Chapter 1
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Chapter 1 — The Bright Days
The sun always rose gently over Elmorah.
It wasn't the kind of town that made it to maps or stories — just a quiet place where people lived and died without making much noise. But to Kris, it was everything. Her world began and ended in that tiny corner of peace, in that little blue-doored house that smelled like soap, bread, and safety.
Every morning, the same routine played like a melody she never got tired of.
Her father, Mr. Aven, would wake first. She'd always hear the faint creak of the kitchen door, the whistle of the kettle, and his low humming voice. Then came the soft footsteps of her mother, Elara, whose laughter followed like sunlight spilling into every shadow.
When Kris finally woke, she'd find them both in the kitchen — her father reading a newspaper folded perfectly in half, her mother leaning against the counter with a smile that made time slow down.
> "Good morning, sleepy moon," her father would say, eyes twinkling behind his glasses.
"Morning, Papa," she'd yawn, rubbing her eyes.
Then came the cup — her cup — warm chocolate, a little too sweet, always served in the same chipped mug with blue flowers around the rim.
> "No matter what happens, my star," he'd say, "never let the world make you forget who you are."
He said it every day, like a prayer disguised as advice. Back then, Kris never thought much about it. She was only ten — and ten-year-olds don't think about the world; they live inside it.
Her mother's paintings filled every corner of the living room. Soft strokes of color turned blank canvas into dreams — sunsets, oceans, faces, flowers. Kris would sit nearby with her sketchbook, trying to copy them.
> "You've got my hands," Elara would say, watching her daughter draw.
"No," Kris would laugh. "I've got Papa's hands. They're big."
"And gentle," Elara replied. "Like his heart."
They'd laugh, and her father would pretend not to hear from the kitchen — but Kris knew he smiled every time.
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🌿 Afternoons in Elmorah
Their neighborhood was small — lined with narrow streets, children's laughter, and the hum of life.
Kris spent her afternoons chasing butterflies through the field behind the house. She'd lie in the grass and stare up at the clouds, pretending each one was a creature in some faraway world she'd one day visit.
Sometimes her mother joined her, bringing sandwiches and stories.
> "Do you think the sky ever gets lonely?" Kris once asked.
"Only when no one looks up," Elara said.
Her mother always had answers like that — ones that sounded simple but stayed with you forever.
Her father would come home at sunset, dust clinging to his sleeves from the bookstore. He smelled like old pages and rain. Kris loved that smell. It made her feel safe.
Dinner was always laughter.
Sometimes Elara would tell stories about her childhood; sometimes Aven would sing old songs he barely remembered. Kris would clap along, off beat but happy.
After dinner, they'd all sit by the radio — an old brown one that crackled when you touched it — listening to music until sleep caught them mid-sentence.
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🕊️ The Stranger in the Market
The first shadow fell on their lives quietly, like a whisper no one noticed.
It was a Saturday. Elara and Kris had gone to the market to buy fresh fruits. The sun was high, and vendors called out prices with smiles.
Kris, holding her mother's hand, noticed a man in a dark coat standing too still near the corner. His face was partly hidden under a hat.
When he saw Elara, he froze.
Their eyes met for a moment — just a second — but something cold passed between them.
> "Mama," Kris whispered, tugging her sleeve, "who's that?"
"No one," Elara said too quickly. "Just keep walking, my love."
The man turned away, disappearing into the crowd.
Elara's hand tightened around Kris's, and she didn't speak for the rest of the walk home.
That night, Kris overheard her parents arguing in hushed tones.
She heard words like "past," "danger," and "they found us."
When she peeked from her room, she saw her father holding her mother close.
> "I'll protect you both," he whispered.
And for the first time, Kris saw fear in her mother's eyes.
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🌼 The Gift
A few days later, her father came home early, holding something behind his back.
> "Close your eyes," he said.
Kris obeyed, smiling.
He placed a small silver locket in her hand — shaped like a star, with a single blue stone in the center.
> "Whenever you're scared, hold this," he said. "It'll remind you that light can live even in the darkest places."
"Did you buy it?" she asked.
"No," he smiled sadly. "I made it — from your mother's first painting frame."
Elara laughed softly, eyes shining.
> "You're such a sentimental fool," she said, kissing his cheek.
Kris held the locket tightly that night, listening to the sound of the wind through the windows. She didn't know why, but she couldn't sleep. The air felt heavy, as if the world was waiting for something terrible.
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🌙 The Calm Before
The last morning came beautifully.
The sky was a clear silver-blue, and the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. Her mother's laughter echoed down the hall. Her father's voice hummed along to the radio. Everything looked normal — too normal.
At breakfast, her father looked at both of them for a long time, as if memorizing their faces.
> "Papa, why are you looking at me like that?" Kris giggled.
"Because," he said softly, "sometimes, we forget to look at the things we love — until they're gone."
Elara frowned. "Don't talk like that."
He only smiled, brushing it off.
That evening, the three of them sat in the garden. Fireflies danced in the air. Kris chased them with a jar, laughing when they escaped her hands.
Elara leaned her head on Aven's shoulder.
> "Promise me," she whispered, "no matter what happens, keep her safe."
"I promise," he said.
The wind picked up, rustling the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
Kris stopped chasing the fireflies.
She didn't know why — but for a moment, she felt something cold brush against her skin, something like a warning from the night itself.
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🌒 The Final Scene of Light
That night, Elara tucked her in as usual.
> "Mama," Kris murmured, half-asleep, "do you think angels cry?"
Elara smiled faintly. "Only when they lose someone they love."
Kris nodded, clutching her locket.
> "Then I hope they never have to."
Her mother kissed her forehead and whispered, "Sleep, my little star."
The house was quiet again.
Peaceful. Safe.
But not for long.
Because outside, down the empty street, a car engine idled with its lights off.
And in the darkness beyond the window, three shadows moved silently toward the blue door.