And So The Winteress, Khione Is Reborn.
Heliantheae Potter hated the cold.
If she had anyone that cared for her, they would ask her how could she hate such a magical time of the year. Why there was Christmas, ice skating, eggnog and hot chocolate to be had, snow was gorgeous as it sparkled in the morning light or when you strolled through the park on an evening stroll with a loved one.
Helia would counter that Tom-foolery with, yes snow was beautiful gazing from a window as your safe and cozy in your home with your stomach full and your heater turned up to high. It was a killer though when you’re tossed out of your only shelter, nursing blooming bruises on your fragile throat and your ribs—not to mention your so hungry and starved you can count all twenty-four of them— no winter protection that people bundle themselves up before trekking through the winter weather.
Now she was locked out of her, relatives house the only home she ever knew, in the middle of the winter. Now she was no stranger to being kick out in fact her Aunt and Uncle did it quite often during the summer and spring months. Usually because she couldn’t finish the ever-growing list of chores she was given and expected to complete—“or else, girl.”— or they just felt like throwing another wrench in her already troublesome life.
She learned though as she shivered and tried to huddle her freezing body into large hand down clothes, as a chilled gust of wind knocked her breath out of her lung as it went right through her.
This was a different kind of torture from biting insults, hurling fists, cracks of a belt, or countless hours of nonstop work. The snow seemed to add something, as it bites it’s icy fangs into her skin with its frigid chill her clothes offered no protection being wet and frozen they stuck to her body uncomfortably not letting her feel anything but a freezing pain.
She cursed her small body injured body for not being able to do anything, but shake and shiver at its useless a temp at trying to generate body heat that she desperately needs.
She half stumbled, half walked down the icy sidewalk, passing adults as she went on her way with no destination on her mind except away from her relatives.
No one paid her any heed, window shopping for the holidays, gabbing on their mobile phones, rushing to and from work all in different worlds even thought they all lived on the same earth. Her head ducked lower as a blonde woman pulled her equally blonde son away from her a sneer on her perfectly painted lips and her dainty nose that was sadly genetics and not surgery reformed up in the as if she smelled something horrid.
The expression on the snobby lady’s face was something that she cherished, as she put her finger back down thankful that she could at least have something to defend against the judgment and ridicule.
All at once she is hit by how tired she is of the judgment, the hurt, the insults, the cold, of being alone.
Lifting her tired head to see where she ended up wondering, the window shops, coffee house, and the bakery could only mean one thing. She’s in the bustling downtown of Little Whining she knows that it’s a fifteen-minute drive from Private Drive, her Uncle complains about it over his glass of brandy before supper.
Spying a clock on the wall of the bakery through the window she is stunned to see she’s been walking for over two hours—guess all that running from Dudley and his little gang and all the chores helped with her stamina— She doesn’t bother to glance across the street to the nine-story building that is towering over her, Grunnings she chuckled to herself even though is felt like anything but humorous.
It seems that no matter how far she goes she can’t escape the chains that weigh her down and keeping her from escaping the reach of her relatives.
Turning into the alleyway in between the bakery and coffee house hoping the alleyway is a little sheltered from the cold winds with being in closed between two builds. The alleyway was littered with patches of salted ice here and there, but no snow so hopefully the concrete isn’t to wet—not like her clothes could get any wetter unless she decided to throw herself in the frozen pond in Little Whining’s only park— she half slides, half slumps down the alley wall, her soaked feet aching but strangely numb screamed for her to stop, just stop.
Time gave the impression of passing slowly and fast at the same time, if that had sense to anyone but her. Her dark eyelashes flutter restlessly against her blood-red cheeks that were painfully chilled as she rested curled up against the stone wall next to a ice-cold dumpster. Her frosted breath left her slowly turning blue lips in puffs of white, a hitch in her breath hisses out of her as the taste of blood blooms in her mouth her tongue smarting from the accidental injury she just wanted her teeth to stop chattering the noise was kind of annoying she wanted to rest.
Her thoughts swim in a haze of confusion and cold—why does cold burn, she didn’t know what hurt worse the burn from a flame or the icy burn of the cold— her instinct shove her into a more aware state as she picks up the sound of boots shuffling on iced concrete and a hacking cough that booms in the freezing silence of her suffering. She doesn’t bother to lift her head from where it’s curled against her shoulder, shielded from the cold a bit. There’s no need to a knowledge whoever it was, they were just going to walk past her like all the others.
No one ever care about what they perceived to be lower than them, to her relatives she was nothing but a burden forced upon them by her good for nothing parents, a low-born freak spawn of a drunk and a useless woman. They said she was lucky that they so graciously took her in, why she could’ve ended up on the streets—Helia didn’t know if the jokes on her now or if it ever wasn’t, because that’s exactly where she is now—
Her ears alert to the sounds around her as she waits for the person to pass on by, even if the thought of another person ignoring her pain, of leaving her when she’s at her lowest fills her with anger and indignation a sarcastic part of her mind deliriously thinks her anger could at least warm her spirit.
