in his arms. A salty tear trickled down my powdered face. The makeup that masked my illness dripped down onto my dress in a melting mess. "Miss Gardener, I''m afraid you don''t have much longer," the voice echoed. I choked on the salty taste of the liquid that rolled down my bony cheeks to my chin. I wiped and cleaned the canvas of my face to start afresh¡ªto pretend for another day. Zion is going to need the flowers. By the next time he visits me, he will wish he had them¡ªregardless if I could hold them. We met while I was at a hospital counter. I recall desperately trying to sort out my personal information for my appointment. Zion was a newly employed doctor, running to and fro for another patient. The moment he laid his eyes on me, perhaps, he knew I didn''t have much time left. I didn''t know his motive in trying to be friendly with me, trying to lessen the loneliness I deserved. For if you didn''t realize, dear reader, I lived in a room in a clinic. My bed belonged to the hospital, my food was supplied by the nurses, and, most of all, my dress was a plain hospital gown. The very makeup that painted my face was a doctor''s mask I stole. Yet, I continued to live my lie as if it were my life. For twenty-five years, I, Lionne Gardener, have been so heartachingly miserable. It was past time for me to leave this world and appear again in another thousand years. I am but a stain on this world''s canvas. I do not belong where peace must remain. I couldn''t hold on any longer in the darkness that enveloped my soul. That rope I used to reach to climb out of such oblivion was no longer there. Drowning in my tears, fighting battles alone, and purging my black heart of all the impurities that I eventually placed on others. I was always a burden to my dear sister. She, who was able to banish evil spirits and replace them with good, was who I disgustingly called my sibling. How could I call her my sister, knowing how horrible I am? Miracle, Goddess of Peace, please, have mercy on me! I repent! I do! ... Zion believed that his life was meant to bring torture upon others and crime among innocence. He was the only god that remembered the past¡ªnot very clear, but it haunted him day by day. Imagine being the reason why the world suffered, cried, and felt immense pain. That heavy guilt crushed his mind and burned at his eyes when he sobbed. Cry. Cry. Keep crying. He resolved to fight and find an end to this madness that tore away at him, so when he brought home the Ph.D.¡ªto the surprise of the parents that adopted him, he had found a passion that pulsed so reverently in his body. The challenges broke away one by one, and soon, he had conquered all, except his missing sister. The words "separated at birth" would strike any sad strings in any ears, but what could be worse than learning your sister had been hospitalized all this time? "What is this? Is this...is this her way of telling me that it is all my fault?" Zion questioned the book that he had finished reading in his study. He was mixed in emotions, struggling to distinguish the truth held in the precious pages that his sister wrote so diligently. Zion always had a suspicion that she was lying to him about not remembering everything¡ªjust to make himself feel better. One thing that never made any sense was why she would do such a thing. She was the Goddess of Peace. She couldn''t tell lies even if it saved others. He knew so well of this little detail about her. Yet, he denied it. It couldn''t be right because he knew for a fact that he deserved the punishment for his past lives'' crimes. Zion must have remembered wrong. He continued to tell himself this as if it were some routine¡ªsome prayer to reassure himself that it was okay. ... You, who had always tried to be kind and generous, are now trying to atone for sins. These such sins were never yours, dear Zion. You are someone else in this life. ... When he heard the news, his face grew pale, and his hands trembled with fear. There was no time to ask his sister any questions. Zion had to be by her side as soon as possible. That was all that mattered to him at that very moment. "Hey, Miracle, wake up," he said desperately, "you can''t sleep now!" Me? Miracle? What is he talking about? My thoughts were short, and the world continued to move too quickly to comprehend. I can''t be Miracle. If I were Miracle, I wouldn''t be like this. I wouldn''t be in pain like this. "Keep breathing. Everything will be alright. Your heart rate...! Miracle, it''s drastically slowing down! Nurse, get some warm water immediately!" Zion demanded. The room was filled with warped images of people rushing about in urgency. It was the wind before the storm that brushed my cheek softly. It could also be the last few droplets before the rainbow. I have no choice! I have to...I have to tell him the truth before it is too late. I can''t pretend any longer. With the last of my energy, I mustered up the will to speak a few sentences. I had made my mind up about this long ago. A tear trickled down my cheek as I watched him hold my hand so desperately. "I¡ªI''m sorry I lied about forgetting you, Miracle. Just smile for me, okay? Don''t worry about