Flames (Under Revision)

Chapter One

Cherry blossoms danced in the breeze, their petals drifting lazily through the air, painting the courtyard in soft hues of pink and white. It was a perfect spring day in the kingdom of Gavaline, where the sun was gentle, the air fragrant with the scent of flowers, and the world seemed at peace.

Inside a modest yet elegant manor perched on a hill, a young girl no older than six darted through the marble halls, her laughter echoing off the walls and filling the home with life. Her fair face glowed with excitement, and her auburn hair bounced with each step as she clutched a bundle of wooden dolls to her chest, their carved faces peeking out from her arms like mischievous little friends.

Freya’s feet skidded to a halt in front of a white-painted door, her shoes squeaking against the polished floor. Her heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the thrill of her secret mission. Her mind raced with excitement, her eyes gleaming as she adjusted her grip on the dolls. She pressed her tiny palm against the door, the cold wood smooth beneath her fingertips, and pushed it open just enough to slip inside. The hinges creaked, and Freya winced, her gaze darting down the hallway. Hearing nothing, she slipped through the crack, closing the door with quiet precision behind her.

The room beyond was painted in calming shades of green, the walls adorned with whimsical illustrations of woodland creatures—foxes, rabbits, and birds that seemed to spring to life under the soft light. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, spilling golden light onto a pristine white cot in the center of the room. The soft babbling sounds of a baby reached Freya's ears, and her grin deepened with the kind of joy only an older sister could know.

"Amelia," she whispered, her voice a breath of wonder, as if saying her sister’s name out loud made the moment even more magical. She tiptoed closer, her small feet barely making a sound on the polished floor.

Inside the cot, a tiny figure shifted, her chubby hands reaching for her own feet, giggling at the discovery. Amelia, no older than a year, was a picture of innocence, her raven-black curls bouncing with every movement. Her large teal eyes sparkled with the kind of curiosity that only babies possess—the wonder of the world still new, still to be discovered. Freya couldn’t help but marvel at her. She was perfect.

“Hello, Amelia,” Freya whispered, kneeling beside the cot and brushing a delicate curl from her sister's forehead. The soft touch of her fingers against Amelia's smooth skin sent a thrill of warmth through her heart.

Amelia’s face lit up, her eyes locking onto Freya with a recognition that made Freya’s heart swell. She squealed, her little hands reaching out, her chubby fingers grasping at the air as if she were already reaching for the stars.

Freya giggled softly, her expression shifting to mock sternness. “No, no, no, Amelia,” she said, shaking her head with exaggerated seriousness. “I’m not supposed to hold you. Mommy said I’m too little, and she doesn’t even know I’m here!” She lowered her voice, her eyes darting toward the door, half-expecting someone to appear.

Amelia didn’t seem deterred. Her little fists opened and closed in an urgent, helpless gesture, her lips pulling into an exaggerated pout as she stretched her arms toward Freya.

Freya couldn’t help but laugh, her chest full of affection. “You’re impossible, you know that?” she whispered, her heart melting under Amelia’s insistence. “Alright, alright. I can’t hold you, but we can still play.”

With a flourish, Freya pulled the bundle of dolls from under her arm. She held them out in front of Amelia like a magician revealing her tricks. There was a soldier with a carved wooden sword, a princess with painted golden curls, and a jester with mismatched clothes. Freya picked up the jester and waved him in front of Amelia’s wide eyes.