Her bare feet splashed through puddles, leaving trails in the muddy water as thunder rolled in the distance.
The girl didn't stop.
She walked until she reached a weather-beaten wooden house, sagging on its frame like it had forgotten how to stand.
It looked less like a home and more like a memory left behind.
She bent to pick up a rag from the doorstep, wiped her muddy feet, and pushed open the creaking door.
"Momma?" she called, her voice uncertain.
Her silver-grey eyes scanned the dim interior, squinting into the shadows that clung to every corner.
"Nerine!" a frail voice called out from the back.
The little girl followed it and found her mother standing near the hearth, a pot in her trembling hands.
Alicia dropped the pot with a clatter and rushed forward.
"You walked in the rain?" she cried, eyes wide with worry. "Why didn't you wait?"
Nerine smiled up at her, soaked through, hair clinging to her cheeks.
"I wanted to bring the ingredients before they got soggy," she replied proudly.
Alicia sighed, brushing a wet strand of hair from her daughter's forehead.
"Always thinking of me… Thank you, sweet girl. Go change your clothes so you don't catch a cold. I'll make dinner."
She picked up the pot and led Nerine deeper into the house.
Later that evening, Alicia's voice rang out—weak, but determined.
"Dinner's ready!"
The call ended in a dry, racking cough.
Nerine rushed from her room, filled a cup of water, and handed it to her mother.
"Drink this, Mom."
Alicia drank, then smiled faintly. "Sit and eat, dear."
Nerine did as told. When she finished, she rose quietly and began to clear the dishes.
Then came the voice again—soft, almost hesitant.
"Nerine, dear…"
She looked up.
Alicia's face was unreadable.
"Your father is coming tomorrow."
Nerine froze. Her expression darkened.
"Why?"
"I sent him a letter last week," Alicia said, eyes avoiding her daughter's. "I asked him to come check on you."
"I don't want to see him," Nerine snapped.
Alicia pulled her close and stroked her hair gently.
"He's still your father. You must show him respect."
But her reassurance didn't last long. She coughed again—this time deeper, harsher. When she pulled her hand away, there was blood on her palm.
She turned quickly, wiping it with a cloth.
Nerine stood frozen.
"Let's go to the physician," she whispered. "The medicine isn't working. It's almost gone—"
"The physician can't help me," Alicia said, barely above a breath. "No one can. But it's just a cough, okay?"
She tried to smile, but her face betrayed her.
With slow steps, she walked to her room. Nerine followed closely behind.
Alicia sat on the edge of her bed and reached beneath it, pulling out a small wooden box. From it, she took a delicate necklace—a thin chain with a ruby pendant, glowing faintly in the candlelight.
She placed it in her daughter's hands.
"Keep this with you always," she said. "Never take it off."
Nerine looked at her, confused. "Why are you giving this to me now?"
Alicia smiled faintly and brushed her fingers through her daughter's hair.
"It's a gift. Just… remember me."
Then she leaned in, her lips trembling as she kissed her daughter's forehead.
"Time for bed, little one."
She blew out the candle, and darkness swallowed the room like a prayer.
---
Nerine curled beside her mother under the thin blankets.
"Good night, Mom," she whispered.
"Good night, my love," came the reply.
They drifted into sleep, arms wrapped around each other, chasing warmth in a cold world.
But peace never lingers long.
A scream tore through the night.
And everything changed.