me, okay?" I said with a strained throat and heavily raspy breathing. Zion instantly noticed how I called him by the wrong name¡ªbut is it wrong? "Miracle? You know I''m not Miracle.... Just wait a bit longer! She''s entering cardiac arrest!" he yelled frantically to a couple more people. My eyes fluttered, and my voice slipped away. It was all too late. The machine flatlined with a dull ringing, and everyone in the room was in morbid silence. Only the mournful sobs let me take my last breath¡ªin regret. "It doesn''t matter what anyone says, but Lionne, you are my miracle. You are my dandelion miracle. You''re not alone. Next time...next time, we''ll find each other, and it''ll be different. I won''t let it end like this. We won''t." Lionne Gardener December 25, 1994 - January 12, 2021 Born as one of the two. A beautiful dandelion. "I said; don''t pluck the dandelions." "Why can''t I pick them? They''re just weeds. They''re not meant to be in this pretty garden," the little child told him. "Leave them be. No matter how hard you try to purge dandelions, they will never go away. Believe me, I''ve tried, but I guess I''ve learned to live with that," the elderly man told her. "Ah, come on, old grandpa! Don''t get all filled with wisdom all of a sudden!" the girl scolded him. "I don''t. Ask the Goddess of Peace about that in a thousand years. Now, let me plant these sunflowers," the old man said. The girl bent down and intently watched as he dug out a little hole for the sprouts. There was a glimmering passion in the elderly man''s eyes. "You really do love flowers," the girl laughed. "Of course. A beautiful flower was once my sister." January 11, 2021 Dear Brother, I gave you this book hoping you would understand that it wasn''t your fault¡ªfor I am truly sorry I am the pathological liar that I am. I tried to pretend I was as pure and innocent as you''ve always been, but I realized I was wrong. I spent years of this life perfecting my novel to confess my errors and start anew. But still, you didn''t understand. What you never knew, my precious brother, was that you were Miracle and I was Disaster. I''m sorry it had to be this way. Don''t wait for me. I will come back very soon. Go on and live without pain. I should have told you so long ago, Miracle. I should have said that I love you. Your little dandelion, Lionne Gardener "Never Fade" by Erii Snow settled after a passing blizzard struck a sizable city. The snow-capped mountain range lingered in the background of an old manor lost to time. A few icicles adorned the stone railing, matching the crystalized surface of the patio. A young Elven woman''s steely eyes looked past the city limit, weeping silently. Her silver hair tied into a messy bun with fringes contoured her slender face. She was at the bedside of her ailing mother, who observed her daughter without an utterance. Her daughter''s hand gripped her hand firmly, but delicately, while her attention wandered elsewhere. The older woman had aged with youthful grace. Her soft blue eyes crinkled, paired with a widened smile upon her face. She took a deep breath as she caressed her hand. Her long gray hair flowed along with the cover of her red bedsheets. The large bed took up a decent space in the room. She looked at the young Elven woman, wondering what she thought. "Enne," the old woman spoke with a brittle tone. "Yes, Mother," her daughter responded with a cracked voice. The woman met streaming tears from her daughter as she cleared her throat. Enne was the product of forbidden love, one between an Elven father and a human mother. Elves lived well beyond human years. While Enne appeared to be a young adult at sixty, her mother reached a ripe age of eighty-five. "I know this isn''t easy on you or your brother," her mother acknowledged. "But this is the way of life." "The way of life, huh," the Elven daughter muttered. "Your father¡ª" "Should be here with us, including Mathias! We should be here in solidarity!" "Those two have always looked at the world differently. Maybe this is a way of coping for them?" Enne let go of her mother''s hand. Her mother awaited her daughter''s response but met silence. Meanwhile, the young elf processed the strange differences of mortality that distinguished humans and elves. How odd was it to see your aging mother succumb to bodily dysfunction when she maintained the appearance of a young adult for decades? What kind of curse did the goddess cast upon humanity, whereas Elves lived for several millennia? "Yeah, but how about how you feel?" Enne asked. Her mother''s wary eyes looked back, hoping to provide an answer of comfort. A warm smile came with audible laughter. The half-elf looked on as her mother regained her composure. Her light-hearted laughter usually put her at ease, melting away the insecurities of her world. "What''s so funny?" The old woman''s eyes trailed off to the frost-covered window. Beyond the glassy frame was the city she grew up in. In her condition, she wasn''t able to walk, but she didn''t have to; the memories of her youth lingered fresh in her mind. The good times, the bad times, the transitions of life she had the privilege to live through. Enne didn''t