"It will commence in another twenty minutes," Tria says.

"We can head up now if you'd like to see it. The ceremony shouldn't take longer than a half hour; we won't be missed here," Adara says. I guess even she can't be rude when it comes to the dead.

"Alright." I say, keeping my eyes on Anna. "I'm just about finished."

There's a ceremony at noon for the deceased refugee the Garners brought in this morning –the only wash-up this entire week and he wasn't even alive. Neither are you. These words echo in the empty space that's seized my mind.

I haven't been to a commemorate ceremony yet, though I remember one happening. It was my first day in the Refinery, after my resurface. I still can hear the loud cannons echoing around the drafty hall.

I return my thoughts to the little girl on the cot in front of me. I finish reapplying the ointment and wrap the wound in a gauzy bandage. Anna whimpers as I guide her back to her bed. I smile softly and promise to see her before I leave for the night.

Anna and I have a connection. Of all the refusals, Anna is unique. She will only allow me to dress her wounds and cleanse her in the washroom. A sneaking suspicion lead me to believe the bond is solely an outcome of the first memory Anna has in this world. We resurfaced on the same day after all, and we were assigned to the same C.R.I.S. board members.

"Are you almost done there, Ev?" Tria calls across the room. "Adara and I are going to head up. Michael will watch the floor while we are absent," she adds.

"Yes, I'm coming," I croak, and finish tucking Anna back under her covers.

A wind rips through the Square, crawling in and out around the uneven buildings. William told me the first snowfall marks the official beginning of winter. Once the snow starts, an incessant sprinkling lasts until springtime.

"Come on, over here. Most people watch from the sides." Adara points in the direction a small crowd gathering out front the Ash House.

"We can move closer if you want to get a better look," Tria adds as we climb the hill.

"Okay."

I follow Tria and Adara to the stone tower. The lackluster burning pan lies on a raised wooden plank and is surrounded by a bed of ornate greens. The small outline of a school-age boy is barely visible under rust-colored leaves.

"It's always so ceremonial," Tria sniffles.

"I believe that's the point," says Adara stiffly.

Tucked behind the wagon are two iron cannons on wheels. Their cheeks are rusty and weathered, their muzzles pointed in the direction of the forest. They look centuries old and they probably are, their necks draped with wreaths of foliage.

The spectators gather in a crescent-shape crowd and face the deceased refugee. An elderly woman in front of me sways mindlessly back and forth. A taller civil, one that I do not recognize, unravels a parchment and hands it to Garner Brynne.

"I offer my gratitude an' thanks to each of you." Brynne raises his hands to include the audience before him.

"As we commemorate the lost souls who have resurfaced in Kemper, we are reminded that life is a gift –one to be valued an' cherished..."

Garner Brynne carries on about the unfortunate and unfair circumstances that prohibit certain wash-ups from successfully passing through the portal to this era's land.

"Thank you and you will be missed."

A chorus breaks out as everyone repeats the words in unison.

Brynne finishes, rolls up the document, and waves his hand to the civil. Almost immediately, hungry flames engulf the tray and devour the body. Only, I don't see anyone lighting the fire.

The aroma of burning flowers, poignantly sweet, masks the odor of charred flesh. The cannons fire and a puff of smoke emits from the muzzle. Roth materializes from thin air and wheels the wagon, ablaze and roaring, behind the stone silo and out of sight.

"What do they do with him?" I ask.

"They will wait until morning for the ashes to set then the remains will be collected and sealed in one of those glass capsules. It will be placed inside with the others." Tria whispers this in my ear.

"Evelyn? Are you daydreaming again?" Tria's voice breaks the silent barrier that set up camp outside my mind.

"S–sorry. I'm just tired." I lie.

"Well, let's get back inside before it gets too cold." She turns and sets toward the hospital.

Anna clings to my side as I make my last round through the Refinery. All patients must be properly medicated and bandaged before I can sign off on their status.

The refusals begrudgingly allow me to assist them but mostly they just stare with beady, distrusting eyes. I wonder how long some of them have been here –how hard it must be for their minds to feel trapped in another place. Anna is my last checkup of the evening. I change her gown and comb her hair before tucking her into bed. Sometimes, I read to her or share a story. Most of the bedtime stories I remember are of fairy tales and nursery rhymes. She likes one I tell her of two sisters always finding adventures. She pretends it's us and the Refinery is only one of our adventures together.

Tonight she falls asleep almost immediately and she seems so peaceful that I find myself jealously wishing for such an undisturbed slumber.

It's still early but I know darkness has fallen. William asked to walk me home. I find him waiting out front of the hospital, talking to Teho about the new tracking system for the RRR.

"Hello. I hope I'm not interrupting?" I tease as I approach.

"Of course not. I was just telling Teho here that I was expecting you soon. Is everything all right downstairs?" William faces me and rolls his eyes at Teho.

"Everything is set."

"Splendid. We really ought to get going. Charlotte will have dinner ready by now." William turns back to the quirky civil. "Will you excuse us Teho?"

"Certainly," Teho mutters, fumbling over the control panel.

We leave Teho alone with his trolley. The walk back is quiet and cold; my fingers dig into the pockets of my tweed coat.

"Glad you have that now?" William eyes my coat.

I grin. "Definitely."

I stare up at William –in his thin Henley thermal and knit pants and wonder how he isn't frozen. He's adapted, I remember, just like a native.

"I didn't see you today." I break the silence.

"Where?"

"The commemorate ceremony," I begin. "Adara and Tria took me to the Ash House. I never saw one... and they asked if I–"

"I was busy scouring the forest all afternoon," William interjects, rudely. "Had to map the grid for the New Year. Brynne expects the dimensions are shrinking again."