She waited…waited…waited….and waited, only she didn’t her anything.
A scruffy boot that looked better than her own soaked hand-down sneakers that were way too big for her which wasn’t saying much came into to her line vision. Her heart squeezed painfully she didn’t feel any fear only reluctant acceptance, this was going to be one of those times when someone just had to kick someone when they were all ready down wasn’t it?
If being with her Uncle taught her anything it was silence was the best way for it to be over and done with, she could only hope it would be the same with this person.
The alleyway was silent, the kind of silence that made hairs stand on end with how still and stifling it was. The chilled winter air crackled with tension as the two inhabitants of the alley remained silent, as they both waited on the other to talk first.
The booted foot knocked against hers lightly, Helia puffed out an annoyed sigh that dissipated into a cloud of white smoke. It took a lot of effort to lift her head, in the back of her mind the strain of it worried her, but she had other worried too as she gazed up at the foots owner.
He was just as scruffy as his boots, he wore jeans like her with two shirts on under his warm and worn winter jacket that reminded her of deer fur for some bizarre reason it brought comfort to her.—and also made her want to liberate it— He certainly looked wild with dark locks falling in his face, to his broad shoulders and an equally wild and long beard covering his hard features.
“Hey Kid, what ya doing out in the cold.” His gruff voice demanded, not asked. His hazel eyes zeroed on to her with razor focus, her mind almost confused those eyes with the eyes of a wolf that she saw on the telly.
Her near blue lips tugged up into a weary smirk to goaded him into getting it over, or maybe it was a weak a temp at a snarl warning him from trying anything.
As always her mouth to brain filter malfunctioned, as words came spitting out like acid. “Minding my own business, you should try it, Old man.”
Normally after she blurts out the first thing that come to mind—or mouth— she would just duck her head and hope that the punishment would be over quick, that usually happen when she used her sharp words that always ran in her head. Something told her not to lower her head, that she had to seem strong. Even though the only way she could support her tired head was to lean it back against the stone wall quirking a dark eyebrow up at the scruffy wild man. Unknowingly showing offer her rapidly darkening throat, that showcase just what caused her bruised flesh.
As she expected the man scoffed-huffed at her attitude and left her to her slow descend into hypothermia and most likely frostbite from how white her fingers are the odd texture they feel like.
Closing her emerald eyes as she felt the snowflakes fall onto her eyelashes and cheeks. A water drop trailed down her cheek, and no one was around to argue with her that it clearly was a tear—if someone did try to argue with her she would tell them she didn’t think her body was able to produce tears with how cold she was, they would probably freeze—
The crunch of ice underfoot jarred her out of her mental pity argument, the wild man was back—guess it was too much to ask to freeze in peace— he was holding a cup of something. He walked up to her in away that told her he was used to being feared, used to being a predator, he crouched down in front of her reminding her of a crouching wolf or some type of large feline. The cup was held out to her, it was one of those paper cups that you get out of the coffee house that on the opposite stone wall she’s leaning against.
She lazily blinked her large emerald eyes up at him not knowing what he wanted. He heaved a sighed at her, reaching for her hand only to pull back when she uselessly jerked back into the stone wall. Her heart speeding up from the slow pace it was.
“Not gonna to hurt ya, Kid.” He soothed gruffly, a soft rumble came from his chest.
With that said he slowly reached for her hand as he watched her reaction, and she watched him wearily as he placed the shockingly warm cup in her numb hand. His hands that felt and looked rougher than anyone’s she’s ever seen—except hers—but she could barely feel them with how numb and tingly her hands were. They cupped hers when he noticed she didn’t have the strength to hold the cup herself, his hazel eyes glinting with a strange golden light or shine? What was the word she was looking for?
“It’s okay, Kid.” He rumbled, as he helped her lift the warm cup up to her lips the steam was welcoming as it floated up to greet her chilled face. It felt pleasant on her blood-red cheeks and nose—Why was Jack Frost nipping on her nose, can’t he just eat it all or something it might be warmer than—She eyed him suspiciously over the top of the cup, his lips twitched under his beard like he was pleased that she was weary of him. “C’mon, what are ya waitin’ for.”
Steeling herself—curse her need to rise to the challenge—she sipped at the drink, instantly her tense body seemed to melt as the warm drink lit a warmth inside her cold—so cold, oh why was it so cold, someone please— body. The taste of chocolate, cinnamon, and other warm spices she couldn’t describe danced warmly in her mouth. She lunged forward into the man’s chest, gripping at the cup that seemed to be her only hope of survival when she felt it moving away from her.
The man shushed her wrapping a strong arm around her back to bring her closer to the heat that his body seemed to generate like a heater. “Shh Darlin’, I wasn’t takin’ it from ya, I thought you needed to breathe that’s all.” He soothed. “It’s yours, take your time Kid, it’s not going anywhere.”
As she drank that warmth from the cup, she could hear his hidden words not said he’s not going anywhere either.