000 - December 16th. 2019 (Prologue)
I met Anastasia Smirnov while walking home from the store.
The story of Anastasia Smirnov is not one I am proud to tell. It was not due to my ignorance, nor my inexperience, that led me to such a failure; instead, the reluctance to act, which led to my grand downfall. I am acutely aware that this failure is mine and mine alone to bear.
Allow me to start from the beginning.
I was already halfway through North Hanton when the wind carried away my umbrella and snowflakes belted me. My breath hung out of my mouth like a long, strenuous cloud. Cold gnawed at my glove-less fingers and seared my nose. I listened to the subtle howl of the evening. And there she was.
Behind the white wall, an evanescent figure lay on the sidewalk in nothing more than a thin, white dress. Her eyes were large and unfocused, and they trembled as she stared ahead at the passersby. At first glance, it was as if none of them could be bothered to spare a single look in her direction.
The snow was soft on my knee. Her beautiful white hair melted into the December snow. She blinked slowly. Bruises lined the edge of her lips, and frostbite covered her arms and legs.
"You picked a bad spot to take a nap." An untasteful joke.
Her eyes tracked something far in the distance, and her breath came in short bursts of mist. My hand combed through long locks of hair. The skin around her crimson nose was cracked, and icicles hung from it like winter's offerings.
This was the day I met Anastasia Smirnov. A child born in the snow, a phantom to the world.