❝Hreathoire❞

Chapter 1

The torrential downpour became recurrent; a tempest that brought water gushing in every roof, producing a brash, falling sound. The town of Kleavaine is like a mirror to the past; the vintage stores and classic vehicles befitting the genial ambience of warmth in villages despite cold nights and storms. Houses of ebony have windows in which the lights are seen from the inside, appearing like candle flames in the duskiness. Everyone who lived in this town anticipated an alpenglow, but the sun’s setting was haste; these days it was always ready to blanket everyone, to hide from the world, like it knew indeed that a catastrophic event is happening. The townspeople have not the idea in that jovial town for now. Judging from the continuous rains, the nights are now lengthier than the days, making the climate even bleaker.

An old lady with her fading hair tied, wears a handmade woolen thick sweater and lives in a two-storey house made of marble and wood cladding. She is Mrs. Antonette Seraphine, around her 70's, taking care of a young girl she treated as her own granddaughter.
    
"We need to cozy ourselves by now, dear, despite the loud rain." The hallway towards the room was a bit at distance, but voices inside the house are easily heard, not this time unfortunately because of the cold rain. Mrs. Seraphine tried to raise her voice but the storm competed.

The portraits plastered on the walls seem to speak to the old lady about her now deceased husband. She passed towards that hallway, stopping midway, looking at the pictures where she would smell the years were as fresh as lilies. It's necessary for her to brush her delicate fingers on the dusty frames and then proceeding on cleaning the blankets while heading towards the bedroom. Antonette's husband died at the age of 58 because of a heart disease. She remembered how his eyes had spoken goodbye because his mouth couldn't utter what he couldn't bear. Atleast, she knows he's at rest. At that time, Antonette hadn't received what now is her fortunate blessing. The night of yuletide, just one month after her husband's burial, was the night she heard the woes of her new love.

Antonette then opened the bedroom door, its old creaky noise unheard because of the storm.

"Grandma! It's storytime." Cassandra's auburn face shows the excitement she couldn't contain. She anticipates the time where they would rest their bodies and her ears will receive plenty of words that come out as breathing magic to be seen from her eyes. Cassandra plopped on the bed, cozying herself. Seven-year old Cassandra has a burnt umber hair that compliments her wintry face; it appears as pale as the snow.

Antonette had known, had always known, where she got her beauty from.

"This story is a bit different." The old lady smoothened the crease of the mattress and went to lay beside the young fellow. Cassandra nuzzled her nose and embraced her grandma while their backs rest on the headboard. The soothing delight is evident from their eyes.

"Why?" Cassandra raised her head to look at Mrs. Antonette. The old lady patted her head.

"Well, it's just an introduction of, let's say, a magical world." The old lady raised her hand as if reaching for the chandelier. "And here it narrates a big battle. Every word written in here seems to be alive."

"When you're older, you will discover why the people here in Kleavaine knew this even though... this is the only book written about Hreathoire." She added. The storm has decreased its volume.

"So Hreathoire is the name of the world?" Cassandra asked with curiosity.

"It's a combination."

"Is this world real?"

"If you believe it is." Her grandma gave a reassuring smile.

Those words that escaped from the old lady's tongue pierced through Cassandra's heart.