Lilyanne

Far away from road street signs, there was a village high up in the mountains. Five cozy homes were tattered around the top, each one a few meters away from the other. Grey smoke arose from their chimneys and the aura around the gingerbread-esque houses emitted warmth and kindness. There was only one that seemed cold to the touch; a two-story orange home that looked as if a giant hand clutched it tightly and left it there, buried in the thick blanket of snow. This was the house of Lilyanne, a little girl who had precious ginger locks that matched with the walls of her tiny home. She wore a thick blue dress and a wool jacket around it to keep her body warm. Her tiny black rain boots weren’t very suited for the weather up there, but she had never worn anything else. Seems ordinary, doesn’t she? Yet the village still found a reason to whisper about her when walking by the gingerbread house. Perhaps the reason was sensible. After all, Lilyanne was no regular girl. Her specialty laid in her face, which was covered in tiny white camellias, though every here and there a pink and a red one would peek out from the rest. The only thing that was visible on her flower-covered face was a single left eye that had the color of cold turquoise. That single eye had shown the one lone emotion Lilyanne might’ve ever felt; sorrow. The cold turquoise glowed from the gathered up tears swelling inside, as if they were going to fall out like pure white pearls at any second. Alas, it never happened. Lilyanne never cried. As it is with those strange among us, the people have given her many different names and stories. She was an angel sent from the skies to protect the forgotten village of the mountains, she was a goddess with deadly beauty that would blind anyone who witnessed it, she was a witch who no one should talk to. The stories were endless, and it seemed every generation had their own two cents to add up to each one. The reality of what she truly represented was blurry and foggy, I wonder if she herself knew what her purpose was? If she truly didn’t, I think she would be crying.

New year was approaching, and even in an isolated place like this one, people liked to prepare with color flashing lights and joy-filled hearts. Among other things, this too only indicated that perhaps they’re not so different from the civilized barons living far from the low-class ones. The houses were merry lit with warmth that contrasted with the cold climate in a fascinating way. The same couldn’t be said for Lilyanne’s unadorned, untouched house which looked empty and abandoned despite the inhabitant spending most of her time inside. The chilling aura surrounding it had a strange effect, one that would sink deep into a person’s bones and make them feel as if the cold winter lives inside of them. It’s a feeling a snow queen would be familiar with, strange how Lilyanne hadn’t received that nickname. “Oh sweet little girl, don’t you at least feel cold?” – a voice filled with genuine, motherly sorrow had whispered in a crying tone. “Satan doesn’t deserve pity. Look after your children,” – a bitter voice loudly answered, never answering the question of who made him the leader of the mountains. The children however, needed to be looked after. Their curiosity forced them to pull up the curtains of stages they never should’ve touched, a sin committed without ever having another chance to redeem it. A sin that would scar the world that night.