A Fallen Star: The Punch Of A Woman

32. About Feyverk (extra)

Feyverk's memories of her mother were faint, like the whisper of a breeze through the trees—gentle, fleeting, and always just out of reach. She could barely recall the warmth of her mother's embrace or the softness of her voice, but she remembered the day her father had taken her away. She was just a child, no older than five, when her father had appeared at the door, his face stern, his eyes cold. There was no tenderness in his touch as he took her hand, pulling her away from the only life she had ever known.

Her mother had cried, begged him not to take her, but her father was unmoved. Feyverk had looked back at her mother one last time as her father dragged her away, the image of her tear-streaked face seared into her mind. It was the last time she ever saw her mother, and the first time she felt the pang of loss that would follow her for the rest of her life.

Her father was a hard man, not given to affection or kindness. He worked long hours, and from the moment Feyverk was old enough to walk, he made sure she worked too. By the time she was thirteen, she was already accustomed to the grind of labor, her small hands rough and calloused from the constant work. They lived in a small, rundown house on the outskirts of town, a place that reeked of neglect and despair. The house was always cold, even in the height of summer, as if the warmth had been driven out by the oppressive atmosphere that hung over it like a shroud.

As the years passed, her father's demeanor grew darker. He became obsessed with alcohol, spending whatever little money they had on bottles of cheap whiskey. His temper grew shorter, and the once infrequent outbursts of anger became a daily occurrence. Feyverk learned to stay out of his way, to keep her head down and her mouth shut. She learned that silence was her best defense, that tears would only provoke him, and that any sign of weakness would be met with cruelty.

The sadness that filled her heart was a constant companion, a weight that pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She rarely smiled, and when she did, it was a small, fleeting thing, quickly snuffed out by the harsh reality of her life.

But one day, something changed.

It was a day like any other, her father off at the local bar, leaving her alone in the house. She was in her small, cluttered room, surrounded by the few possessions she had managed to hold onto over the years. There wasn't much—just a few worn books, a couple of broken toys, and a small box of odds and ends she had collected from the streets. She sat on the floor, sifting through the box, trying to distract herself from the gnawing hunger in her stomach.

As she rummaged through the box, her fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. She pulled it out and found herself holding a small, cylindrical object. It was a firecracker, one she had found discarded on the side of the road after a festival. She had taken it, not really knowing why, and had forgotten about it until now.

Curious, she turned the firecracker over in her hands, examining it closely. She had seen them used before, seen the way they exploded in bright bursts of color in the night sky, and for a moment, she imagined what it would be like to create something like that. Something beautiful, something that could bring joy, even if just for a moment.

Without thinking, she set the firecracker down on the floor and held her hands above it. She focused all her attention on the small object, willing it to light, to explode in a burst of color. She didn't really expect anything to happen, but to her surprise, a small spark appeared at the tip of the firecracker, flickering to life like a tiny flame. Her eyes widened in shock, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, a small smile crept across her face.

The firecracker fizzled out before it could explode, but the spark it had ignited within her was enough. Feyverk stared at the now-blackened firecracker, a sense of wonder and excitement bubbling up inside her. She had done that. She had made it light, had made it come to life. And for a moment, the sadness that had weighed her down for so long seemed to lift, just a little.