Snow, Gingerbread and Fate Part II
The refreshing wind carried many different scents to her nose, some better than the others. She took a deep breath and smelled horse shit mixed with mulled wine and mead which made an interesting combination. Fried apples mixed with the filth of a town as big as Wirough. And gingerbread. That was something she liked and hated because it made her remember her past; her mother used to bake the best gingerbread in all Vayléhn.
Suddenly, she had to stop as a group of children crossed her path. Laughing and chattering with their tiny, high voices and their wooden weapons; playing war. She didn’t like children. They also made her remember the past. Or rather a past, she didn’t have. Where they should be moments like this, with joy, cookies and presents, for her, there was only fire and death, pain and fate.
Fate. She didn’t like that word. Fate had stolen her childhood. Fate had stolen her parents and sister. It had stolen everything from her. Yet, fate was the only thing that defined her now and would probably save them all.
Thank the Gods that the fiery visions from her past slowly had burned to a glow over the years.