rush her mother, knowing her mind drifted. "I wonder why is it that I don''t feel anything," her mother answered. "Considering I''m at death''s door. I''ve lived a long life, more than I could''ve ever imagined. I''ve served the community and made it better. But my greatest accomplishment was you and Mathias. A part of me lives on with you two and your children too. Death isn''t the end. It is just a part of a cycle." "If only we could break that." "And what for, dear?" "So no one has to feel hurt over losing someone they love. No one thinks about it until it hits." "What is life without pain or trial?" The young elf glanced at her mother, finding a sense of peace in her eyes. She wasn''t afraid of the inevitable, but she knew the mask she wore was deceiving. The elder was filled with dread and doubt. What awaited her beyond the physical senses of life? Was it an end or a new beginning? Such was life, a bundle of mysteries, where there were more questions raised than answered. "The best of us arise when we challenge ourselves," her mother answered. "Death should not stop us from achieving what we want. Imagine if your father didn''t continue to lead the city? What if he wandered the world after arriving from his home world? We would''ve never met. You and Mathias wouldn''t be here." "I...suppose you''re right," her daughter bowed. "Am I?" "You speak from experience. You''ve lived a much different life than I had. I''ll never know what it is to grow up hungry or worry about warmth and shelter. From where I stand, I come from a life blessed with privilege. I can exist without a worry in the world." "That''s where you''re misled. You''re ripe with your own experiences, and maybe you''ll see things beyond my world. Your experiences will outshine mine because you''ll see the world in a much different light." "That''s...not true. I still have a lot to learn." "That''s the attitude I like." "Huh?" She raised her head to see her mother''s wrinkled smile. "Everyone experiences hardship on their own terms. Not everything has to be a physical challenge. It''s certainly a mental affair. You can see when someone is tired or hungry, but it''s harder to tell how they feel unless you really take the time to observe them. Right now, you''re staying strong, but I''m sure you''re a mess inside."The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. "And you''re not?" "Well, of course, I am. I am on my deathbed after all." "You aren''t acting like it." "It just comes to a full circle. I''m done with all the pain and hardship. My only concern is my family and how they''ll cope without me. That''s where it really hurts. I''ve seen you two grow up to be fine young adults." Her mother nodded as her smile wavered under the trail of tears along her age-spotted cheeks. She wiped them away with loose sleeves, drafting against her frail forearms. Enne was reminded of the fragile life of a human. She thought it to be unfair that the goddess would favor one race over the other. How was this equality when they were all the goddesses'' children? "People come and go," Her mother continued. "It''s more of the reason to cherish these moments we have with one another. This pain reminds us of how important bonds are. I remember how bossy you were as a child¡ª" "M-Mother," Enne flushed to her mother''s chuckle. "What? I always found it charming. You haven''t changed a bit, always going off and doing your own thing. For the good of the community." "You taught me to be a civil member of society. One shouldn''t squander one''s potential." Her mother nodded. "Then, I did my job as a parent." The half-elf''s smile couldn''t overcome the set frown she had. Her mother worked her entire life to ensure a prosperous outlook in the quiet city they resided. Enne looked toward the city, wondering what the future held. She knew one day her father would pass too, leaving the city in the hands of her brother and herself. Her mind raced with different perspectives, but she knew she would have to take the mantle. Her mother sensed the uneasiness within her daughter, whose downcast eyes searched for meaning. "Enne," she spoke, meeting her daughter''s eyes. "You''ll do fine without me." "How can you say that?" she asked with a trembling voice. "You make it seem like this is nothing¡ªlike it won''t hurt me to see you go. You expect me to take this with stride?" "Acceptance. Acceptance of what is and whatever shall be. If I could live any longer, who could take charge then?" Her daughter''s eyes glanced away, conceding to the point. "Life and death grants opportunities for a different perspective, for better or worse. That is why I''ve always stressed about doing my best to set an example for you and Mathias. Being a leader isn''t about basing things on metrics or delegating, but compassion. The world looks at you differently because you look a little different. And so what? No one has a monopoly on building a community. To me, you''ll always be my beloved daughter." "Even in the face of uncertainty, you always find something positive." "Makes it all the more bearable, don''t you think?" Enne nodded as her body tensed. She withheld her tears, but her mother wanted to