Untitled Story 1

It was a cold, miserable night in the village called Sounvenge. It was a small, quaint village with a fairly low amount of occupants. No one person dare set foot out from their warm, cozy homes, all warmed by the fire in the hearth. Snow falls, filling the icy sky with white, coating the barren ground below with a thick blanket.

Out in the chill of the night, beneath a patch of snow lay a boy. He is shunned by the village. He lay there on the verge of death, the frost nipping at his skin. He is the son of a tax collector notorious for asking of the village far more than what was required. The boy one day came through the village as any other day this happy boy had, only this time he saw his father being beaten and flogged by many men. When he saw this, he fell to his knees and sobbed loudly. The crying drew the mob's attention, they dropped his father's lifeless body and charged after him to the edge of the village. He was told to never return if he valued his life. This occurrence was a week ago. The boy lay there, the scene still fresh in his mind.

The boy has a pale complexion, his skin hugging tightly around his bony stature from the week-long starvation. Before he had been a slender boy, but that had all changed with a week without his daily food. His stomach growls loudly and he winces in pain from the scarcity of nutrients within his body. Within his eyes, which were once filled with a luster, now is a dull, lifeless stare. His eyes are light gray, standing out from the village's mostly greenish eyes and the less common but still prevalent blue. He has been laying in this same spot since yesterday, not moving an inch. He longs dearly for some nurturing of a mother, or the guidance of a father, he wishes this more than ever before.He stares into the sky as the snow rains down upon him. It is already coating his body quite much. His hair is full of snow, the snow playing with his hair as it falls through it. He lies there, not saying a word, lost in his desires for a guardian and a great hunger.

A crackling whisper of fire enters his ear. He looks over and sees the house that the whisper came from. He shakily and slowly rises to his feet, a full inch of snow falling off of him. He looks to the house with a distraught look in his eyes. He sees the window on the house, a figure inside. He slowly and painfully stumbles to the window.

He pushes his nose against the window, peering in. His breath fogs the window a bit. he looks closely at the figure. The figure sits in a chair in front of a fireplace. The figure holds withing its hands a book, it spanning many pages. Unfortunately, he boy cannot read but a few letters on the cover, as his mother had only gotten the chance to teach him a fourth of the alphabet before passing; she passed two years ago from fever. he came to realize the figure as a woman. She sat there, blissfully unaware of him at the window.