Winter draped the city of Loran in an icy white blanket. Snowflakes fell endlessly from the ashen sky, glittering faintly under the sickly yellow streetlights. Beneath the heavy snow, the sounds of cars and the hurried footsteps of office workers leaving for the day still echoed, mingling with the distant chime of Loran’s clock tower, as if to remind everyone that time never stopped.

  No one noticed the small figure sprinting desperately through the snowstorm, like a hunted wild animal.

  Luneth, a girl barely sixteen, curled into herself inside her tattered coat. Her messy platinum hair, glimmering faintly like moonlight, whipped across her face, half-hiding her pale blue eyes wide with fear. Her bare, skinny feet stumbled on the snow, every step stabbing like a thousand icy needles. Her breath spilled out in quick, fragile clouds, as if her very life was fading into the frozen air. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and the cold sank deep into her bones—she could collapse at any moment. Freeze to death… or starve. Both hovered close.

  Behind her, heavy footsteps crushed the snow in pursuit. A fat man with a filthy, grease-stained apron wrapped around his bulging body was bellowing into the winter night:

  “Stop right there, you little brat! Don’t you dare let me catch you!”

  His voice was hoarse with rage, echoing through the streets. His feral face and massive frame made pedestrians instinctively step aside. He was the owner of a nearby diner, the one who had just caught a filthy homeless girl daring to steal a single warm, cheap bun from his counter.

  Luneth bit her cracked lips, tasting blood, but felt no pain. The cold dulled it… or maybe the fear of being caught overwhelmed everything else. She didn’t understand why he was so furious—just one bun, something he threw away daily when unsold. To her, though, it was life itself.

  She slipped through the crowd, her tiny bare feet sinking into the packed snow, then darted into a narrow, dark alley. At the dead end, she curled into the shadows beside a trash bin, crouching like a stray cat. Her purpled hands clamped over her mouth, stifling her ragged breath, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

  Time dragged painfully slow, every second stretching into a century. The man’s curses echoed distantly, his heavy footsteps crushing the snow. Luneth shut her eyes, trembling. Each curse, each step, made her flinch.

  She thought of the days in the church, when Sister Agnes held her close and whispered that she wasn’t a monster, even if her silver hair made people call her a witch. She once had warm meals, clean clothes. But then Sister Agnes died, and the church collapsed in a mysterious fire. No one adopted her. “Witches” weren’t worthy of love. Only hunger, cold, and a fragile life kept her company now.

  The man’s footsteps grew faint… then disappeared. Luneth opened her eyes, her breathing finally slowing. With shaking hands, she reached into her ragged coat and pulled out the crushed bun from her desperate escape. Her pale blue eyes glimmered like a frozen lake as silent tears slid down her frost-streaked cheeks.

  She took a big bite. The bun was cold and stiff, but to her, it was magic. How long had it been since she’d eaten anything that wasn’t garbage? She couldn’t remember. She ate and cried, wiping her face with her hands, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She chewed slowly, savoring every fragment, as if eating too fast would make the sweet taste vanish forever.

  She chewed and lingered, trying to stretch out the moment. A memory surfaced: Sister Agnes baking bread for her, smiling and saying she was smart, that she would one day find her own path.

  “But what path would take in someone the whole world has cast aside?” Luneth wondered.

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  She swallowed the last bite. She was alive… for now. But the cold crept back in, and she needed warmth before it killed her.

  Luneth staggered to the trash bin and dug out a filthy, tattered scrap of cloth—hardly more than a rag, but to her, it was treasure. Her eyes lit up; it was the largest piece she’d found in days.

  She spread it on the frozen ground, curled up, and pulled it over her frail body. The night wind howled through the alley, as sharp as invisible knives. She closed her eyes, trying to slip into a shallow sleep. Just enough to forget the hunger, the cold, and this cruel life… to dream of the church, and Sister Agnes’s warm embrace.

  But fate wouldn’t leave her in peace.

