Chapter One: The Beginning of Misery
The sound of laboured breathing echoed through a dilapidated hut.
A woman lay on a cold stone bed, her frail body trembling with every desperate attempt to draw breath. A thin, tattered blanket covered her, doing little to protect her from the bitter winter cold.
Her hands and feet had turned a frightening shade of blue. Dark spots marred her sunken face, and her cheeks had hollowed until her skin clung to her bones.
She looked as though a single gust of wind might carry her away.
Beside the stone bed sat a little girl.
She appeared to be no older than four.
The girl watched her mother struggle for breath with a pair of unusually calm eyes. After a moment, she reached out with her tiny hands and pulled the blanket more tightly around the woman's body.
It was a futile gesture.
The blanket was too thin, the room too cold, and the woman too weak.
Nevertheless, the little girl continued adjusting it until she was satisfied that her mother was as covered as she could make her.
Only then did she stand.
Her small frame swayed slightly as she bent down to retrieve a wooden bowl from the floor.
I need to get Mother some water.
Clutching the bowl with both hands, she made her way toward the door.
The hut was little more than a collection of weather-beaten wooden planks and dried branches. Gaps in the walls allowed the winter wind to slip inside, while the roof offered little protection against the elements.
It stood at the edge of a small village, far enough from the other houses that the sounds of ordinary life rarely reached it.
Beyond the hut stretched a vast forest.
The trees stood like silent sentinels, their bare branches reaching toward the grey sky. The ground was hard with frost, and the wind carried the sharp scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.
The little girl stepped outside.
She had made this journey countless times before.
With the wooden bowl pressed against her chest, she walked through the forest, carefully avoiding the patches of slippery ground she had learned to recognise.
She was hungry.
She was cold.
And she was tired.
But none of those things mattered.
Her mother needed water.
That was enough.
After a long walk, she finally reached the river.
The water flowed sluggishly between the frozen banks. She crouched beside it, dipped the bowl beneath the surface, and waited until it was full.
The cold bit into her fingers.
She barely noticed.
Holding the bowl carefully to prevent the water from spilling, she hurried back toward the hut.
By the time she returned, her mother's breathing had grown even weaker.
The woman lay motionless, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven movements.
"Mother."
The little girl placed the bowl beside the bed and climbed onto the stone platform.
She slipped one arm beneath her mother's head, struggling to lift it with her small body, then brought the bowl to the woman's lips.
"Drink some water, Mother."
A little water entered the woman's mouth.
The rest dribbled down the corner of her lips and onto her neck.
The little girl tilted the bowl again.
"Mother, drink."
But the woman could no longer swallow properly.
The girl continued until the bowl was empty.
Then she carefully lowered her mother's head onto the makeshift pillow and stared at her face.
Nothing had changed.
Her mother was still sick.
Still cold.
Still frighteningly thin.
The little girl lowered her gaze to the empty bowl.
She had already given her mother the food she had gathered earlier that day. Fallen fruits, edible roots, and whatever else she could find in the forest had become their only source of nourishment.
She had not eaten anything for three days.
Her stomach had long since stopped complaining.
It was probably conserving its strength.
That was what she had decided.
After all, there was no point wasting energy feeling hungry when there was no food to eat.
She placed the empty bowl on the floor and returned to her usual position beside the bed.
For a while, she simply watched her mother breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Each breath sounded weaker than the one before it.
The little girl did not understand why her mother refused to get better.
It had been a year since the woman had fallen ill.
A year since she had collapsed and become too weak to leave the bed.
A year since the little girl had taken over the responsibility of keeping them both alive.
She had learned to search the forest for food, gather water from the river, and identify the few plants her mother had once told her were safe to eat.
She had even learned how to break apart fallen branches to make a fire.
Most of those lessons had come from watching rather than being taught.
Her mother had become too weak to do much of anything.
And there was no one else.
No one came to visit.
No one brought food.
No one offered medicine.
The villagers had made it clear, long before her mother became bedridden, that they wanted nothing to do with the two of them.
The little girl did not understand their reasons.
She only knew that whenever she approached the village, people looked at her as though she were something unpleasant they had found beneath their feet.
Some ignored her.
Others chased her away.
A few threw stones.
Eventually, she stopped asking them for help.
She had learned that people could be cruel.
She had also learned that crying did not make them kinder.
So she stopped crying.
At least, she tried to.
The little girl had always been different.
Her earliest memories were unusually clear. She could recall things that had happened when she was barely old enough to speak, remembering voices, faces, and even the smallest details of places she had seen.
Her mother had once told her that she began speaking when she was only two months old.
She had started walking at four.
Even as an infant, she seemed to understand far more than a child of her age should.
Her mother had sometimes stared at her with an expression the little girl could not understand.
Was it surprise?
Fear?
Or perhaps concern?
The girl had never known.
But whatever strange qualities she possessed, they had done nothing to improve their circumstances.
She was still a child.
