Everlasting Dream

Chapter 3: Don’t cry, snowman

[Nivalis Silverfrost]

Nivalis Silverfrost is a breathtakingly beautiful elven woman as if she belonged to another world filled with wonder and enchantment, not this harsh reality filled with nothing but suffering and misery. Like liquid silver, her hair cascaded down to her waist in shimmering strands that seemed to capture the very moonlight itself. Her skin was pale as freshly fallen snow, and it seemed to glow in contrast to the dark times surrounding her.

A delicate and lovely fragrance always surrounded her, like the scent of a mountain meadow kissed by the morning dew. It was her natural aroma, tinged with hints of forest pine and wildflowers, a reminder of her deep connection to the woods and nature, something that ran through her very veins.

But perhaps the most striking feature of Nivalis was her eyes. Like her mother's, they were a unique shade of blue, as deep as the ocean but sparkling with shining specks that danced in the light. They held so much emotion and intensity that it was as though you could peer into her very soul just by looking into them.

Nivalis belonged to the elves, a magical and mystical race known for their long lives, deep bond with nature, and long ears, but of course. The elves are a proud and noble group—sometimes even a bit too much—and Nivalis is an heir to one of the elven kingdoms that no longer exist.

With her pure bloodline, Nivalis was destined for greatness, meant to inherit a throne that had stood for thousands of years. Yet, here she was, living in a small human village, in a poor wooden house that she tried her best to maintain, all hidden in the middle of nowhere.

As the sun's rays bathed the world in a gentle, golden embrace, Nivalis found herself at her window, captivated by the beauty outside. The hills, blanketed in snow, sparkled like a sea of diamonds. Her icy blue eyes, as bright as sapphires, absorbed the breathtaking scene. Yet, despite the enchanting vista, her heart remained heavy, weighed down by memories of the past.

Once upon a time, in what felt like a different life, Nivalis had reigned as a princess, the rightful heiress to the ancient Elven Kingdom of Astralwyn. It was a kingdom where the laughter of the woodland inhabitants and the rustling leaves of the ancient forest were the only sounds that graced the air, a kingdom where the elves lived in harmony with the mystical forces of nature. It was home.

Now, though, her home was no more. It had been destroyed by humanity's greed and ambition, reduced to ashes and rubble: her family, her friends, her people—all gone.

That peaceful existence had been shattered like fragile glass when the humans swept across their borders. In mere months, the Northern Empire, Stormhaven, had ruthlessly broken through the defenses of Astralwyn, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Fearless warriors of a Stormhaven are well known for their strength and savagery, leaving little chance for the elves against their attack.

On that fateful day when the walls of their capital crumbled, Nivalis lost everything. Her parents, her people, and her rightful place were reduced to nothing but ash and dust. Her kingdom, her very identity, was shattered beyond repair.

She had witnessed the death and destruction firsthand. She had seen the horror, the suffering, the despair. She had heard the screams and cries of those her family had to protect. How elven warriors fell like leaves in an autumn gale, and those who survived found themselves shackled by the chains of captivity.

Nivalis remembered how the elves' screams echoed through the halls of their ruined city, but their cries for mercy fell upon deaf ears. Princess Nivalis, with her luminous beauty and grace, became one of the prized captives. Her very existence became a constant reminder of the defeat and humiliation suffered by the elven race. She was now hated and despised not only by her captors but by her people, a living reminder of their failure.

For a while, the people of Stormhaven paraded her through the streets of their cities, mocking every elf on the continent with her despair, enjoying every tear that fell from her blue eyes. But over time, they grew tired of her. They sent her to a remote, bitterly cold corner of the Empire, an isolated province on the outskirts of the Stormhaven territory... gifted like a trophy to some warrior, Haldor Firefury. For all these years, she lived in a place where the days were long and the nights even longer. And much more terrifying.

Haldor's golden eyes, burning like the scorching sun, always made Nivalis's heart race, but not out of love or desire. The mere thought of his rough, calloused hands touching her soft, delicate skin made her shudder with fear and disgust. The memories of his touch sent a chill down her spine, and she could almost feel the ghost of his grip on her pale flesh.

Nivalis let out a sigh and pushed away those thoughts. She couldn't keep dwelling on the past. She needed to focus on what was happening in the present. A gentle wind blew through the window, carrying the crisp scent of winter. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the refreshing aroma, letting it wash away the lingering fears and memories.@@@@

Nivalis gently placed her hands on her round belly, her fingers tracing the gentle curve of her stomach. Inside, her baby kicked, making her smile warmly. Despite the pain and suffering she had endured, Nivalis couldn't bring herself to regret the pregnancy, no matter that he had no say in it. Children were and always will be a small reminder of the happiness and love she used to have, a little light in the darkness around her, the only thing that still kept her alive. Her little, very personal, guiding star.

Speaking of which...

Nivalis turned her attention to Silvia, her 5-year-old daughter, who was slowly approaching her with a timid expression. The little girl was the spitting image of her mother, with her flowing silver hair and delicate features—well, except for her father's golden eyes and much smaller elven ears, a constant reminder of her mixed heritage.

