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A small, frail girl pranced around a quaint cottage, her dress flowing behind her with the song of the wind. A dozen dandelions were clutched in her tiny hands as she scoured the ground for a few more.
She planned to surprise her mother with a beautiful bouquet as a gift for her birthday. However old the woman was, she had been alive for an unaturally long time. Which is common for grisha, especially a saint.
"Avelina! Avelina! Do come inside, Darling!" Her mother called from the cottage. Quickly, the girl collected two more and rushed inside. Avelina made sure to hide the white flowers behind her back to keep it a secret from her mother. She'd always loved surprises.
"It's time to-" Sankta Mariana began before she saw the flash of white peeking out from behind her daughters back. She beamed. "Are those for me?"
Avelina sighed and dropped her shoulders. "It was supposed to be a surprise, mother. But, yes, they're for you." Mariana took them in her hands, smelled them in all their delight and put them in a vase already filled with water.
"Thank you, darling. Now, eat before your food gets cold."
There was a plate of steaming food on the counter, laid out just for Avelina. Potatoes, pork, and roasted carrots were evenly spread out on the dish. Avelina licked her lips hungrily, and immediately dug in.
A laugh boomed from behind the girl, one she loved to hear. "Slow down, Lina. The food isn't going anywhere, I assure you."
Avelina laughed as she chucked a potato at her father but his grisha reflexes supported him in catching it in his mouth.
"Cheater!" Avelina shouted, throwing another one his way. This time, he let it hit him as he cackled at his mischievous daughter's tactics.
"Settle down, both of you. I can't believe I married a man baby." Mariana, the nurturing mother answered. She set down another plate beside Avelina's.
"Thank you, love. You always make the best food." Lyasane complimented, kissing his wife on the cheek lovingly. Then, he moved down to kiss her stomach where a large bump resided.
Avelina giggled. "Will the baby be grisha?"
Lyasane sighed. "There's no way to tell. Grisha isn't something you inherit, it's something you're born with."
Avelina frowned at the remembrance of that fact. She wasn't grisha, and she knew that she never would be. "I hope the baby isn't. If I can't be special then it can't either."
Lyasane and Mariana exchanged a glance, sorrow plentiful in their eyes. They wanted more than anything for their daughter to be grisha. They wanted more than anything for her to be happy. And perhaps, that's why they did it. Perhaps that's why they created a deadly weapon, a girl that was too powerful. A girl that was too little to be much of anything.
Lyasane leaned over to his daughter. "What if I told you that you could be grisha? A Heartrender-"
"Fabrikator." Mariana cut in, almost cackling. She herself was a Fabrikator , a skilled one at that. In fact, Sankta Mariana was the most talented Fabrikator ever known, except for Morozova, of course.
"No. If I was to be grisha, I'd be a Squaller." Avelina decided with a stomp of her foot and a bang of her fork against the table. Lyasane and Mariana laughed at her decisiveness.
"Okay, a Squaller then. You could be that. You could be the very best." Lyasane proposed, raising his eyebrows thoughtfully.
"I wish. But you already said it was impossible. I wasn't born for greatness. That's what grandma told me." The girl said, her brows furrowing in disappointment with her status as a lowly otkazat'sya.
"Grandma only says those things because she's closed minded and old. It's not impossible, not entirely. It's just never been done before. Or even attempted." Avelina could see the uncertainty gleaming in her father's dark eyes.
"How would we do it?" The child asked, hanging on the edge of her chair, excitement buzzing through her body.
"Well, let's just say that you may want to start praying at night, Avelina. For this, we'll certainly need it." Mariana said, sparing a final glance at the only people she'd ever loved, before leaving the room in one graceful stride.
