Ch.1; unnamed story

Ashia could recall the warm feeling that had spread through her very soul upon hearing her mother's words. That night she fell asleep with a little smile on her lips, despite the furious wind howling outside the stone walls as if the Spirit of the Winds was enraged at the world itself. She had almost felt giddy with excitement when she thought about that word — Extraordinary. It had felt so right back then.

But now, hidden in the shadows behind the kitchen door, trembling and sweating as thunder cracked the sky open with light and shook the earth upon its descent, Ashia did not feel like the kind of girl that would be capable of being extraordinary.  

She tried to stay as quiet as possible, hoping that the other occupant of the room would eventually go away so that she could grab a glass of water to soothe her scratchy throat, and yet the white-haired lady appeared to have other plans. Due to that, Ashia had stood as still as a statue in the shadows while the woman prepared some tea with all the calm in the world, her back to the door and her eyes on the starless sky.

However, when she moved a little to the side in order to grab some sugar from the top cabinet, the child spotted not one, but two cups placed near the fuming samovar. And then, when the woman's dark eyes peered directly into her, Ashia knew that the shadows had betrayed her and that she had never been safely hidden at all.

Alya smiled at her. The child did not dare move.

At least not until the woman silently gestured to the two wooden chairs and the promise of hot tea and chocolate cookies that stood as an enticing view atop the polished wooden table. Ashia quietly licked her lips. She could never deny any sweets that were being offered to her. It was her weakest spot and, at the moment, the only remembrance that she had of her old routine back at home, in Zaatis.

“The storm woke me up too. I think some hot tea would do us both good.” Alya was the first to sit down, immediately pouring some of the hot beverage into the two cups. The woman's voice was soft and the words were carried in her direction on a soft wind that had forced its way through the orphanage walls. Outside, the trees bent at odd angles, bowing to the winds.

Reluctantly, the girl forced her shaky legs to move from the shadowed corner towards the vacant chair and she only had the courage to reply with a brief, “T-Thank you.”, before sitting down with her back ramrod straight and her eyes fixed on the table.

The white-haired lady was the first to reach into the cookies and Ashia soon followed, grabbing the biggest one on the plate.

She was grateful for the silence that followed. Even after almost a month of small conversations and friendly questions, the feeling of distrust always lingered when this woman, her real mother — she kept reminding herself — spoke to her, like this: in private, with only the light of the candles to keep them company and the shadows of the dancing trees as witnesses to their secrets. 

Alya's voice brought her back to the cold reality that was Osar. She did not have the heart to speak her mind to these strange people, afraid of coming out as some spoiled little girl who had lived a privileged life compared to some of the children who called the orphanage their first and only home.

And she had tried to feel at home. But Ashia could not look at the enormous estate as a palace full of rooms to be discovered; she missed her small home that always smelled of sea and smoke from the harbors. She felt uncomfortable at the way the old teachers, with their pointed noses and small spectacles perched atop them, whispered behind her back as soon as she turned to leave the room; and shivers ran down her spine when she heard the quiet musings of the staff. The other children avoided her as if she were a sick dog and she had no idea why so she stopped trying to be friends with them and found her way to the quiet comfort of the library. Only there could she be as strange and silent as she pleased without all the eyes fixed on her. Well, except when her adoptive older brother, Misha, was there as well. But he left her be and for that she was grateful.