discourage it. Experiencing one''s emotions was the most crucial thing to understand the world around them. This was how her mother chose to reign since she grew up in harsh conditions. The city was no paradise before the Elven lord arrived. He was cold and cruel, but it wavered in the face of her southern charm. "Strength is being able to feel your emotions, Enne," she reminded. Her daughter didn''t answer. She wanted to find peace in her mother''s dying days. She wondered how anyone could accept fate, but she missed most of her mother''s point. Enne looked upon her mother''s frail hands, imagining reaching an age like that. Although her father was thousands of years old, he looked like someone in their early fifties. She wondered what the future would hold, what her legacy would be once she reached an advanced age. But the thought of losing people she loved as she advanced far beyond human years terrified the young half-elf. Her hands trembled, but her mother reached out to hold her hand. Its warmth provided comfort that escaped her while Enne observed the deterioration of her mother''s health. The young woman cried by her mother''s bedside. The ailing mother caressed her hand with a heavy heart. The fear went away for a moment. "Just let it out," her mother insisted, meeting her daughter''s watery eyes. "It''s¡ª" "No." She lifted her head. "No. No, I can''t. I won''t see you again!" Her mother paused, seeing the surprising ferocity in her silver eyes. "Maybe I''m selfish. I never put myself first when it comes to those I love." "I-I''m sorry, I¡ª" "It''s okay. Your anger isn''t misplaced, especially when things aren''t in our control. I should be more¡ª" The frail woman''s gaze looked upon the clouded window once more, seeing the gray skies. Her eyes sought something of comfort, acknowledging her daughter would heal with time. She knew there weren''t any words that could soothe the impending sorrow. The frail woman reflected as her daughter buried herself in her bedsheets, weeping silently. Death was at her door, but she didn''t fear it. She watched her daughter blossom into a strong young woman who stood proudly. She followed in her mother''s footsteps, albeit brasher than she. That was Enne, her daughter. As a mother, she had done all she could. "In the end," her mother''s voice shook, "I''ve lived a good life, a fulfilling one. I wouldn''t trade it for anything. The time we''ve shared, watching over you...I''d do it all over again¡ªgiven the chance. Someday, you''ll have your own children, and maybe you''ll understand that better. It sounds strange to say, but being a mother wasn''t something I ever looked forward to." Enne slowly looked up to find her mother''s tears, one of unmistakable joy. She leaned into her mother, embracing her with a hug. She didn''t want to let go but knew that she would have to. As her mother was ready to let go, she knew her daughter would become the person she had to be. She feared that her responsibilities would anchor her as Enne always looked up to her. This was her life and no one else. "Enne, please live your life the way you see fit," her mother said. "Never forget to find the spark within you that gives you joy. Duty can only fulfill so much. Nobody is born a guardian of a city¡ªthat''s too cruel of a destiny. It''s your life. Don''t you forget." Her daughter choked, withholding her response. She reached out to wipe the tears away from her silver eyes. Her wavering smile remained as she thought about the future. Enne held her mother''s hand close, not wanting to let go. Time would tell when her mother would depart, but her heart couldn''t bear the sight. "I''ll be gone," she thought aloud. "But, you''ll carry on." "Without you," her daughter responded. "No, I''ll always be within your heart." Her daughter processed what she said, understanding her perspective. She set her mother''s hand down as she collected herself. The moment pained her, but she knew she had to accept the vicious cycle of life. No amount of tears would change the outcome. The young woman had to face reality¡ªas her mother told her in the past. "People only ever truly die when you forget them. Don''t you forget that. No matter where you are in life, I''ll always be there as that inner voice, a reminder of what''s right and wrong. Even when I''m gone, just know a mother''s love is there." Enne gripped the hem of her dress. She realized she had no more tears as her silver eyes looked upon the set of blue eyes in front of her. The half-elf cracked a faint smile after taking a deep breath, a smile that surprised her mother. It was a rare sight, but she knew her daughter accepted what she said. "Promise me one thing." Her mother smiled back. "What''s that?" "Smile more often. Not seeing you scowl is a real treasure." "I will." "Wendigo" by Yelena When I was a child, I stared at the sky, eyes wide, and pondered about stars and stories yet told, and now I''m unsure if I''ll grow old. I had that dream again. It was distant, a memory that only existed when my eyes closed, the cold touch of frozen lips trailing along the arch of my spine. In my eyes, I saw a monster. At least, I want to say I saw one. It''s difficult to discern right from wrong¡ªtruth from fiction¡ªwhen my memories are hazier than the roughest blizzard. "That reflection is an apparition, a creature made from muddled thoughts that make no sense. You do not make sense. Therefore, we will not agree with you." There was no truth to that monster, or so they told me. And it made no sense to me. That I could somehow see a ghost, no, a phantom, a creature that only existed in the wide-eyed eyes of a child who couldn''t explain its repulsive appearance. I stuttered and stammered when the world asked for an answer. They were too harsh¡ªtoo quick with their questions.