Crown of Sorrow, Kiss of Destiny

Seraphina Willowmist held her bow string taught, breath, hitching, as though the very weight of destiny rested upon her quiver. Before her, a pigeon pecked idly at the dirt, unaware it was about to become both dinner and arrows.

She released.

The bird crumpled into the snow with a flutter that echoed like a sigh on the wind.

It was her second pigeon of the day. Two birds. For nine mouths. Her eight sisters would starve- again. They would not thank her for the meager meal. They would scold her for failing to provide dresses, as if pigeons could be bartered for silks.

But Seraphina bore this weight as she bore all things, with grit and grace.

As she stepped delicately to retrieve the felled bird, her breath caught in her throat. She could feel it again, the feeling of being watched by a predator. She had felt it for days, weeks, perhaps longer. It was always in the trees just beyond the clearing. A presence. A shadow. A darkness that seemed to eat away even at the darkest depths of the forest.

Yet she did not run, though there may be a beast watching her; her sisters were depending on her to bring home this meager meal.

The snow fell in sheets, each flake felt heavier than the last, yet she pressed on. Seraphina’s breath misted in the air as she trudged through the forest, her thin dress no match for the winter’s cruelty. She clutched the pigeons close, their bodies still warm, though not warm enough to thaw the frost settling in her bones.

By the time she reached the cottage, icicles dangled like daggers from the roof. Her sister huddled inside, hungry, cold, and wrapped in the shawls that Seraphina had bartered for them.

"Two pigeons?” Elayna wailed, frost clinging to her lashes. “We will starve before we freeze!”

“And without new gowns, how shall we attend the winter ball?” Cried Gelayna, collapsing into Helanya’s arms.

Seraphina said nothing. She couldn’t. Her lips were blue, her hair stiff with frozen pigeon feathers.

Seraphina lowered the pigeons onto the crooked table. The cracked plate sat waiting, the only one they owned, chipped edges, sharp, and brittle, but it was better than nothing. She plucked each bird carefully, sliding the feathers into her braid for safekeeping. Her sisters watched in silence, awaiting their meal.

At last, she set the birds over the fire. The meat hissed and spat, the flames licking them. When at last she was sure they were cooked, Seraphina placed them both on the single plate, the only one they owned. Eight hands reached out at once, tearing off morsels and bringing them to hungry mouths.

“Two pigeons split nine ways,” whispered Delayna, eyes glistening. “Truly, we are cursed.”

“I can already feel myself withering away,” sighed Celayna, though her mouth was still full.

When the bones were stripped, Seraphina set them aside for broth. She rose again, lifting the rusty bucket and filling it with snow. Balanced over the fire, the ice began to melt, steam rising like the breath of life.

Her sisters crowded closer, sighing into the warmth, though none lifted a finger to help her. They watched as she stirred with a cracked wooden spoon, their eyes wide, reflecting the firelight.

“Can I take the first bath this time?” Whispered Belayna.

“Not fair, you got to last month.” Whined Helayna.

One by one, they would share this water until it grew clouded with the dirt of all nine sisters. Seraphina, of course, would bathe last. She was always last.

She straightened lips still blue, hair stiff with frozen feathers, and whispered into the flames, “We will survive this winter. I will make sure of it.”

Unseen by the nine sisters just beyond the frosted window, horns gleamed in the moonlight. A nose pressed the glass, fogging it with every sigh. He has been watching her for so long. Longer than she could ever know.

Seraphina had that feeling again, of being watched. She glanced up at their patched and cracked window, but there was nothing but flurries of snow and starlight. With a sigh, she returned to her duties, going out to fetch yet another bucket of water.

Her sisters crowded the rusty old tub, arguing bitterly over who would slip into the cloudy water first. Voices rose, sighs sharpened into shrieks, and tears glistened on the cheeks of her youngest sisters.

Seraphina tried not to listen to them, attaching pigeon feathers onto the end of new arrows with steady hands. The fire popped, the feathers whispering in her fingers, her fingers still numb with cold.

Once, long ago, before fate had robbed them, such arguments would never have been allowed. Their father’s voice would have silenced the quarrels, their mother’s hands would have guided them to order. Baths would have been warm, water clean, and food plentiful. No child would’ve had to bathe last. No daughter would have been forced to bear the burden of them all.

But her parents were gone. Taken by a strange illness, the villagers had come to call ′the wasting.′And the villagers themselves, any who might’ve helped, had long since turned their backs on the nine orphan girls.

So now it was Seraphina, who always waited, as each sister soaked in the bath, until the water turned gray as ash. By the time her turn came, the bath was cold, dirty, and lifeless. Still, she washed. She always did, because no one else would volunteer to go last.

When at last she lay down, her body chilled from the murky bath, Seraphina turned her head toward the mantle. From her straw pallet, she could just make out the faded portrait of her parents, the only possession she had refused to sell. The cracked frame glinted faintly in the dying firelight, their painted eyes watching her still.

Her sister slept soundly, sighing in their dreams of gowns and balls, but Seraphina whispered into the silence.

“I will keep them alive, Mother. Father. Even if they never thank me, I will carry them through this winter.”

Her lips trembled and her throat bobbed with the vow.

Outside, the snow smothered the forest, horns gleamed in the moonlight, and the dark figure pressed his nose harder to the glass. He had watched her whisper her vow on many nights. And knew that she knew tragedy just as he did.

But then- her gaze flickered toward the window, just for a heartbeat. Just long enough that had she looked a moment longer, she might’ve seen him.

In an instant, he was gone, swallowed by shadow and snow, retreating into the forest. His horns ducked low, wings tucked in tight, and behind him, a tail trailed.

When she blinked, there was nothing there. Only frost, only silence.

Seraphina exhaled, steadying herself, and closed her eyes at last. She did not know she was already claimed by destiny.