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It’s snowing.
She doesn’t know how she knows its name, or how she relates it to the ache in her chest, but she knows it’s snowing nonetheless.
Cold creeps into her limbs, keeping her rooted to the ground, and dulling her senses.
It’s hard to think like this.
She’s not sure how long she lays there, with aches that feel far too old, and gasps of air that sound wrong in her throat. Trying to move is like sifting through glass with bare skin, sharp and piercing in all the places it shouldn’t be.
Again, she can’t understand how she makes these connections, contradicting thoughts flit to and from her mind with such speed that it makes her dizzy, but she holds on to them nonetheless.
They’re the only things she has right now.
She’s not sure how long she lays there letting the snow blur her vision. It’s a brilliant dance of white, one she can’t help but absorb and commit to memory. Everything else is silt and water, slipping away even while held tight. This, however, is something she believes she can hold on to.
Eventually, something urges her forward.
No, not forward.
Upward.
The thought is pushed on her so strongly, so viscerally , that she almost believes she says it aloud. She tries to force herself up with her back alone, gritting her teeth as fire grips every part of her body.
Not even an inch from the ground, and she’s already falling back to meet it.
She is commanded again; upward.
This time, she rolls onto her side. The pain is still immense, but the energy needed to push it aside is less. She gets halfway, stopping just on her side, before she needs to rest. From this angle, though, she can see more of the world around her.
Tall walls of stone and wood rise above her on each side, with the eyes being drawn by their length to a single exit. She can see lights against the snow, and if she calms her breathing enough; she can hear whispers of laughter.
Gritting her teeth, she moves again, before she can be bid to do so.
With her hands beneath her, she puts everything she has into getting herself off the ground. It takes a long, long time, with multiple moments where she thinks she’ll crash right back to the cobbled ground.
It hurts , and she sheds unbidden tears in droves, but eventually; she manages to get to her feet. Even then, she still stumbles forward. Her brows furrow as she catches the wall, as she needs its support to even think about continuing forward.
The steps feel wrong, and the movement feels wrong. Each step catches in a different way than she’s expecting, and the fog around her thoughts just refuses to disappear. Still, she was beckoned forward, so her movement couldn’t cease.
Reaching the only destination she can see isn’t easy, with each step being its own form of hell, but she makes it regardless.
What she sees upon reaching it is enough to take her breath away.
Floating lights against the falling snow, other people roaming the streets with thick clothing and smiles plastered across their faces. They walk in groups of two, three, and even more, all looking up at the floating lights as if they were a natural occurrence.
Turning toward one end of the street, she sees a man with multi-colored orbs dancing over his palms in the most unnatural of ways. They fly to and fro, darting through the air in patterns that should have been impossible.
As if by magic.
Eventually, she manages to tear her gaze away. Nothing immediately catches her attention, and the little voice telling her to move has gone silent. All she can really notice now is the chill against her skin and the stares of some people as they pass by.
She moves quickly after that, forcing herself to walk through pain and discomfort to get away from the odd looks. Even when the pain in her legs finally begins to dull, moving is hard. The clothes she wears are ill-fitting, and damp, weighing her down enough for it to be noticeable.
There isn’t a solid marker for how long she walks, as the clouds obscure the sun, and no one seems to be giving her the time of day. To some, she’s invisible, while being all too obvious to the rest.
She hates it, walking beneath their scrutiny.
For someone who is seemingly all too visible, she feels much too small.
Only when she’s walked so much that her feet begin to hurt again does she stop. She doesn’t dare let herself slide down the nearby wall. Afraid that, if she does; she might not be able to get back up again.
So, she stands there for a while, her hand burning as she puts her weight on the wall. Fatigue passes back into pain, the pain allows for thought, and thought allows her to take her first lick of anger.
Everything is slipping away from her, nothing is staying still for her to grasp.
Names, places, people, things she feels as if she should know ; she can remember the words, but nothing specific. Barely able to equate the snow to her earlier pain, she doesn’t even know how she managed to draw the conclusion.
There’s a part of her that wants to pound her fist into the wall, even though she knows it might make her scream. A moment where she can feel lightning pass underneath her skin, coiling and lashing out like a rampant storm.
It begs her to do something, to move. If she stops, if she listens, she almost feels that she can begin to understand the words that it’s trying to tell her.
Yet, that too eventually fades away from her.
She’s just about to scream when something stops her.
“Are you alright?”
She pauses, every single problem grinding to a halt in her eyes at that very moment. Unsure if the words are even directed at her, she turns, with difficulty, to face the source.
There’s nothing that catches her attention more than the gaze that greets her, or more specifically; the eyes that stare back at her. It’s like looking into a flame as it burns stolidly, resolute in its position, and soldiering along.