And her mother was still dying.
Her father had died before she was born.
She knew very little about him, having learned most of what she knew from the few stories her mother had told her.
He had been a poor hunter, a man with no remarkable abilities and even fewer friends.
The villagers had never respected him.
He owned nothing of value, and the miserable hut at the edge of the forest had been his only possession.
According to her mother, he had gone into the mountains to hunt for food while she was pregnant.
He had never returned.
Something had killed him.
Something strange.
Her mother had never explained exactly what it was, and the little girl had never been able to ask anyone else.
After his death, her mother had given birth alone.
There had been no midwife, no physician, and no one to help her through the ordeal.
She had survived, but her health had deteriorated afterward.
By the time the little girl turned three, her mother could barely stand.
Not long after that, she collapsed.
And she had never risen from the bed again.
Since then, the little girl had done everything she could to keep them both alive.
She had searched for food.
Gathered water.
Collected firewood.
And watched helplessly as the only person who had ever loved her grew weaker with every passing day.
Now, even those efforts seemed meaningless.
Her mother's breathing had become so faint that the girl had to lean close to hear it.
She pressed a tiny hand against the woman's chest.
There was a movement.
Then another.
Then nothing.
The little girl waited.
Perhaps her mother was sleeping.
She had seen her sleep many times before, sometimes for hours without waking.
"Mother?"
There was no answer.
The girl gently shook her shoulder.
"Mother, wake up."
Nothing.
She shook her again, harder this time.
"Mother!"
The woman's body remained still.
The little girl stared at her.
For the first time in a very long while, she felt something unfamiliar rising inside her chest.
It was a strange, unpleasant sensation.
Her throat tightened.
Her eyes grew hot.
And suddenly, she could no longer breathe properly.
"Mother?"
Her voice trembled.
She pressed her ear against the woman's chest.
There was no heartbeat.
No breath.
Nothing.
Her mother was dead.
The realisation settled over her slowly, like snow burying the last traces of a dying fire.
She had known that her mother was sick.
She had known that her condition was getting worse.
But somewhere deep inside, she had believed that if she continued bringing her food and water, her mother would eventually recover.
Perhaps not today.
Perhaps not tomorrow.
But someday.
They would leave the hut.
They would find a better place to live.
Her mother would smile again.
And perhaps, one day, someone would teach her how to survive in a world that seemed determined to reject her.
Those thoughts had kept her going.
Now, they were gone.
The little girl curled up beside her mother's body.
She pulled the thin blanket over them both and pressed herself against the woman's cold side.
"Mother..."
Her voice was barely audible.
"Don't leave me."
No answer came.
"Please."
She did not know how long she remained there.
Time lost its meaning.
The cold seeped into her limbs, gradually numbing her fingers and toes. Her stomach twisted painfully, but she lacked the strength to move.
She did not want to move.
If she stayed close enough to her mother, perhaps she would not feel so alone.
Perhaps, when she closed her eyes, she would wake up somewhere else.
Somewhere warm.
Somewhere with food.
Somewhere her mother was still alive.
Eventually, the little girl lost consciousness.
Darkness swallowed her.
And the hut fell silent.
---
When she next opened her eyes, she could not tell whether it was day or night.
The world appeared distant and unreal, as though she were looking at it through a thick layer of fog.
Her body felt heavy.
Her head throbbed.
And a terrible smell filled the hut.
She tried to move, but her limbs barely responded.
For several moments, she simply lay there, staring at the darkened ceiling.
Then she remembered.
Mother.
She turned her head.
The woman's body lay beside her, exactly where it had been before.
But something had changed.
Her skin had darkened further, and strange growths had begun appearing across her face and hands. Insects crawled over the remains of the blanket.
The little girl stared.
She did not understand what she was seeing.
She only knew that the smell was unbearable.
And that her mother was no longer going to wake up.
A long silence followed.
Then the little girl slowly lowered her head.
She had no tears left.
Perhaps she had cried them all out.
Or perhaps her body had simply forgotten how.
She did not know how much time had passed.
Three days?
Five?
A week?
Her hunger had become a dull ache, and even that was beginning to disappear.
She could barely think.
But one thing had finally become clear.
Her mother was gone.
And if she stayed here, she would die too.
The thought did not frighten her as much as it should have.
What was there left to fear?
She had no family.
No friends.
No home worth calling a home.
The village had never wanted her, and the forest was filled with dangers she could neither understand nor fight.
Perhaps it would be easier to close her eyes and wait.
Perhaps she could join her mother.
For a long time, she considered it.
Then she remembered something her mother had once told her.
As long as you're alive, there's always a chance for things to get better.
The little girl had never understood those words.
She still didn't.
But she clung to them anyway.
Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself upright.
The world spun around her.
She waited for the dizziness to pass, then forced herself to stand.
Her legs trembled beneath her weight.
She nearly fell.
But she caught herself against the wall and remained standing.
"I need to find someone."
