Noël
The world around me dissolves into an endless void of darkness. There’s no ground or walls, just an overwhelming nothingness, as though I’ve been swallowed whole by the night. Where am I?
Slowly, dim lights begin to appear above, tiny strings glowing in the void. They pulse like the beat of a heart I cannot see.
I don’t move, yet I feel pulled forward, drawn into the strange glow. And I see them.
Hands. Paws.
So many hands and paws rise from the shadowy ground. They stretch upward, fingers curling and reaching. Each one is unique—weathered or delicate, clawed and strong—but they all share the same destination, grasping for the light above.
They rise higher, and that’s when I notice what they’re reaching for. Suspended above them is a small figure, glowing like a blue rose in a black, starless sky. I hold my breath as my sight sharpens, and I see it clearly.
A baby.
Me.
I am that baby.
The infant is held aloft by countless hands that cradle her carefully. As she’s lifted higher, the glow of her skin grows stronger, silvery-blue light bright enough to cross the dark hall. The whispers start then, rising around me. I hear them everywhere I look. I can’t make out the words, but I feel them—prayers or hopes. Warnings. They ripple through me, raising goose bumps on my skin.
The hands and paws remain outstretched, as though pleading, begging. Their desperate yearning seems aimed not at the baby, but at... my heart?
Then, from the shadows, someone steps forward. Cutting through the sea of hands and paws.
Mother.
She walks with grace. Back straight, chin high, just like she always did. Her hair flows like midnight silk, her gray roots glowing in the light. Her face is etched with sorrow, a grief that hurts even from where I stand. Her bare feet are silent against the shadowy ground, and her gaze never leaves the baby. Me.
The whispers quiet as she approaches, the hands freezing mid-reach as though waiting for her permission to touch the infant. She leans down, her arms passing through the layers of hands and paws to lift the baby into her embrace.
“My little rose,” she murmurs. She presses a kiss to the baby’s forehead, her tears catching in the glow. “My Noël.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Mother,” I whisper.
She doesn’t hear me. Her eyes are closed as she holds the baby for a long moment. Then, with a deep breath, she lifts the infant high. Her strong voice echoes through the void as thousands of white feathers fall from above.
“The blue rose will bloom again.”
My heart pounds, chest tight and aching. My head feels heavy, eyes swollen as though I’ve been crying for hours. I’m warm, no, my body is nearly burning. Seeing my mother’s face so clearly... I miss her so much.
There’s so much I want to say to her, so much I need her to know. How I long for her touch, her wisdom, and love. How I wish I could tell her everything that’s happened since she left me. I need to know why she was taken from me, how it all ended. And I want to tell her about Theron, how kind he’s been, how he cares for me. I think she would’ve liked him if only she were still here. Maybe he could’ve helped her with that fat raccoon who always stole her trinkets from the roof. We didn’t have many wild animals in Tárnov, but this raccoon managed to find a way between Tárnov’s walls, and for some reason, would appear in our home. Theron’s so tall, he probably could’ve reached it easily.
It is so painful.
I want to reach out for that baby, to hold her close, to whisper to her that she’ll grow strong, that she’ll grow smart and beautiful.
But the hands. All those paws. Who were they? Why did they feel so familiar, like ghosts from a forgotten memory?
A gentle touch grazes my cheek, pulling me from my thoughts. I lean into the soothing sensation. It’s damp and fluffy, like fur.
Fur?
I force my eyes open, blinking away the blur, and find myself staring into Theron’s bright, hazel eyes. There’s something soft in the way he looks at me. It’s comforting.
“I can finally see your eyes, my little dove,” he murmurs.
Why does it feel like I haven’t seen him in so long? A breeze brushes against my skin, and I glance to the side. We’re on the porch.