— "Hello, my little sunshine," Nivalis said softly, struggling to bend down slightly to greet her child, her fingers gently running through the girl's silver hair.

Silvia responded with a small smile, her eyes shining gold like her father's. "Hi," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Mommy, can we go outside to play in the snow?" Silvia asked, gently tugging at her mother's skirt.

Nivalis returned the smile and playfully pinched her soft cheek, bringing more color to her pale face. "Of course, we can."

— "I am sorry," she mumbled, her heart pounding in her chest, her gaze evading his. "It was a mistake."

"A mistake? A mistake is spilling your drink, not ruining a sacred tradition!" Haldor roared, his face twisted with rage. The girl behind Nivalis tried her best to look small and stay quiet.

In Haldor's culture, the waste of food was a great sin. Every drop of water and every scrap of bread was precious and should not be wasted. In their environment's unforgiving cold, hunger was a constant companion, a shadow that lurked in every corner of daily life. Every meal was a precious gift, a lifeline in a land where nature's cruelty could be unforgiving. But here they were, standing in the snow, staring at a carrot sticking out of a snowman's face.

Before she could react, he slammed his fist into her face, sending her tumbling to the ground. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth, and her vision blurred. "Please," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, don't hurt me."

Haldor's eyes narrowed as he gazed at his wife, her face bloodied and bruised. He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening.

"Don't hurt her!" Silvia cried in a high-pitched voice, her golden eyes filled with tears.

Haldor froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Who allowed you to speak, brat?" he yelled, his voice rising to a roar.

Silvia's lower lip trembled, but she didn't back down. She stepped towards her father; her tiny hands balled into fists. "I won't let you hurt my mommy," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Haldor's face darkened, and he turned to his wife. "This is all your fault," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You've poisoned this child with your foolishness and disobedience."

Silence hung in the air as Nivalis struggled to find words. Once Haldor understood that she would remain silent, he spoke again. "I'm going on a hunting trip, and I expect you to have rid of this cursed snowman by the time I return," Haldor said, his golden eyes focused on her blue ones.

Nivalis could feel his gaze burning into her. "I understand," she replied, struggling to keep her voice steady.

While the girl helped her mother to get back on her feet, Haldor changed into his warm fur attire and retrieved his longbow from the barn. His fingers ran over the polished wood, a bow he had meticulously crafted from the trunk of an ancient elven oak tree. It had taken him months to complete, and he took great pride in his work. Slipping the quiver over his shoulder, he ventured into the forest, his footsteps crunching away on the icy ground.

Now standing, Nivalis watched him finally go, a sigh of relief escaping her soft lips, still covered in blood. "Silvia, please go inside and wash your hands. I'll clean up here."

The little girl nodded, her eyes cast downwards and disappeared inside. She couldn't help but notice the sadness in her daughter's eyes.

Nivalis swiftly dismantled the snowman, removing the carrot nose and stones from its face. She felt a pang of sadness and regret as she destroyed the creation that had brought her daughter so much happiness, but she knew she had no choice. As Nivalis worked, her mind raced with thoughts of escape. She knew they needed a plan—a way out of this life of fear and cruelty. 'We can't keep living like this,' she thought, her heart heavy. 'I have to do something.'

Nivalis stepped through the front door of her house, exhausted. Her face hurt, and her round belly weighed heavily on her every move. The chill of winter clung to her as she closed the front door, but a warm feeling blossomed in her heart once more as she found her daughter, Silvia, seated by the window. Silvia's eyes were fixed on the snow-covered hills that stretched beyond the window, a distant look in her golden eyes.

Sitting beside her daughter, Nivalis gently wrapped her loving arms around Silvia, pulling her close. She spoke softly, her voice trembling with emotion, "It's going to be alright, my dear."

Feeling her mother's embrace, Silvia took a moment of silence but eventually whispered back, "Mhm... I love you, Mommy," as she leaned into her chest, feeling the gentle kick of a baby inside her belly.

Tears welled up in Nivalis's eyes, and she replied, "I love you too, my little snowflake," her voice quivering with tenderness. She held her daughter closer as if shielding her from the harsh reality. "We'll find a way out of this, I promise." Her words may have seemed as fragile as a delicate butterfly in the wind, but the determination behind them was unmistakable. "Are you hungry, little one?" Nivalis asked gently, brushing a strand of silver hair from Silvia's face, seeing a shy smile on her youthful face that had already answered. "A warm soup. How does it sound?"

Even though the girl nodded eagerly, her young eyes still reflected the sadness beyond her years; the fear of the previous event still clung to her, refusing to let go. "Yes, please," Silvia replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Standing up, Nivalis walked to the kitchen and began preparing the comforting meal; her hands moved with purpose, and every step was taken with love. She carefully selected each ingredient, her fingers gently touching the rough textures of the vegetables. The knife sliced through the vegetables with a crisp, precise sound, and the aroma of fresh herbs filled the air as she sprinkled them into the pot. The simmering pot above the fire filled the small kitchen with a warm and inviting aroma, once again making her feel renewed determination inside her frail, pregnant body. She would protect her children, no matter what.

And perhaps, if they were lucky, they would find a way to escape this terrible place. They deserve more than this.