Her voice sounded strange in the empty hut.
Weak.
Hoarse.
Almost unfamiliar.
She looked at her mother's body one last time.
"I'm sorry, Mother."
She did not know what else to say.
There was no one to bury her mother.
No one to help her.
No one to even tell her what she was supposed to do.
So she left.
The door creaked as she pushed it open, and the winter air struck her face.
She stepped outside.
The forest stretched before her, vast and silent.
She had never been to the village by herself.
Although she had passed through the surrounding woods countless times, she had always followed familiar paths, never venturing too far from the hut.
Now, with her strength nearly exhausted, even those familiar landmarks seemed strange.
She looked left.
Then right.
Nothing seemed familiar.
The village was somewhere beyond the trees.
But which direction?
She had no idea.
After a moment, she chose a path and began walking.
She did not know whether it was the right one.
She only knew that she could not return to the hut.
Not yet.
Perhaps someone would find her.
Perhaps she would find the village.
Perhaps she would find someone willing to help.
She continued forward.
The trees grew denser as she walked, their twisted branches blocking out much of the sky. The ground beneath her feet became uneven, and the familiar sounds of the forest gradually faded.
She walked until her legs could no longer support her.
Then she rested.
When she had gathered enough strength, she continued.
Again and again.
She lost track of how many times she stumbled.
At some point, she stopped feeling the cold.
At another, she stopped feeling the pain in her feet.
All that remained was the need to keep moving.
She did not know how long she had been walking when she finally saw something unusual.
A cave.
It was hidden behind a rocky outcrop, its entrance partially concealed by tangled roots and overgrown vegetation.
The little girl stopped.
For a moment, she simply stared at it.
There might be someone inside.
A hunter.
A traveller.
Perhaps even someone from the village.
Anyone who could help her.
The thought gave her enough strength to take another step.
Then another.
She approached the entrance cautiously.
No voices came from within.
No light escaped the darkness.
Nevertheless, she entered.
The cave was small and unremarkable.
Its walls were rough, its floor covered with dust and loose stones. There were no signs of habitation, no discarded tools, and no traces of a recent fire.
At first glance, it seemed entirely ordinary.
Except for one thing.
A stone stood in the middle of the cave.
It was roughly the height of the little girl, its dark surface carved with intricate patterns that seemed to twist and overlap in ways her eyes struggled to follow.
She stopped walking.
Something was wrong.
She could not explain what it was, but the moment she looked at the stone, an inexplicable chill ran down her spine.
Her fingers stiffened.
Her breathing became shallow.
And a strange pressure settled over her mind.
She tried to look away.
She couldn't.
The stone seemed ordinary enough.
It was only a piece of rock, after all.
Yet the longer she stared at it, the more certain she became that something was watching her.
Something ancient.
Something that had been waiting.
The little girl had often wondered when her suffering would end.
Perhaps it had begun before she was born.
Perhaps it had begun the moment her father died, leaving her mother alone in a world that offered her no mercy.
Or perhaps her misery had started the day she took her first breath.
She had spent her entire life believing that the world had simply been cruel to her.
She was wrong.
Her misery began here.
The instant she stepped into this cave.
The stone's patterns seemed to shift.
The air grew heavy.
A sharp pain erupted behind her eyes.
The little girl gasped and stumbled backward, but her feet refused to move.
Something was entering her mind.
No.
Not entering.
It was as though something had torn open a door inside her skull, forcing its way through a place that should never have been touched.
Her thoughts scattered.
Her heart pounded.
She tried to scream, but no sound emerged.
What is this?
The question appeared in her mind.
Then again.
What is this?
And again.
What is this? What is this? What is this?
The thought repeated itself faster and faster, drowning out everything else.
She could no longer remember why she had entered the cave.
She could no longer remember the forest.
Her mother's face flickered through her mind.
Then disappeared.
The pain intensified.
Something hot began to flow from her eyes.
She instinctively raised a hand to her face, but before she could touch it, a sensation like burning needles pierced her left eye.
She screamed.
This time, the sound escaped her throat.
Her vision blurred.
The cave twisted.
The stone stretched into impossible shapes, its carvings spiralling into a darkness that seemed to extend far beyond the limits of the rock itself.
She tried to close her eyes.
Only one obeyed.
The other burned.
The pain became unbearable.
She felt something warm trickle down her cheek, followed by a wet sensation that made her stomach turn.
Her eye was melting.
She could feel it.
She could feel it running down her face.
And still, she could not look away from the stone.
Then—
"Heh."
A faint, almost amused sound echoed through the cave.
It was neither a laugh nor a word.
Just a sound.
Yet the moment she heard it, the pressure in her mind became absolute.
The little girl's thoughts stopped.
Her body went limp.
And the world disappeared.
Darkness swallowed everything.
---
That day, an ordinary little girl vanished into the darkness of an ordinary cave.
And somewhere beyond the boundaries of what she understood as reality, something had finally opened its eyes.