Flames

Chapter Three

Night blanketed the world outside, the stars scattered like diamonds across the dark sky. The pale light of the moon filtered through the window, casting soft, silvery shadows across the room.

Freya lay wide awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the crushing weight of boredom pressing down on her chest. She had waited for hours, every minute dragging by, as the silence of the house grew deeper, the rhythm of her family's sleep settling like a blanket over the house.

Her eyes drifted to her desk where the birthday gifts sat, half-open and forgotten. The ribbons and wrapping paper were strewn carelessly across the floor, as though they had been discarded in a hurry. A pair of silver shoes from her sister, Marian, rested atop a blue gown from her mother, along with jewelry from her father, shining in the faint moonlight.

Freya scoffed softly at the sight, her heart hardening as she turned her gaze to the only two gifts that remained untouched on her nightstand. A book on naval navigation from her older brother, Archer, and a drawing of her by Amelia.

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she picked up the picture, running her fingers over the familiar lines. It was a drawing of her from the old family portrait-when they were still whole, when they were still a family. Amelia had always had a talent for capturing moments like that.

Freya's heart ached as she remembered how, out of everyone in the house, Amelia was the only one who wasn't allowed to visit her room.

She had once asked Marian why. The answer had been harsh, but true.

"Because we don't want you to burn her with your dangerous powers... like last time."

It had been five years since that fateful night. Five years since the fire, since she had been locked away in her room. Five years since she had last seen her sister.

A lone tear slipped down Freya's cheek, splashing onto the drawing. She wiped it away quickly, though the sadness lingered, heavy in her chest.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps echoed through the still halls, and Freya immediately knew who it was. She hastily wiped away the tear, setting the picture back on the stand before quickly lying back down, her back facing the door, pretending to sleep.

The lock outside clicked. The door creaked open quietly, and her mother, Chalice, stepped inside, carrying a lamb in her arms. Her movements were slow, measured, as though she was unsure of what to do.

Chalice approached the bed and sat at the end, her teal eyes fixed on Freya's still form with a mixture of hesitation and longing.

"Freya," her mother's voice was soft, but Freya didn't move. She didn't respond.

Chalice's sigh echoed in the silence. She knew all too well what her daughter was doing-ignoring her by pretending to be asleep. And she couldn't blame her.

Her mind raced with guilt as she thought back on the past five years. The fire. The isolation. The walls she had built between herself and her daughter, thinking that distancing herself was for the best. She had tried to make amends only a few months ago, but each attempt had been met with cold shoulders and empty stares. Freya had become a stranger in her own home.

Hesitantly, Chalice reached forward and placed a hand on Freya's auburn hair. Freya's body tensed instantly, but she said nothing.

"I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you," Chalice whispered, her voice trembling. "I shouldn't have kept my distance. I should have tried harder to comfort you. To help you. But I failed... I failed you as a mother."

Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes. Chalice bowed her head, her raven-black hair falling over her face as the tears rolled freely down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, her body trembling with emotion.

The sobs were barely audible, but they pierced through Freya's heart. Her mother's grief, her guilt-it all seeped into Freya's chest, making her feel as though she was suffocating. She wanted to reach out, to comfort her, to end the act and embrace her, but she couldn't. Not if she wanted to leave her room that night.

After what felt like an eternity, Chalice took a deep, shaky breath and stood up from the bed. She looked at Freya with a small, sad smile, her heart heavy with regret.

"Good night, Freya," she whispered, and then, with a final glance at her daughter, she turned and walked to the door.

The soft click of the door closing and the turning of the key echoed in the stillness of the room.

Freya remained motionless for a long time after her mother left, her breathing shallow and uneven. Her hands clenched the blanket tightly as she wrestled with the weight of her mother's words. The guilt and sadness in her mother's voice lingered in her mind, sowing seeds of doubt and hesitation.

But, as always, the fire inside her refused to die. With a final, determined breath, Freya pushed those thoughts away. She had a goal. A plan. And she wasn't going to let anything-least of all her own feelings-stand in her way.

Freya threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed. She pulled on her shoes and coat, moving swiftly and silently toward the window. Her heart raced in her chest, anticipation thrumming through her veins as she reached for the handles.

She hesitated for a moment, listening to the night, ensuring no one was nearby. Taking a breath, she slowly opened the window, careful not to make a sound. She peered out, scanning the courtyard below for any sign of the guards.

Then, her eyes landed on the oak tree, the sturdy trunk standing between her room and the outer fence.

With a surge of determination, Freya leaped onto the branch, her fingers gripping the rough bark as she steadied herself. The adrenaline coursed through her as she began to climb, the tree creaking slightly under her weight.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her thoughts racing as she moved with the nimbleness of someone who had done this countless times before. When she finally reached the other side of the tree, she dropped down to the ground, landing on her feet with a soft thud.

She took a deep breath, looking back at her open window one last time before turning and sprinting into the forest that lay beyond the grounds of the estate.

The night air was cool against her skin, but the heat of her excitement and anticipation kept her warm. She ran until she reached a small clearing, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She dropped to the ground, gathering dried twigs and leaves in a pile before sitting on a fallen branch.

Her hands trembled as she hovered over the pile, her heart racing. Slowly, she opened her palms, and a soft red glow began to emanate from her skin. Heat radiated from her hands as small balls of fire flickered into existence, one by one.

She smiled, the warmth of the flames comforting and familiar, a piece of herself that she could still control. Her heart swelled with pride and joy as the fire grew, lighting up the clearing with its warmth.

But then, a sound broke the quiet.

A small snap.

Freya's body went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. The ruffling of bushes behind her made her pulse spike. She knew she was in danger-not just of being caught out of her room, but for using her powers.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she slowly turned her head, her heart thundering in her chest.