I wake up to the smell of something burning, something warm and inviting. My head pounds and my clothes are damp. Under me is a bed, padded with warm sheets and blankets, only big enough for one person. Surrounding me is a small wooden cottage, the walls are lined with pictures of smiling faces and dried herbs and flora held in place with icy pins.

     A desk is pushed against a wall and is littered with dusty books and broken picture frames. Something rustles on the floor making me gasp. A boy buried in blankets on the floor bursts into a sitting position, his messy vanilla hair sticking to his forehead.

     “W-what hap- Oh you’re awake…” he says.

     “Something is burning,” I say in response. He proceeds to struggle out of the blankets, and jump into a standing position, he runs over to an old cast iron stove and promptly shoves his hands into the fire, ice crackles and snow forms around his hands, slowly but surely putting out the fire. He chuckles and removes the lid from the pot then sets it aside, warm steam rises from the warm pot and my mouth starts to water.

     The boy spoons some soup into a bowl and walks across the room towards me. He hands it to me with a warm smile, something so rare for such a cold place.

     “th-Thank you…” I say staring at the water vapor slowly rising off of the warm broth.

     “Oh um, by the way, I’m Simon, Simon Lahti,” he grins holding out his hand. I gingerly take it, He holds it firmly as if I might fall away if he doesn’t. His hands are cold and firm.

     “Do ya have a name?” he asks tilting his head like a curious animal. I nod, “Well... what is it?

     “Astrid,” I whisper looking down at the mahogany planks, I focus on the shapes and colors that are contained within the floor.

     “Alright well hello Astrid, welcome to my home.” Simon lets go of my hand and rubs at his own soot ridden hands. “Well I’ll let you eat,” he sighs. He turns around, walks toward the desk, and sits down. I lift the broth to my lips, herbs, and spices dance across my tongue, flavors not of this world. He must have paid a lot for these… I set the bowl down.

     “Why are you helping me?” I ask, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. Simon pivots in his chair to face me.

     “What do you mean?” He asks seeming concerned

     “You don’t even know me…” I mutter

     “Yes, I do.” He insists.

     “No! You don't!” I snap, “I could be a murder! Or an arsonist! Why are you being so nice to an Anomaly?!

     Simon sighs, “First off I would help you Anomaly or not, Second off I do know you, Your name is Astrid, I know I found you frozen at the train station, I know that you have a fever, and I know that you are sitting in my bed and you haven’t tried to kill me or set my house on fire.” He stands up and walks over to the stove. He proceeds to pull a rag out of a bowl of warm water and vigorously throw it at me, I flinch and close my eyes. Nothing hits me, no rag, no water, but an icy breeze. I slowly open my eyes, several inches in front of me lies the rag, suspended in the air, held in place by two thin icy poles protruding from the ceiling and the floor.

     “As you can see, I can handle myself fairly well so even if you tried to kill me, you probably couldn’t.” He smirks putting his hands on his hips victoriously.

     “I-” I start but am cut off by a sudden chiming. Simon looks at the wall above me and his eyes widen as if out of fear.

     “Saethu! I’m late for work!” Simon grabs an old leather bag from the bedpost and sprints out into the icy street. I again am alone…