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Ignoring my pleas, they buried me under an avalanche of over-eager problems, forcing me to relive memories of a frigid starry night. I wanted to die, to escape the cold that was pulling me under the tide. They said: the truth is, there''s no such thing as monsters. That, unless I can recall the time and place where I gasped for air, there was no such thing as monsters. They asked if I didn''t try to escape, and I remembered that creature''s frozen breath along my nape. Pleading for my life was useless because that monster didn''t view me as a living thing. How else would it have found it so easy to sink his claws into my flesh and throw me around like a child''s plaything? And after that, for a while, I was no longer a living thing. No longer did I view the endless white of winter with wonder. "You''ve changed, and you no longer appeal to us. Therefore, we turn our heels away from you." I wonder if I can escape this feeling. Always hearing its footsteps in the corner of the room, its heaving breaths combined with howling winds. Shadows that linger when the light flickers, but it''s only in my mind. I reassure myself that''s the only reason why the corners of my eyes show a figure that escapes when I look twice. "Why escape your vice? Why not give in to that which consumes you and become the monster you''ve grown to fear?" There are no monsters, I desperately remind myself. And so, there''s nothing left. Just an empty house¡ªlights struck out¡ªand a woman clinging to her pen. I hope there comes a day when that monster''s beastly cries don''t haunt the night, and winter''s snow is innocent again. "Wrens Wintertide" by xxblack_starlightsxx On the first day that fall changes to winter, the winter prince would be awakened by his brother to trade places. "Arise, Winter Prince, it is time for your season and time for my slumber," Prince Ember announced as he bid his season farewell. The winter prince opened his eyes and was greeted by his awaiting subjects. It is customary that each seasonal royal speaks their season into and out of existence. Without delay, the winter prince recited his lines, "I, Prince Wren of Winter, claim my season. Fall''s time has passed, and winter is here." As one season fades into another, one gains power as the other loses it. The more the winter prince felt his powers growing, the less he felt his brother''s presence. Soon, the forest was covered in snow and ice, burying any trace of fall beneath it. The cold air was comforting to Wren. It reminded him that he was one with his nature, yet he did not feel whole. There was one thing missing in the prince''s life, a companion to share his time with. He was truly the prince of everything cold, not by choice, but by birthright. Prince Wren''s heart was filled with love for this kingdom and his people. There was not one creature he loved more than another. To him, every creature was cared for equally, and thus, none made his heart flutter. As a benevolent ruler, he was a great protector to his people during his season. Humans were the only beings that the prince showed no mercy to. As a child, his parents, the king and queen of all seasons, had told him and his siblings many stories of how monstrous humans have been throughout the centuries. As the prince grew of age to fulfill his duties, he witnessed what deeds humans would do to achieve their desires. It was at those moments that his father''s words would ring true. "They take what they want and destroy what they cannot have." It is the prince''s job to ensure that the creatures of his kingdom remain hidden and safe from the destructive humans. It is a rule that humans are to be killed on sight if they delved too deep into the forest. There was only one human that was an exception to this rule. Normally, there would be no exceptions, but this human was different. She teetered between life and death in the eyes of the prince. The only reason he permitted her return to this part of the forest was because the king of seasons and the humans agreed on the border many moons ago. The big lake. As far as the prince knew, he was the only one that knew about this little human girl. None of his siblings claimed to see her, but it was understood that if they saw her during their season...she would perish. And for that, she was his secret. The prince could kill her whenever he wanted. Each time she crossed over to their side of the lake, his muscles would tense up, waiting to see if she would stay. It became a game for him: kill the human