The scream of Flora shattered the stillness of the night.
"Ahhhhhhh!!!"
It rang through the orphanage like a blade slicing through silence.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Lily jolted upright, her breath shallow, her heart hammering in her chest. The room was dim, bathed in the faint bluish light of the moon filtering through the curtains. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was past midnight.
Thirst tugged at her throat. She slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake anyone. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she tiptoed through the corridor and descended the creaky wooden stairs, each step echoing faintly in the quiet.
Downstairs, the air was colder, filled with the scent of aged wood and the quiet hum of the night. She made her way to the kitchen and walked to the water container placed on the counter. The moment her fingers touched the metal, she flinched. The water was freezing. She turned on the gas stove and placed a pot over the flame. The fire danced alive, casting flickering shadows along the walls. She poured the water into the container and watched the steam begin to rise.
There was something comforting about the warmth in contrast to the cold night. Her hands hovered near the flame for a moment, soaking in the heat. It was peaceful, almost tranquil.
Then came the scream.
It wasn't just loud—it was raw, primal, filled with agony and terror. Lily dropped the container. Water spilled across the floor, but she didn't notice. Her eyes darted toward the source of the sound.
Fire. There was fire. Flames rising, crackling, consuming everything in their path. She ran towards it, driven by pure instinct.
"Mother!" she screamed.
The woman—tall, gentle, the heart of the orphanage—stood in the middle of the inferno, her figure engulfed in flame. Her face twisted in pain as she reached out toward Lily.
"No! No!" Lily cried.
But the fire was too strong. The heat was unbearable.
The mother burned alive, her scream piercing the very soul of the night.
Lily stumbled backward, tears pouring down her cheeks.
And then—everything went black.
She gasped and sat upright in her bed, her body drenched in cold sweat. Her breathing was erratic, heart pounding so violently she thought it might burst from her chest. The room was dark, quiet, untouched by flames. No smoke. No screams. No fire.
Just a dream.
A nightmare.
She clutched her chest, trying to steady herself. Her hands trembled.
Beside the window, Victor sat in silence, completely still. He hadn't slept all night. The moonlight bathed him in silver, and his eyes reflected its glow like twin mirrors. He looked calm—too calm.
Lily pushed her blanket aside and sat beside him on the small wooden bench. Neither spoke at first. The moon was full, hanging low in the sky like a watchful eye.
She looked at him. He was staring, unblinking, his eyes almost vacant, yet strangely alive. She could see the moon in his eyes.
Victor had always been like that. Quiet. Stoic. Sometimes, it felt like he wasn't made for this world. Victor was truly open to Frank.
Lily reached for his hand and held it tightly. It was warm and steady. She rested her forehead on his palm, her tears soaking into his skin.
"I had the dream again," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Victor didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice flat—emotionless, like the surface of a still lake.
Lily looked up at him, searching his face for any flicker of feeling. There was none. But even so, his presence calmed her.
"It'll be alright," he added after a pause.
She nodded weakly and pulled her legs to her chest. Her voice was barely audible. "Yes…"
There was a moment of silence. Then Victor said, "Do you remember when you broke your leg? You were three."
Lily blinked, surprised. She hadn't thought about that in years.
"Sister Mary told you not to cry," he continued. "She made you laugh with a wooden puppet. You forgot the pain in minutes."
Lily smiled faintly. "Yes… I remember."
"She always said she couldn't bear to see you cry. 'Not a tear from a beautiful girl like you,' she used to say."
"I know," Lily murmured.
Victor turned slightly. "I guess I'm like her in that way."
Then suddenly they both stopped talking.
For some time, it was silent.
It was kind of comfortable this time. The moonlight stretched across the wooden floor, and outside, the wind brushed against the window panes.
Then came a sound.
At first, it was soft. A creaking—maybe the wood settling.
But then, a cry.
Not just any cry. A scream. Guttural. Terrifying. A cry that seemed to come not from a child, but from something inhuman.
It echoed down the hallway like the wail of a ghost from the depths of hell.
Lily's eyes widened. She gripped Victor's hand even tighter.
The scream tore through the building again, sharper this time. Other children stirred. Beds creaked. Whispers turned to panicked gasps. The dormitory was alive with confusion.
Victor and Lily didn't move. They were frozen in place, their minds reeling.
"What… was that?" Lily asked, barely above a whisper.
Victor didn't answer.
More screams. Then silence.
And when they looked around—the dorm was empty.
All the children were gone.
"Victor…" Lily said, her voice trembling.
