They say life rises and falls like the sway of the wind, lifting some with favor and tossing others into misfortune. Yet my days have passed without change. While others suffered or thrived, I remained, pale and quiet, unseen by fortune and unnoticed by time itself.
Being forgotten was something I had grown used to. I had been overlooked for most of my life. My father couldn't even remember the last time I stopped being five, and my stepmother often forgot that I got hungry just as much as her other daughters, even though she clearly served her more bowls of rice than she did me-despite the fact that I was the one providing the money for the food while the rest of the family remained inside, warm and waiting for what I earned.
At times it feels unbearably lonely, knowing there is no one who cares enough to make space for me, even something as simple as a place to sleep. The last person I ever expected to care for me was my mother, who died bringing me into the world. There is a bitter irony in that. Some days, this life feels less like living and more like a curse I was born to carry.
I weaved between the tables, carrying trays of steaming food, though my mind had already drifted far away. Memories of empty bowls and being overlooked crowded in, and for a moment, I almost lost my footing on the uneven wooden floor. The tray wobbled dangerously.
"Watch it!" Ava's sharp voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back. Her eyes narrowed as she gestured sharply. "Don't spill another plate, or you'll regret it!"
I gripped the tray tighter and started setting the plates down, carefully saving each bowl from tipping over, my heart pounding from the near slip. The men at the tables were already sloppy with drink, and a few reached out, leering, trying to grab me as I passed.
"Oi, what's this? A little beauty walking past?" one slurred.
Another laughed. "Nah, this one isn't a beauty at all. Too bony with nothing to grab."
I kept my head down, forcing myself to ignore them, though my hands shook slightly from the effort of balancing the food and holding back the anger that burned inside me. The words shouldn't have mattered, but they did. Not a beauty. I felt them settle heavy in my chest because I already knew it was true. Too thin, too sharp, too easy to overlook. Their laughter didn't sting with cruelty, it stung because it was what I had always believed about myself.
I forced my hands steady as I approached the table, carefully setting each bowl down. Today had dragged on endlessly, and I found myself wishing it would be over, just like every other day.
***
It was finally time to close the tavern. The last patrons had stumbled out, their laughter loud and sloppy, leaving behind the smell of spilled ale and smoke. I sighed, rubbing my sore shoulders, and started washing the dishes, the warm water comforting my tired hands. I scraped the leftover scraps from the tables and ate a small piece of bread, cold and dry, but better than nothing.
Once the tavern was quiet and the floor clean, I stepped outside.
Winter had taken the streets, frost crunching under my boots and biting at my cheeks.My breath came out in clouds, and the wind cut through my thin coat. My back ached, my stomach growled, and yet I kept walking toward the house I called home, though it hardly felt like mine.
When I finally arrived, the house was silent. Everyone was already asleep, the fire long since gone out, and the dinner table was full and untouched by me, as always. My stepmother and her daughter had eaten, leaving me with nothing.
Before I could even set my bag down, my stepmother appeared. Her eyes narrowed as she snatched the coins. "Is this all you made today?" she snapped.
I tried to keep my voice steady. "We didn't have many customers today..."
She scoffed. "That's your excuse every day. Do you hide the rest somewhere for yourself? Greedy, aren't you?"
I stayed silent, letting her words sting, and she stalked off to her own room, leaving me in the dim light of the hallway. I climbed into my small corner on the thin mat that served as my bed, pulling the rough blanket around me. The house was quiet, too quiet, and the cold crept in through the walls.
I reached for the small necklace hidden under my clothes, a simple thing, delicate and warm against my fingers.
I had never known my mother, never felt her arms around me, but she had left me this. At least she had cared enough for that. Holding it now, I tried to imagine her, even vaguely, and the thought was almost enough to chase away some of the loneliness. Almost.
I curled up, listening to the faint crackle of the dying fire, and for a moment, let myself remember that somewhere, even if only in this tiny keepsake, someone had once cared.
***
I was already moving through the shadows before I realized I was dreaming. The ground beneath my feet was soft, almost too soft, and every step seemed to sink a little deeper into the cold earth.
The air pressed down on me, heavy and damp, carrying the faint scent of rain and something older, something that smelled of forgotten places. Everything felt unreal, as if the world had been drained of color, of warmth, of sound.
Even the sky seemed distant, a pale gray dome stretching endlessly above me. I didn't know where I was going, only that I kept moving, drawn forward by a silence that seemed alive, whispering to me in ways I could not name.
And then I saw it.
My own body lay on the ground, pale and fragile, stiff against the wet earth. My chest tightened at the sight, but I felt no fear, only a hollow ache, as though the absence of life itself weighed on me. No one had come. No one had even looked in my direction.
Not a single tear had been shed, no hand reached out to me, no whispered name cut through the heavy air. Typical, isn't it? The world had always forgotten me. Now it had forgotten even my death.
Only one figure stood there. At first, he was nothing more than a shadow at the edge of my vision, and I could not look at him directly without a strange unease curling through my chest.
But as he stepped closer, the air seemed to bend around him, folding in on itself like the world had been reshaped by his presence. His form was human, yet somehow it was not. There was a weight to him that grounded the earth beneath him, a presence that seemed too vast, too eternal to belong to this world.
His movements were deliberate, slow, and filled with a gravitas I could feel in my bones. He was not a man. He was not human. And yet, it seemed as if he felt more than anyone was capable of.
He knelt beside me, and I noticed in his hands a small bouquet of white roses, delicate and perfect, their petals glistening with rain. Without a word, he placed them gently into my arms. I wanted to reach for him, to ask who he was, to demand a name, but I could not.
I could only watch as he sank fully to his knees, the shadow of his bowed face hidden beneath a hood of darkness, his grief radiating outward like a weight pressing down on the entire field.
Then came the sound, a low, trembling cry, deep and endless, as if it had been held back for centuries. It was not a human cry, it had no warmth or softness, only the raw pull of despair. He raised his head as his voice broke through the storm.
"You promised... you promised you would heal her... and instead you cursed her! I would have given you anything, anything at all!"
I did not know who he was, or why he mourned me with such intensity. I only knew that his grief was vast, stretching across something far larger than the world I had known, and yet somehow, impossibly, it included me.
***
I woke with a start, my chest heaving and my heart hammering in my ears. The dream had felt so real that, for a moment, I almost forgot it was only a dream. The sun had already risen, spilling through the rolled-up curtains, which meant I had slept far too late. Normally, my stepmother would have been at my side by now, complaining about how much I slept, her voice sharp and impatient.
I sat up, rubbing my face, and my hands shot forward, reaching for the small comfort I always carried—the necklace. I had felt it in my fingers just moments ago, warm and steady, a tiny anchor in the strange, endless darkness of the dream. But when my fingers closed around the spot where it should have been, there was nothing.
The necklace was gone.