Dying Fire

Chapter Four

"Light thinks it travels faster

Than anything. But it is wrong –

No matter how fast light travels,

It finds darkness has always gotten there first,

And is waiting for it."

~Terry Pratchett~

The only room separate from the household as a whole is the only bedroom, despite there being two occupants. A narrow bed and a few other furnishings and objects share the area, spacious though still small; blankets and pillows of different sizes piled on top a child fighting for the prospect of sleep in this cold night.

            Most nights, she can sleep peacefully, quietly, without a problem. But then there are nights like these, where her mind won’t settle and questions swirl with accusations. She tosses and turns, shifting her position every few minutes, trying to sleep in this late hour of the night, but she can’t. Lately, this has been happening more often, when before they would be rare occurrences resolved easily by her care-taker. But as they continue to happen, the girl finds it more difficult to continually ask her guardian for a solution.

            After all, if she answers these questions that keep her awake like this, won’t it stop? It seems logical enough to the child.

            Resigned to her fate of a wakeful night, she throws the blankets to the side and stumbles out of the room. She’s careful to be quiet, her bare feet barely making a sound on the wood floors as she crosses the threshold into the living area. In the center of the room lies her care-taker, sleeping in the odd way known to the elderly, making strange sounds and holding an odd weapon in her hand. For a moment, she debates whether or not to risk waking her while getting a book from one of the shelves, but she’d have to climb the desk in the corner in order to reach the non-academic titles.

            Quietly, she makes her way to the nearest shelf and tilts her head back to look up at it, frustrated with her minimal height but knowing one day she’ll grow out of being so small. She follows the wall, examining the many plants the sleeping woman raises and changes and sells for a living, mostly medicinal but also some superficial. A few causes whoever rubs its petals on their skin to smell nice; several others can be mashed or torn or treated in some way to use as face-paint to look prettier. These plants sell well, and are more expensive than the medicinal ones. The girl and her care-taker are among the handful of people who have lowered the prices on medicine despite the rise in costs for other things. These two in particular will trade their products for something other than money, and they won’t question where the payment comes from.

            The girl stops rather abruptly at the window, peering through the crack in the curtain, spell-bound, almost. An indescribable feeling fills her, her body turning so she’s facing the window. Her white, knee-length dress shifts with her movements, the cuff of her sleeve brushing against the glass as she pushes the fabric aside to clear it from her line of sight. Only the pale face of the moon shining in the sky grants any visibility outside, all the shops closed and no people roaming the streets. It is how it always is when night falls, a quiet that speaks softly from the shadows, but something about it seems different, enchanting, to this girl.

            She watches the darkness, the shadows that almost sway in their stillness, broken apart by the slight shimmer of the moon. In her mind, she sees something other than the empty circle, the blank faces of the buildings, or the lack of life here at the moment. She sees a partnering of light and dark, two opposites coming together to paint a picture out of one of her favorite faery books. Of course, nothing like that could exist in the world, made up to lull her to sleep when she was younger, but in this moment she can almost picture the small creatures darting between the pale light and bold dark. It’s almost as if the two aspects were playing, chasing each other, trying to win in a game the girl can’t identify.