Victor stood slowly, his expression still unreadable. Lily rose with him, and together they walked toward the hallway, following the eerie silence that had replaced the chaos.
Down the stairs. Past the cracked walls. Through the corridor. There was everyone surrounded someone.
And then they saw her.
Flora.
She lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, her body limp, her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell slowly—still alive, but unconscious.
Lily rushed to her side. "Flora!" she shouted, shaking her gently. "Wake up! Please!"
Victor knelt down beside them and checked her pulse.
"She's breathing," he said calmly. "But she's not waking up."
Lily's hands trembled. "She was the one who screamed, wasn't she?"
Victor nodded. "Most likely."
Flora's eyes rolled back as her body collapsed to the floor, limbs limp and breath shallow. Her skin turned pale, and silence followed the echo of her scream. Time seemed to freeze. The others stood frozen in terror—unsure if she was alive, dead, or pulled into something far darker.
Beside Lily stood Helena, her presence silent and cold. She held a flickering oil lamp, its dim light casting long shadows across her face. Her expression was unreadable, eyes void of emotion as she addressed the children gathered around Flora's bed.
"She was just frightened after seeing me," Helena said flatly, her voice calm but distant. "Nothing more. There's no reason to worry."
The children exchanged uncertain glances, but none dared to speak.
"Now," Helena continued, her tone firmer, "go to bed. All of you."
One by one, the children obeyed, leaving the room with quiet footsteps and lingering unease.
**After some hours...**
The room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. Snow gently fell outside the window, blanketing the orphanage grounds in white. Inside, a group of children gathered around a small bed, their faces filled with concern and curiosity.
Flora stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the light above her. Her breathing was weak, but steady. The haze of fear still lingered in her gaze as she scanned the room. Familiar faces surrounded her—Frank, Victor, Lily, and several other children, all watching silently, waiting for her to speak.
Flora's lips trembled as she whispered a name, barely audible.
"Lily…"
Lily stepped closer, her brows furrowed in concern. "What is it, Flora?" she asked gently.
Flora turned her head toward her, her eyes wide with lingering fear. "Was the monster… from the orphanage… one of us?"
The room fell silent.
Lily blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Flora swallowed hard, her voice shaking. "I saw her. She stared at me. Her eyes… empty. Cold. She raised her hand like she was going to hurt me. I was so scared…" Her voice broke as tears welled up. "Please tell me… was it really the monster? Was it someone from here?"
Suddenly, Flora coughed—a low, dry sound that seemed to take all the strength from her tiny body. Frank quickly reached for a nearby bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and knelt beside her. "Here," he said softly, tilting it gently so she could drink.
Flora took a few small sips, then rested her head back against the pillow, her breathing slightly eased.
Lily sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Flora's hand. Her voice was calm but full of emotion. "It wasn't a monster, Flora. It was the mother of the house. She had gone out of the orphanage for a while—we don't know why—but she came back. She was the one who raised her hand toward you. I don't think she meant to hurt you."
Flora looked at her, confused at first. Then, slowly, her features relaxed. A tiny, relieved smile appeared on her pale face.
"Oh…" she breathed. "Thanks…"
Lily gave her a soft smile and brushed the hair from her forehead. "Get some rest now. You're safe."
Flora closed her eyes, her body sinking into the warmth of the blankets. The tension in the room eased as her breathing evened out.
The children stayed for a while longer, quietly watching over her. The fear from earlier still clung to the air, but something had shifted—an unspoken understanding that whatever had happened, they would face it together.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, covering the world in white.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Later that afternoon, the children were outside in the snow-covered yard, laughter and joy returning to the orphanage grounds. Snowflakes danced in the air, catching in their hair, their cheeks flushed with cold and happiness.
Lily, Frank, and Victor sat together on the worn wooden bench just outside the front door. They watched the children play—throwing snowballs, building lopsided snowmen, chasing each other through the thin blanket of white.
The quiet between the three older children was calm, reflective.
A little further from the group, under the shade of an old tree near the edge of the orphanage grounds, sat Orion. A pen in one hand and a small leather-bound poem book in the other, he observed the scene with thoughtful eyes. Occasionally, he wrote something, the scratch of his pen soft beneath the whisper of falling snow.
Victor glanced up at the gray sky where the sun was hidden behind thick clouds. Snowflakes landed on his eyelashes, melted slowly into his skin.
"It'll get better," he said quietly, as if trying to convince the world—and maybe himself.
Neither Frank nor Lily replied. But the warmth of their presence, even in the cold, was enough.
The snow continued to fall. Gentle. Soft. Like a hush over the scars of a troubled night.
And for a moment, the world was at peace.