Freezing air sliced through Neriah’s lungs like shards of glass.
Rough hands shoved her forward, sending her sprawling onto the jagged, icy cobblestones of the courtyard.
Snow, heavy and unforgiving, immediately coated her bare arms and thin, threadbare shift.
"Get up, you worthless rat," Mother Vesper screamed, her voice cutting through the howling northern wind.
Shivering so violently her teeth clicked together, Neriah pushed herself up on scraped, bleeding palms.
St. Jude's Home for Lost Souls loomed over her, a massive gothic monstrosity of black basalt and weeping icicles that looked like jagged teeth.
Gargoyles sneered down from the roof, their frozen stone faces mirroring the cruelty of the woman standing over her.
"I'm sorry, Mother," Neriah whispered, her voice barely a squeak against the storm.
Cold sweat mingled with the melting snow on her forehead, stinging her eyes.
"Sorry does not scrub the hearths, nor does it pay for the gruel you consume," Vesper spat, marching toward her.
Heavy leather boots clicked rhythmically against the stone, a sound that always preceded pain in this godforsaken place.
Vesper’s face was twisted in a snarl, her yellowing teeth bared, her breath escaping in thick, sour plumes of gray mist.
She smelled of stale cabbage and cheap gin, a sickening combination that made Neriah’s stomach churn.
"Look at me when I speak to you, child!" Vesper roared, grabbing Neriah by her tangled, wet hair and forcing her chin upward.
Pain flared in Neriah's scalp, tears springing to her eyes as she stared into the headmistress's dark, bead-like eyes.
All she had ever wanted was to be good, to be quiet, to be invisible enough to escape the lash.
Every day she woke up before dawn, scrubbing floors until her knuckles bled, swallowing her hunger, hoping that her obedience would buy her safety.
But safety was a myth in the Empire of Velhar, especially for a nameless orphan.
"You think you can hide things from me?" Vesper sneered, her free hand diving into the pocket of Neriah's ragged apron.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized Neriah's chest.
"No, please!" she begged, finding a sudden, desperate strength to claw at Vesper's heavy wool sleeve.
"Let go of me! Please, don't!"
With a triumphant grunt, Vesper ripped her hand back, clutching a small, faded blue ribbon.
It was a simple thing, frayed at the edges and stained with years of dirt, but it was Neriah's only link to a past she couldn't remember.
Whenever the loneliness threatened to drown her, she would hold the ribbon, imagining a mother who had loved her, who had tied it into her hair with gentle fingers.
"What is this filth?" Vesper demanded, holding the ribbon up like a captured rodent.
"It’s mine," Neriah cried, reaching out with trembling, frostbitten fingers.
"My mother gave it to me. Please, Mother Vesper. I'll do extra chores. I'll clean the sewers. I won't eat for a week!"
Cruel amusement flickered in Vesper’s eyes as she watched the girl beg on her knees.
Slowly, deliberately, the woman unlatched the glass door of the brass lantern hanging from her belt.
Inside, a small yellow flame flickered against the draft, casting long, monstrous shadows on the snow.
"There are no mothers here, Neriah," Vesper whispered, her voice dropping to a dangerous quiet.
"You were abandoned because you are nothing. And nothing belongs to you."
Before Neriah could scream, Vesper dropped the blue ribbon directly into the flame.
Time seemed to slow down.
Neriah watched in mute horror as the fire licked the silk, the delicate blue thread blackening and curling.
Smoke, dark and bitter, rose into the freezing air as the ribbon crumbled into ash.
Vesper tipped the lantern, letting the charred remains drift onto the dirty, wet snow.
Something broke inside Neriah.
It was not a quiet break, but a violent shattering of her very soul.
Every ounce of hope, every prayer she had whispered into the dark, every drop of obedience she had offered to this cruel world evaporated.
She had tried so hard to be perfect, to be good, and this was her reward.
They would never love her.
They would only tear away everything she held dear until there was nothing left of her.
A deep, suffocating void opened in her chest, swallowing her fear and leaving a terrifying, icy rage in its place.
"You took it," Neriah whispered, her voice sounding strange, hollow, and ancient.
Vesper paused, turning back with a scoff. "What did you say, girl?"
"You took everything," Neriah snarled, her vision blurring as a sudden, agonizing pressure built behind her eyes.
Pain, sharp and blinding, pierced her temples as a golden warmth surged from the center of her chest, rushing through her veins like liquid fire.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, but with each beat, she felt her energy, her very youth, being violently siphoned away.
Suddenly, the howling wind died.
Silence fell over the courtyard, absolute and terrifying.
Neriah gasped, watching a single, intricate snowflake freeze mid-air, hovering mere inches from her nose.
She looked up, her jaw dropping.
Mother Vesper stood frozen like a grotesque statue, her mouth open in a half-formed sneer, a curl of steam suspended motionless above her lips.
Even the dark smoke from the chimney of the orphanage hung motionless in the gray sky.
Time had stopped.
A sharp gasp escaped Neriah’s throat as she realized her own breathing was the only sound in the entire world.
Before she could process the terror of the stillness, a loud, metallic screech rent the frozen air.
Space itself seemed to fracture.
A brilliant, blinding crack of golden light ripped open in the center of the courtyard, splintering like broken glass.
Heat poured from the rift, smelling of ozone, dust, and ancient, forgotten stone.
Neriah stumbled backward, but the golden light seemed to pull at her, wrapping around her wrists like warm silk, dragging her toward the tear.
Desperation flared.
Anything was better than this courtyard, better than the cold, better than the life Vesper had carved out for her.
With a final, sobbing breath, Neriah threw herself forward into the golden rift.
As the portal snaps shut, Neriah tumbles onto a polished marble floor, staring up at a cold, silver-haired teenage boy wielding a glowing rapier pointed directly at her throat.