Even if she has no way of knowing, or even understanding, she knows that the eyes belong to someone far older than they could even begin to look.
The woman is tall, far taller than her, with hair blacker than the night itself. There’s nothing else truly remarkable about her, nothing that immediately calls to her besides the eyes, yet she manages to make her want to curl up into a ball and hide.
She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
A beat of silence passes before the woman reiterates herself to the younger girl, as neither is quite sure of the other.
“You’ve gotta be pretty cold, dressed like that.” The woman crosses her arms, drawing the girl’s attention to her thick coat as if she’s being mocked. “Are you alone?”
She says nothing.
“Are those the only clothes you have?” The woman tries a different approach, but still; the girl refuses to speak. Her mouth opens and closes in random intervals, like she may be trying to sound something out, but no words are readily apparent.
So, with her questions unanswered, the woman sighs. Running a hand through her hair, she considers the girl again. The girl’s short, clearly in pain, and judging by the clothes she wears, definitely freezing.
Yet, she’s barely even shivering.
A part of her says she could just offer her some money, maybe some food, and leave it at that. It’s not as if she doesn’t have the means, and she’s doing great on time so far.
It wouldn’t be an issue at all.
There’s another part of her, a far older and more curious part, however, that tells her to take a second look. The same part that’s telling her that this girl is far too familiar for it to be a coincidence, even if she can’t place it.
A tilt of her head later, and that’s exactly what she does.
Her eyes glow in a way that’s almost perfectly imperceptible. Although, the girl somehow manages to flinch the very moment that they do. She would frown at the implications if she weren’t a bit more wrapped up in deciphering something else.
Again, neither says a word for a while, just holding each other's gazes for different reasons. When the glow fades away, and the woman blinks a few times, only a single sound escapes her lips.
“Huh.”
It’s simple, not even a word, but it’s more than enough.
She asks another question, this one far warmer than the last.
“You got a name, kid?”
The girl twitches in response, clearly trying to come up with an answer to satisfy her curiosity. Nothing comes to her, however, and she can only look more and more frustrated as the words refuse to come.
“It’s okay, take all the time you need.” The woman offers a hand, which the girl stares at both cautiously and curiously. The hesitance is probably well deserved if what she saw is anything to go by, but she’s nothing if not patient.
When the girl looks back up to meet her eyes, she feels her own softening.
She can see something far too familiar in this girl.
“My home isn’t far from here, we can get you food and some better-fitting clothes.” She splays her fingers just a bit wider, making herself look as calm as she can. “Would you like that?”
Silence stretches again, as the girl looks between her face and hand multiple times. Her own hand comes up, slowly making its way toward her, only hesitant in the last few moments. The gears are turning in her head, the woman can see it clearly, but the need to make any more offers is completely done away with as the girl takes her hand.
She winces almost immediately as if burned, while the woman has to fight off an oncoming headache that threatens to make the rest of her day miserable. Neither pull away, however, and that’s what really counts.
“Name’s Nix, kid, nice to meetcha.” She offers the girl a wide grin, gesturing in the opposite direction with her chin to convey their path. “It’s not too long of a walk from here, think you can make it?”
The girl nods. Again, it’s hesitant, but at least it's there.
“Alright, let’s get you home, then.”
She turns, and that’s all it takes to send the girl falling to the ground.
Nix whirls around and is on her knees before she can even blink. The girl acts like a puppet with its strings cut, becoming completely limp against the ground. Despite that, she doesn’t complain or let out any sounds of annoyance.
She simply adjusts her stance, careful to avoid jostling her, and lifts the girl up into her arms the same way a mother would her child. It’s quick, and barely even taxing, as she feels lighter than a feather to Nix’s arms.
A sniffle escapes the girl, whether from the cold, pain, or something else like shame, she doesn’t know. Still, she jumps to soothe her before a second one can even think of escaping her shaking body.
“It’s alright.” She says softly as if speaking to her own child. “Tears are a good thing; they let us know we’re in pain. Pain tells us we’re still alive, which means we can still heal.”
She keeps walking down the side of the street, ignoring any odd looks that might have come her way. The girl’s trying to hide it, but looking away can’t hide the small sounds that escape her.
It puts a hole right in the woman’s heart.
“Don’t worry.” She murmurs, nearly whispering in the girl's ear. “If there’s anything I can do to help you reach that point, I will; that’s a promise.”
It was impossible to tell if the girl acknowledged her, or if she had simply fallen asleep. Either way, she had stopped crying completely.
That didn’t change anything she had said, though. There was not a single word that had left her mouth that was false.
She’d help her heal, and that was a promise she would stick to.
Even if it took her countless futures.
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