“Don’t be long now, dear.” Miss Fortune chimed, waving an outstretched hand as October began to walk down the gated pathway.

As October’s sharp, golden locks of hair faded into the fog, Miss Fortune turned back into the gothic manor and slammed the front doors shut. The steel chains clanked and rang with a thunderous echo down the main hall. The far and forgotten castle was empty once more.

Growling and pacing with malcontent, Miss Fortune stomped her way back to the holding chamber, where daylight dare not enter.

It was the year that all the children would reach their 18th birthday and the year that Miss Fortune would finally put her plan to use. She felt as though her plans were well hidden, as the timing couldn’t have been worse for her. As years had passed, the time had allowed each child to manifest their aura and abilities. Miss Fortune had hoped that they wouldn’t have discovered such intricacies so quickly. Now she was burdened with the task of tracking them down; after all, gathering all of the children that fit the legend was a near impossible trump for her 17 years ago. She wouldn’t give up now- not after all the blood she had spilt. She would have them all, once more, even if she had to kill them all. The prophecy would be fulfilled, one way or another.

Taking her time to keenly examine the empty cells, she meticulously scanned each vacant unit, one by one.

“Let’s start with the first child.” Miss Fortune thought out loud. “January, what were you up to?”

The first cell, in the line of twelve, was filled to the brim with old rags, robs, and blankets. Neatly stacked and placed, it was as if the cell could have been mistaken for a storage room; however, the appearance of the items and the cell itself were noticeably aged beyond comprehension. Dust fell like snow from each garment that Miss Fortune picked up, where they quickly fell apart into pieces of threads and fur.

“So you used the essence of time itself to break out.” Miss Fortune gathered, as she shuffled through each of the abandoned belongings.

Moving to check on the second cell, Miss Fortune could only imagine that the lot of them had made sure to cover their tracks.

The second cell, belonging to February was bitter cold. The surface of the interior walls and door were layered with a sheet of frost. Neat stacks of books and papers were grouped in mounds that held loose drawings. A bucket of pen and quills was tucked behind.

“How on earth did he find any light to read and draw?” Miss Fortune wondered.

Next was March’s unit.

Banged and battered from the inside, the side walls were crumbled and cracked. Beyond the wreckage, there was nothing else. A completely barren unit, even lacking a bed.

“Is that how they communicated?” Miss Fortune snaked her way into inspect the damaged wall.

Fragments of February’s and April’s cell rooms where slightly visible between the fragmented stone. Not so much space as to pass notes, but just enough to whisper and transfer aura.

“Clever ones.”

April’s cell was rusted and molded from consistent water damage. The door hinges snapped from decay, while the walls were warped and plagued with pits. 

“Either March had to help her, or she managed to find her magic” Miss Fortune suspected. “But water would’ve taken ages to widdle away at this steel- unless…”

Miss Fortune grazed a part of the interior door with her finger and bring it to her lips.

“Salted water? Or… Acidic compounds in the water. You sly girl.”

It was almost as if the children had masked their developing power the entire time she had raised them.

Recognizable without even having to peer inside, May’s cell was flocked to the brim with vines and greenery. It was almost as if the outside wilderness had crept into the dismal underground prison. The jade and emerald shade of nature provided the only vibrancy of color to the miserable bunker.

“She didn’t even try.” Chuckled Miss Fortune with an amused cackle. “Oh, May, you truly are the light of all my creations… I cannot wait to snuff you out.”

As Miss Fortune moved on to the Summers’, she could already tell by the blackened soot and charcoal aroma that the three had burned their way out of their holding cells.

“Looks like they’ve already managed to hone their abilities. Perhaps I should’ve used a higher level of binding spells on them.”

June, July, and August’s cell doors were completely melted into mounds of steaming sludge. The inside of all three cells were burnt to a crisp and hot to the touch. Everything inside was ash. There was no possible way of identifying what possessions they had prior to the breakout.

“They must’ve worked with April or one of the Winters to keep this whole place from catching on fire.” Miss Fortune contemplated. “So that’s how they probably all got out.”

September’s unit was the most filthy. Not a single piece of the floor was visible between the sprawled-out toys and clothes. Pictures of trees and animals, that February probably drew for her, were placed upon a shelf high above the clutter. Flipping through pages of notebooks, Miss Fortune discovered poems, where September expressed her longing to return back home to the countryside combine she grew up in.

“There’s no need for anymore searching. I found what I need.” Miss Fortune spat, as she took the book of poetry and exited the messy cell.

Heading toward the lonely candle, that sat on the stone slate, in the furthest corner of the chamber, Miss Fortune thumbed through the loosely-bound pages of September’s diary. Pages where dampened by teardrops and other segments speckled with blood. Miss Fortune snickered as she gently placed the book in-front of the undying candle flame.

- - - 

On the outskirts of a village, located on the opposite side where the children had fled, the frail girl hobbled her way down the uneven dirt path.

Evergreen valleys housed cattle and horses. The fields were level and robust with tall grass that kept the animals content. As the frail girl without a name walked toward the trail, she wondered what it would be like if her life were different.

Was it foolish to wish, or have dreams?

Was it pointless to think of alternatives?

For her entire life, the frail girl could only remember that she had always done what Miss Fortune had commanded her to do.

She looked longingly at the cows and horses as she continued to walk. They looked so happy and at peace. She desired to feel an ounce of bliss similar to their own. Even if it meant her own inevitable demise, the frail girl dreamt of momentary bliss; if only lasting for a second. She would rather die with a heart brimming with joy, instead of muling around with an unsatisfied, long life.

Unfortunately, no matter how much the frail girl wished to change her fate, she could not relinquish her destiny, nor could she extinguish it. Bloodlines became unbreakable shackles and foretold prophecies transpired into indefinite suffering. 

Clenching her loose, chestnut faded hair in her small hands, she often wondered if it was possible to become as beautiful as the Springs, or as strong as the Summers. 

‘Surely not.’ she thought.

The frail girl’s legs were battered and bruised, and her frame was thin and sickly, but she kept walking with purpose toward the village gate; hoping that someday things could change.

With the field of roaming animals now far from sight, the frail girl shuffled into the opening where the village gate lay in wake.

A couple hordes of bartering merchants all fell silent and shifted their gaze to her. She limped and hunched at a snail’s pace as all the eyes of those gathered remained fixated on her cosmic presence; however, as soon as the crowds froze to glance at her, they just as quickly returned to their gabbing and dealing- just as if nothing had happened. In fact, the merchants appeared to ignore her all together as she walked into the village entrance; treating her as if she didn’t exist at all.

The soil was firm and compact, hurting the frail girl’s feet as she proceeded into the lively streets. Her voyage was long and the harsh roads proved difficult; however, she wasn’t allotted much from Miss Fortune. The only thing she had was the thin clothing that kept her warm in the brisk Autumn weather.

‘Suffering makes you strong.’ Miss Fortune’s words echoed in her head. ‘That is your power, my dear.’

Words preached to her, ever since she was a child.

They were the first sentences she could remember hearing- and the ones she could recall being sited the most.

But why?

Suffering is not existence,

and one does not exist to suffer.

The world is a cold, cruel place,

but even evil has its limits.

…