  Footsteps echoed, stopping right in front of her. Luneth’s eyes flew open, her heart skipping a beat. The diner owner loomed over her, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

  Before she could react, his boot slammed into her stomach. Agonizing pain coiled through her insides like a snake. She doubled over, mouth open in a silent scream.

  “Think you can hide from me, huh!? That bun’s worth ten thousand, you filthy brat! Don’t work and still want to eat!? Trash like you should stick to garbage!” he roared, raining down more vicious kicks.

  He grabbed her by her ragged collar, lifted her effortlessly, and threw her onto the snow. Her body hit the ground, the world blurred. Her eyes glazed; she couldn’t even see his furious face clearly. She wanted to cry, to beg, but she knew no one would listen.

  No one ever had.

  He beat her—kicks, punches—like she wasn’t even human, just a thing to vent his anger on. Luneth curled into a ball, weak hands shielding her head, but her tiny body couldn’t withstand the blows. She thought of Sister Agnes, of soft whispers, and wondered if there was a place without pain. Blood dripped into the snow, staining it deep red.

  Finally, he stopped, panting heavily. “Next time you come near my shop, I’ll kill you myself!” He spat in disgust and walked away, leaving her crumpled in the bloody snow.

  Luneth lay still. The cold wrapped around her, but this time it felt… peaceful. She smiled faintly, her vision dimming. At least… she’d had one last meal. A proper one. Maybe she wouldn’t become a starving ghost after death. Snowflakes fell, landing on her closed eyes, covering her small body in a silent white shroud.

  And then, in the darkness, she opened her eyes.

  No more pain. No more howling cold. Only a deep, endless night surrounding her. Somewhere, a distant voice spoke, neither male nor female:

  “You’re not done yet, Luneth.”

  I woke in darkness.

  Not the darkness of the sky, but a thick, heavy night—dense like swamp mud—coating my body, seeping into my lungs.

  Cold.

  Not the kind of cold I knew—this one didn’t bite at my skin; it sank into my bones, into my marrow. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel wind, couldn’t smell anything. Nothing existed except a faint, eerie hiss.

  Right… I’m dead.

  And this is hell.

  I’d heard it all before—people passing me every day, holding their noses at the stench of my rags. Children laughing, “Filthy beggar! When you die, you’re going straight to hell!”

  The adults were colder. They didn’t laugh, but their eyes said it all: I was filth, a blemish. “You’re nothing alive, and no one will mourn you dead.”

  I believed them. Completely.

  I didn’t cry. What was the point? Hell didn’t care. I thought maybe there would be fire, screaming souls, red-hot knives, demons with bloody claws.

  A dim, blurry light seeped through some crack, like a dying lantern. I tried to move. First a finger—rough, ridged, like iron chains. I froze. I shook my wrist. A faint metallic clink. Shackles. Both hands… and feet.

  I didn’t know if I should be afraid or relieved. If this was hell… well, it fit. I’d never done anything good. I stole. I cursed people in my head. I wished for others to die so I could live.

  I strained, forcing myself to stand. The ground beneath me trembled with every shift, throwing me off balance. When I turned, the floor beneath me swayed. I didn’t understand. Where was I?

  Just as I managed to straighten—still hunched like a shrimp—my head slammed into something hard.

  I fell to my knees.

  Wood. I felt around. Wood above, around me. I reached up, fingers catching on bars. No doubt—I was in a cage. A wooden cage.

  I inhaled. Dusty air. The smell of straw. Rusted metal. The cage… and the ground beneath me shook, as if floating—or…

  I heard it: the rhythmic clop of hooves. The ground under me wasn’t ground at all. A carriage. A horse-drawn carriage. And I was chained inside a caged crate. I didn’t know where I was being taken.

  I wanted to scream, but my throat was so dry only a rasp escaped. Not that anyone would come. No prince would rescue a homeless girl instead of a princess.

  I could only sit there, arms wrapped around myself, and wonder… how long would this hell last? And what punishments awaited me, after a life that never did anything worth remembering?