The first snow fell heavily, blocking the ramshackle estate off from the nearest village for a few days. The boys reveled in the several feet of snow, playing in the icy garden while Delphine chopped wood. She laughed as the boys jumped face first into the fresh white drifts. Their cheeks were bright red with cold and bodies shivering by the time she herded them inside, but they were smiling brighter than she had yet to witness.

"They will catch cold," Mémé muttered, the boys huddled by the kitchen hearth with steaming mugs of tea.

"They are hardy." Delphine shook out damp strands of dark hair as she removed her kerchief. "Eluréd hit me square between the eyes with a snowball."

At hearing his name, the boy turned and shot her a cheeky sneer, his feet swinging over the edge of his chair. Delphine returned his expression with a wry grin.

"Just you wait until next time, my little fae!" She warned, wagging a finger at him after tearing off her mitten.

Mémé glanced over at the boys as she wrung the dampness from their socks.

"You know," she ventured quietly. "They do have that look, don't they? From their funny little ears to their bright eyes, it's as though..."

Delphine glanced with interest at the older woman, whose expression had become distant.

"It's as though they stepped out of a fairy tale?"

Mémé snapped out of her musing. She scowled, bringing the socks to hang by the fire.

"Nonsense," she muttered to herself, rubbing the boys' heads roughly.

Delphine bit her lower lip, letting her eyes trail over to the children. It made her feel more comfortable knowing that her grandmother saw the same strangeness in them. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was an otherworldliness about the twins. Elurín looked back at her, waving her over impatiently. Delphine obeyed, kneeling next to him. The boy wrapped his arms around her neck.

"I like being here with you, Delphine," he spoke in near perfect French, his voice lightly accented.

Delphine responded by pulling him into her arms warmly.

Knuckles rapped at the front door.

Mémé's blue eyes shot over to her granddaughter. Delphine needed no prompting. Silently, she picked up a twin in each arm and rushed into the bedroom. The boys looked up at her with wide eyes.

"Have they come to kills us for papa's jewels?" Elurín suddenly asked as she opened the carved doors of the cherry wood wardrobe. "We don't have them. Sister does."

Even in the heightened panic of the moment, Delphine halted at the child's odd statement. She turned and looked down at the boys. Before she could ask him to explain, Delphine heard voices in the foyer down the hall.

"Quick in here." She scooted them into the wardrobe filled with musty woolen and fur clothes. "Be still and don't talk, little chicks. I will be back soon. Do not open the door until I say."

She closed the ornately carved doors with a prayer. Smoothing her heavy, blood red sweater and shaking out her damp hair, she took a few deep breaths as she reentered the kitchen. She was relieved to not see soldiers. Their closest neighbor, Pierre Habert, stood warming his burly hands in front of the fire.

"Ah! Delphine!" He cried, lumbering over to her and giving her a quick embrace.

"Monsieur Habert," she managed with a shaky smile. Mémé did not meet her gaze as she casually stacked the wood Delphine had just brought in.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to interrupt you during tea." He motioned to the twins' abandoned mugs on the kitchen table.

Delphine picked one up and wrapped her fingers around the cooling clay to steady her trembling. She smiled congenially.

"Would you like some?" she offered.

"Do not eat me out of house and home. Not with winter coming on, Pierre," Mémé grumbled, shooting him a glare.

Delphine had to admit she was impressed by her grandmother's cool head. Monsieur Habert was no Nazi sympathizer nor was he a Vichy stool pigeon. However, the less others knew of the boys, the better.

"Oh yes, Adélaïde. I came expecting such a welcome from you." He winked at Delphine who smiled gently back, sitting down at the table, "I was merely in the area checking my traps and wanted to make sure you ladies were well. With all the goings-on lately, the wife and I get concerned about you two on your own out here."

"Pierre, you of all people know I can handle myself." Mémé glanced at him over the rim of her glasses.

"Of that, I have no doubt." Pierre shook his salt and pepper hair, droplets of melted snow falling to the shoulders of his coat. "I pity any Nazi who crosses your threshold."

"What has been going on? We knew about the incident with the train a few nights ago," Delphine asked, her expression feigning innocence.

"Incident." Pierre scoffed, taking a seat. He smoothed out a bushy eyebrow with one finger, digging into his thoughts. "That was no incident if you ask me. I've wondered for some time if our village was housing a cell of the Résistance and that confirmed it. I have no taste for Nazis, but I would prefer it if the buggers kept their heads down and mouths shut for now. No use in bringing down hellfire on the rest of us."

"Are the Germans going to retaliate?" Mémé asked calmly as she poured him an extra mug of tea.

"They are certainly increasing their presence in this area. That was a supply train. Some men were killed."

Delphine looked down at her tea. She tried not to think of the fresh blood on her hands. Though her belief in their cause had not faltered, being responsible for the death of another was something she was going to have to learn to accept. This war would no doubt make killers of them all.

"When can we expect the tracks to be repaired?"

"Not sure." Pierre leaned forward, nodding his thanks to Mémé as he took the mug from her. "But there was whispers of stranger things."

Delphine cut her eyes over to Mémé, but her grandmother's steady gaze remained on their neighbor.

"They say," he began, after taking a noisy sip from the mug. "There are some wild figures running in those woods. Though the Nazis have tried to keep the situation mum, there are rumors about what happened the night the train exploded. Some of those soldiers... well, they weren't killed by no explosion."

"What happened?" Delphine's voice was low, the light dimming as evening came on outside.