or let her live, weaken the ice to drown the monster or thicken the ice under her feet. The prince found her to be more and more intriguing as he looked on. He could not take his eyes off of her. She was a habitual human that came to the lake at sunrise and would leave before sunset. Curiosity always seemed to get the best of these monsters¡ªbut not her. She never went past the lake. All she cared about was dancing on ice. Every winter, the lake would freeze over with thick layers of ice and, without fail, she would glide along its smooth surface. Eventually, Wren added a new rule his subjects were to follow during his season: "No creature is to approach the borderland." No one thought to question the prince, for they knew he valued their safety. There was no reason for them to go so close to the border anyway. Humans were not creatures to be near. The winter prince knew this to be true but still, he went to the lake and watched her skate. At first, the winter prince would simply look onward, but as the years went by, he wanted to skate with her. He wanted to be near her. Having these feelings for a human was unheard of, but what Prince Wren didn''t know is that love doesn''t care about rationality. The first heartbeat of romantic love is something everyone experiences, and the prince was no different. To separate himself from this unexplainable feeling, Wren decided that, at the lake, he was not a prince. At the lake, he would have no title. He would simply be Wren. This eased Wren''s mind and allowed him to enjoy being in her presence. The lake became their spot. The king of all seasons had three rules his four children must follow to be next in line for the throne: Follow the duration of your respective seasons.Pick a companion that makes your heart skip a beat.Humans must not be trusted. Wren could feel that his season was almost up. It frustrated him that he was nowhere closer to his goal. If only he had more time, if only winter could last a little longer. Maybe then he could skate with her. The prince''s subjects began to worry. The time for winter to end was near and the season was not fading this year. Instead, it grew stronger, and the prince was nowhere to be found. Panic filled the kingdom. "The kingdom is without its winter prince!" "Who will wake up Princess Nasima of Spring?" "Someone find the king and queen, only they can fix this madness!" Wren had grown too weak. His season was supposed to end today or was it supposed to end yesterday? The winter prince was losing track of time. With each passing day, his powers were leaving him and slumber became more inviting. It has been days since he returned to the kingdom. He knew that if he returned to the kingdom his season would end and spring would begin. Things would be the way it should be. Time would pass him by as he slumbered and he would awake again to another winter. Time was not something the winter prince could afford to let pass him by. The life cycle of humans was different from the seasons. Every winter, Wren saw a change in the human girl. She would come back to the lake, skating better than she did the winter before. She also got older, her features became more defined. No longer was she this clumsy little thing that fell on the ice or screamed in frustration. She was now a confident woman that mastered the art of dancing on ice. For the winter prince, he remained the same, only aging by a little each time he woke for his turn. Finally, it seemed like they were the same age in looks, not maturity. Wren was sure that he was younger than the human, for he lived only once a year while she lived through every season. He could approach her without fear of her running away. Knowing this, he could not let another winter pass him by. Gathering the last of his strength, the winter prince stepped out of hiding. She still had not noticed him, for she was dancing with her eyes closed. This was the closest Wren has ever been near her. When he got on the ice, he stood and examined her beauty closely. She was even more breathtaking up close. His eyes watched her as she approached him, blind to the fact that he was standing a few feet in front of her. She twirled in one spot at such a speed her hair whirled around her.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. And then she disappeared into the lake. "No!" the winter prince cried. Everything was melting. His season was over by force. This cannot be how things end. He could not lose her. As the ice shattered beneath him, the winter prince made his way to the hole in the lake. His only thoughts were of how to save his human. In fear that he would kill his human, he sent a cold wind to entrap her. The winter prince''s feet were sinking as he pulled the wind bubble closer to the surface. His season was fading fast. Spring was fixing the imbalance Wren created out of his selfish desire. Diving into the water, he commanded everything to freeze in place. He needed to get to her. The winter prince made his way to where the wind bubble left a dip in the lake. She laid there shaking uncontrollably. In a trembling whisper, she asked, "Who are you?" Throwing his coat over her, he answered her