Stellina

A Fistful of Flurries

Lina Fontaine hated snow.

She'd hated snow ever since she found her brother buried in it, his skin matching his lifeless gray eyes. It had been like every other snowy day in the tiny village of Lourmarin, France, with children frolicking through the sea of white on their way home from school, catching flakes on their tongues. Yet it quickly became the day her entire world transformed from playful flurries to a roaring blizzard.

Ever since then, the snow seemed to bring with it more than a chilling breeze. For after that fateful day on January 9th, 1937, whenever it snowed, a whirlwind of troubles seemed to follow.

First it was her brother's death. Then it was the vicious slap from her mother.

It wasn't even supposed to snow in Marseilles. Yet as soon as Lina stepped off the train, she discovered snow flurries clinging to her fiery auburn hair. Inhaling the faint aroma of saltwater, she glanced over at her little sister, whose tears reminded Lina of candle wax dripping from a flame soon to die.

Lina should have seen the slap coming as soon as her mother spun around, for her blazing eyes seemed to sizzle even more in the dreary weather. But Lina was too focused on the tightening crowds and suffocating air of the city to notice anything else.

"Lina, ma chérie, can you walk any slower? We'll never get through the crowds at this rate!" Mama exclaimed, grasping Lina's arm and yanking her right through a couple holding hands. Frustration bubbled in her voice. "Aren't you excited to see your new home?"

A single tear carved its way down Lina's cheek. Contrary to her family's belief, it wasn't a tear of grief. No, the tear wasn't black. It was gray.

In that moment, she felt more like a vulnerable five-year-old than a rebellious fifteen-year-old.

Beside her, Liliane sighed. "I wish Moritz were here," she whispered, her voice a mere pinprick in the roar of the crowds. Lina's gut clenched as she stared at the cobblestone. The bustling crowds of the train station all seemed to slow, even as her parents kept pushing through the sea of gray coats. She couldn't bear to think about him, to picture his shimmering gray eyes and hair as light as the snow. Not now, and maybe not ever.

As she looked up, she noticed the fire roaring even hotter in Mama's eyes, threatening to engulf anyone who dared to come near.

Mama spun around again, her arm nearly slamming an innocent passerby to the ground. Her words and hands hissed as she signed along for Liliane. "What did I say about mentioning him?"

Lina nearly ran into her mother's back as she stopped abruptly, Papa cursing behind her. She swore she could hear Liliane whimper.

Yet instead of hanging her head in shame, allowing the tears to simply tumble innocently down her cheeks, Liliane puffed out her chest, narrowing her eyes. And though her voice was somewhat muted due to her deafness, her words were pumped with venom all the same. "I loved him too, you know," she whispered, her voice rising dangerously with every word. "I lost someone too, Mama. And unlike you, I don't just shove my grief down and pretend everything is normal. He died, Mama. Moritz died, and now he's not here with us."

And then the slap came.

Lina scarcely saw the blur of Mama's hand as it struck Liliane's cheek. It sent her little sister tumbling into the brick wall of a bookstore, hand trembling as she lifted it to touch her swollen cheek. Beside them, a woman wearing a blue raincoat gasped. Her husband shook his head, glaring at Mama as he strolled past.

"Adalene, please," Papa pleaded, rushing to Liliane's side. "We're in public."

Mama shook her head, casually shaking out her hand as she continued walking through the crowds. "Let's just get to the apartment," she murmured.