"Some of the men brought into town, they had odd wounds. Like nothing seen at least in this decade. One of the doctors from town was coerced by the Nazis into tending their injured. He spoke to one of the soldiers. He said the boy was near wild with fright. Though he'll survive it, he bore what looked like a flesh wound from a large blade."

"That doesn't seem too out of the ordinary. Some men still have their swords and bayonets from the Great War. With the weapons ban, there are probably some reverting to old ways," Mémé concluded with a sniff.

"But this boy was jabbering on about a warrior with bright red hair in a suit of armor," Pierre laughed to himself. "I know how funny it sounds, but you never know these days."

"No, you never do," Delphine replied thoughtfully, swirling the now cold tea in her mug. "Did the soldier say anything else?"

"Not much else, I suppose." Pierre shook his head. "They sedated him soon after. I think they mentioned that he was raving in detail about the man. A red headed giant with one hand."

Pierre's booming laughter intermingled with Mémé's low chuckle. Delphine gave a breathy laugh in response as her fingers tightened on the mug. Her heart pounded in her breast and the blood drained from her face. 

Fire monster. One hand.

"It's nothing to fear, girl," Pierre stated, noticing Delphine's heightened state. "Just the delusions of a wounded man."

Delphine rose shakily and walked over to the kettle by the fire. "I'm not worried. It had only been a lot to absorb recently."

Pierre stood as Mémé went to fetch his scarf and gloves where they hung by the fire. "I should go. I'm just glad to find you ladies safe and well. You know where to find us if you need anything. There may come a time when you'll feel more comfortable with others closer to town. You know our spare room is always open to you."

"Certainly, Pierre." Mémé smiled genuinely at him before giving him a quick side embrace. "We appreciate your offer and will keep it in mind."

"She'll never leave the old place, will she?" Pierre winked at Delphine, hooking a thumb towards her grandmother as he headed for the door.

Delphine shook her head with a forced smile. "I don't expect anytime soon."

Mémé showed him through the foyer. Delphine raced back to the bedroom, hands tingling. She opened the door to the wardrobe to find the boys huddled together, their eyes wide on her.

"It's all right," she comforted, pulling them into her arms. "It was nothing to be frightened of."

"Monster?" Eluréd asked into her neck.

She tugged them off of her, looking directly into their matching sets of quartz blue eyes.

"Can you tell me more of this monster?" she asked gently.

***

The snow slowed as evening drew on. It fell as a dusting, the moon and stars hidden by the pregnant clouds. Outside, the wind had lessened to a soft breeze. The trees trembled overhead as a barn owl hooted in the quiet, winter night.

The lone, heavily cloaked figure struggled through the snow. He moved with surprising grace despite his wound and his impressive height. Ahead in the darkness, he could make out the warmth of lights in a window. Deliriously, he turned towards the abode.

***

Delphine sat lost in thought by the kitchen hearth, her boots propped up on the iron grate. She rested with her chin between her fingers, mesmerized by the flames. She didn't even hear Mémé come up behind her. The old woman laid a wrinkled hand on her shoulder.

"You've been quiet since Pierre left," she stated, taking the seat by Delphine.

Delphine stirred, trying to decide where to start. "I spoke with the boys after he left."

"And?"

"They have been telling me things, whispering about where they come from... their family... and fears."

"Doubtless they have experienced much for their young age." Mémé nodded solemnly. "You have done well to keep their minds on the present."

"The stories they tell though..."

Mémé turned her attention on the young woman. Delphine trained her eyes on the fire, the golden light soaking her olive complexion. Mémé studied her grandchild, thinking absently how much she favored her father. She had the same long face and dark eyes almost too large for her face, the dimpled chin. She brushed away the sharp pain at the thought of her long dead son.

A cry from the bedroom. It wasn't panicked, but obviously one of the boys was troubled by something, probably a nightmare.

"I'll go," Mémé said, patting Delphine's knee before she stood. "You rest here. You have done well with them, ma petite bijou."

Delphine settled back into the chair, mulling over whether she should tell her grandmother what she had been told. They were tales of mad princes, precious jewels worth killing for, and family members murdering each other. The stuff of folk tales. Part of her wondered if the boys had made up an imaginary world to cope with the horrors of reality. However, Pierre's news from the night of the train crash rang in her head. 

A red headed giant with one hand. Fire monster. One hand. 

Such a coincidence was too ironic.

Delphine nearly fell from her chair in fright as a loud bang came at the garden door next to her.

It came again and again. She could hear Mémé reacting quickly in the bedroom not far away, whispering as she ushered the boys into hiding. Delphine stood on weak legs and reached for the meat cleaver hanging from the wall. Gripping it behind her back, she approached the door. The persistent banging continued, but no voice followed. Surely Nazis or government officials would announce their presence and demand entrance, not merely beat at a door wordlessly. She laid a hand on the door before opening it. The banging weakened.

"Who is it?" she demanded, keeping her quavering voice as firm as possible. "Who!?"

There came a groan, but no legible words. Tentatively, Delphine pulled the chain lock and opened the door a crack. The light spilled out to illuminate a piqued and grey male countenance looming over her. He was sweating and eyes half lidded.

"Help," he moaned. Delphine realized he had spoken in the same tongue as the twins.

Before she could respond, the large man fell forward onto the door. His weight pushed it completely open. Delphine chirped in surprise as he collapsed hard onto the kitchen tiles, unconscious. Dark red hair splayed out like streams of blood on the stone. Delphine knelt next to him, turning him onto his back.

"Mémé, come quick!" she yelled, brushing the hair from his face.

Her heart nearly stopped. He had no right hand.