question. "I am Wren, the winter prince." "I know you," were the last words she uttered softly before going still. Her words stunned him but there was no time to ponder on the where and how. He needed to get her somewhere safe. Princess Nasima was looking for him. The last thing he wanted was to face his sister''s wrath for another rule violation. The safest place for the human in his arms was her side of the forest. Worrying about his health and safety can come later. ... The princess of Spring had a lot of work to do thanks to her disobedient brother. A royal not willing to relinquish their season was unheard of. The spring princess demanded answers to this oddity. Something changed the prince of winter and she would find it and him. Nasima was eager to look for her brother but the kingdom came first. "I, Princess Nasima of Spring, claim my season. Winter''s time has passed and spring is here." ... Her breathing was steady which was a good sign. The winter prince had successfully carried his human to the other side. Each step weighed on him more than the last. He no longer had the energy to move. Ignoring the call of sleep, he focused on his new goal. Buy the human enough time to wake up. Resting her down on the ground next to him, the winter prince began to chuckle to himself. Such an interesting winter it had been for him. Here he was sitting on the ground, during a season that was not his, with a monster he took an oath he would kill. Oh, how laughable this situation was. The winter prince gave a light chuckle to himself and looked at the sleeping human next to him. His coat hung on her loosely, showing how much bigger he was compared to her feminine frame. She was no longer shaking which the winter prince took as a sign that his coat''s powers were working. Each royals'' clothing was made from material befitting their season. It was made from special fibers that were infused with his being. Wren''s clothes had saved him many times from fatal harm. He was happy to see that it did the same for the human. Looking down at her, Wren spoke out loud, "Such a lucky little human you are. The coat you are bundled up in has absorbed enough of my powers to last me a few more hours to live outside of my season." "Shouldn''t you use it on yourself? You look pale," came a reply. She was awake! Wren examined her with his eyes. Wren, although pleased that the human was fine, chose to keep his guard up in front of her. Weaken or not, he was still the winter prince and she was a human. Casting a glance at her, the winter prince began questioning his captive human. "So, tell me what you are called, human." "My name is Meara." "How do you know me?" Meara gazed into the winter prince''s cold eyes. She knew he would not believe her because she could not believe that they were meeting again. It was clear to her that she had changed a great deal while the winter prince looked relatively the same. The best way to talk to the prince was by answering his questions with the truth. "You saved me from harm in this very forest when I was five-years-old." Meara''s eyes told the winter prince that she was telling the truth. The more he listened to her account of the past, the more he recalled how their encounter transpired. It was during his fifth winter as being the winter royal. It was rumored that members of his court began a game called ''human picking'' where they would venture into the humans'' part of the forest and hunt them. The queen of seasons urged her children to put a stop to this as it violated their treaty with the humans. The punishment for this act of treason was death. As that winter went on, it didn''t take long for the prince to find the guilty servants. He followed their tracks into the humans'' territory. As the winter prince moved closer there became no need to follow their footprints in the snow. Instead, he followed their laughter and their prey''s screams. Wren could not be more disgusted when he learned that they were hunting a small human child. Angered by their disobedience and poor choice of fun, he froze them in place. They made interesting ice sculptures if he recalled correctly. It was Meara''s final words that reassured him that she was indeed the small human child of that winter. "And you told me that I was special. That there was no one like me, and that''s why I kept coming back to this forest." Wren let out a hearty chuckle that hurt his heart in more ways than one. From his point of view, he called her special because he knew the meaning behind his actions. If they were in the king''s territory he would have killed his servants and her, but Meara saw it as a hero coming to the aid of someone in trouble. The same human he would have killed is the same human he adored. How much fun fate must be having watching the two of them all this time. The prince felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. He was beyond his limit. Meara, though pleased that she could finally meet her savior, knew that the prince needed to return to his kingdom. She feared that if she did not convince him to go back that this would be their last winter together. "You must go back," Meara pleaded. "I...cannot...move," he said through heavy breaths. Meara''s concern heightened. She was going to lose him if she did not act quickly but what could she do? She did not have any powers or special clothing. All she had were her skates. It was then an idea struck her. It was perfect, but the outcome would not be to the winter prince''s liking. ... The spring princess did it. She brought order back to the kingdom and by extension the seasons. The only task left was to find her foolish brother. Nasima looked throughout the land for her brother but he was nowhere to be found. Where could he be hiding? As she questioned the whereabouts of the winter prince, a thought came to mind. What if he could not be found by his subjects but only by a fellow royal. Meditating on that thought, there was only one place left to check. The big lake. There was nothing at the lake which was of no surprise to the spring princess. There was no human foolish enough to come all the way out here. Surveying the border, the spring princess saw something...unusual sticking out of one of the trees near the lake. It was her brother''s coat pinned to the tree with a broken blade on the other side of the lake¡ªon the human side of the lake. Those sadistic creatures stripped her brother of his armor and dared to hang it up like a trophy on the other side. It made sense why his season blazed on like a storm. It was fueled by his anger and desire to live! The spring princess was enraged that humans took her brother but was relieved that he did not go willingly. Or so she assumed. ... Meara''s plan seemed to be working perfectly. She could feel sweat forming on her body. The little winter patch that the prince had made was melting. The princess of spring was close. Meara looked at Prince Wren with sadness in her eyes. The prince could tell through his haze that Meara was about to say something he would not like. "I''m sorry things have to end this way. I''ve caused you so much trouble. I should have stopped coming to the forest the first time you warned me." Wren raised his hand to caress her cheek. "I am solely to blame. I should have continued to watch you from afar, but my love for you drove me to become greedy." Meara didn''t know what to say. He admitted that he loved her. He loved her enough to risk everything to be with her. And she would do the same for him. It was time to go. Their sweet whispers of nothing would be something Meara would think about for years to come. Placing her blood-stained left skate in his hand, she bid him farewell with a kiss. It was hard to walk away from him, but they would meet again. The winter prince could not stop her. No matter how many times he called for her, she did not answer. Soon, he could not even speak. The winter prince simply waited for whatever would happen to him next. "I have found you, Brother." Thank you to everyone! Thank you... Special thank you to everyone who contributed to this anthology. It has been a busy few weeks juggling this project with our own lives. Exams and extracurriculars especially busied the typesetter. We hope everyone has an amazing 2021 with lots of love and happiness. We hope that, despite the past year''s predicaments and struggles, we can make a change for a positive future. Some deserved praise... With that, we''d like to specifically shine the spotlight on Linzz, who was the sole artist of all art entries included within this anthology. Her art is brilliant and she definitely deserves some praise for her hard work. You may check out more of her beautiful artwork from @linzzchrono on Instagram! As seen amongst the selections of writings from the anthology, the themes surround loss of family, fear, and love.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Dandelion Miracles, surrounding the reincarnation of the Goddess of Peace and the God of Disaster, tells of the two former sibling gods reincarnating in a hospital setting. The story definitely managed to strike some sad strings with its concept. We can tell it was well thought-out, performing exceptionally well in conveying the feelings of anguish, regret, and loss. Then, we have Never Fade, which includes the heart-wrenching exchanges of a half-Elven daughter by her human mother''s deathbed. The work manages to cover the feelings of uncertainty after losing a parent, moving forward independently, and accepting the short cycle of life that humanity bestows. The ending was warm and left our editors with bittersweet emotions. As for Wendigo, the author did a great job in expressing the fright of the narrator and creating an ominous atmosphere with her flowery prose. It was a short, yet mysterious, poem worth reading. The meaning of the poem is very flexible, with multiple interpretations by our editors. Did a Wendigo truly attack her, or did something else? Was it all a delusion? Who will know? Last, but not least, Wren''s Wintertide, a story that took the themes of winter and wound them around the forbidden love of a human girl and the winter prince. The author has done an excellent job manifesting the yearn for change and the maintenance of originality between the two seasonal royals shown in the story, Prince Wren and Princess Nasima.