"The dimensions?"

"Of the portal. It's active perimeters," William answers.

"Oh." I mumble. Shrinking doesn't sound good. "Why is it shrinking? Does it happen every year? Must you always map a new grid?"

"Yes, I must. The resurfacing patterns alternate, but tend to repeat almost cyclically." William nods his head. "Most likely, the dimensions are compressing as a result of fewer resurfaces."

"If there is not really an output, then the portal has no need to cover a space so large," I add.

"Precisely. So, with the number of resurfaces decreasing, the portal's output zone is downsizing as well. We don't know the cause." William sighs.

Something churns in my gut.

"Are you ever wrong? About predicting active zones?" I ask him.

"No, never wrong," he scowls, almost offended. "I always take note of dormant regions. Why all the sudden interest?"

"I'm just curious. The portal did bring me here, after all. Remember?"

An awkward minute passes. William's body tenses beside mine, but he reaches his arm out and rests it over my shoulder.

"Did you enjoy it –the ceremony?" He asks me sideways, changing the subject.

"Y–yes," I stammer, surprised by his mood swing. "It was beautiful."

"It's the least we can do."

He looks away from me and the rest of the walk falls silent. The wind is harsh and I seek the comfort of indoors...

Four deep bowls filled with stew rest on the tabletop. Beef, carrots, potatoes, and rosemary ignite my taste buds. It's the perfect dish for such a bitter night.

Charlotte clears her throat, "Evelyn, William." She turns to us, her eyes lit like those of a child's on Christmas day.

"Nic and I were talking about the Christmas party. We believe it's important as Evelyn's first Christmas here, that she plays an integral part. And well," she pauses again.

"And well..." William urges.

I can tell she is just bursting to share some exciting news.

"Well, we've volunteered for it to be held here this year!" Charlotte squeals excitedly.

I'm not positive what this means. I know every year Kemper has a sort of Christmassy-dance-ball-party extravaganza, but I'm not sure of its significance.

"That's great news," William says, sharing her enthusiasm. "It's been years... How long Nic?"

"It's been since we were teens ourselves," he squeezes Charlotte's hand. "When Chars's parents still had the house. That's the last time it was here."

I gather from the revered looks on their faces that this must be a pretty big deal. Charlotte's eyes stop twinkling and her smile fades when she looks at me.

"I thought you would be more pleased, Evelyn," she frowns, "this is a huge honor."

"I–I am pleased," I insist. "It's only, well, I don't know what it is really."

"The Berry Ball is only the favorite highlight of Winterberry! It is an opportunity to blossom, to thrive," Charlotte declares. "And now you will have a chance to greet everyone under your own roof."

"It should take loads of pressure of you," Nic agrees.

I smile politely –try to sell my enthusiasm, but I'm no salesperson. For some reason, I know Charlotte will turn this ball into an Evelyn-event.

"It's always held on the twenty-fourth, Christmas Eve. You will have ample time to prepare." Nic adds.

Prepare for what? I have already met most of the townspeople and I cannot imagine a Christmas party should be any different.

"Prepare? What for?" I shoot a quizzical look.

"As you may have guessed, every integrated refugee from this calendar year makes an entrance. Each one has an escort also, so you'll want to think about whom you will ask."

Charlotte looks in William's direction and bites her lip to stifle a smile.

Of course.

All the refugees were interviewed for the holiday season, so it's no surprise now we need to make a grand entrance at this ball.

My stomach drops and suddenly I feel sick. I put my stew back on the table and try to picture the ball.

I imagine myself sporting an elegant, over-the-top ball gown Charlotte forces me to wear, the curious and wandering eyes of tourists watching me as I enter, clutching to someone's side for support as my wobbling knees betray me.

"You'll have more details later," Charlotte says. "I promise it will be a night to remember!"

I was beset once again by an unwanted swirl of nightmares. This time there were fancy feasts and gowns, coupled with jeers of an on-standing crowd and, for some reason, a bird. Only, the word bird is too diminutive. This was a massive winged creature with glistening feathers and glowing eyes. It watched me, its beady eyes blending with all the others, just another guest at the ball.

I woke in a cold sweat and barely managed to fall back asleep before morning. I expected my nightmares and flashing-frenzies to decrease as more time passed, but no luck.

During my time at the Refinery, I've come to learn many other refusals experience the same nightmares as I do. Anna woke up with a bleeding gash as a result. When I asked her what happened, she just started crying.

Tria explained that nightmares are one of the symptoms that categorize you a refusal. Since their mind is so unwilling to accept and adapt to their new life, the dreams are a way for the subconscious to take over. You forget what's real and what's already come to pass. You have your own reality.

/ / /

"I overheard Charlotte discussing your wardrobe. I believe it is safe to assume you don't have a say in the matter," William teases. "Are you growing anxious?"

"I am more nervous than anxious I would say."

"Well that is expected. But you won't be alone," he reminds me.

"I know," I tell him, "hundreds of people will be watching me."

The Berry Ball is less than a week away. Charlotte spent the last two weeks taking my measurements for a gown. The invitations were sent out and I've been rehearsing my introduction countless times but all the chaos at the Refinery has impeded my practice. Everywhere I look, the Berry Ball poster is plastered around the Square: out front of the Post, taped inside shop windows, and hanging from Bramble Court's fence.

Last week, the Garners were unloading the wagon out front, like usual. There was an abnormally large amount of wash-ups for just a one-day cycle. Riley unloaded two stretchers and carried them straight to the deceased station.

William and Parker ushered the three remaining refugees to check in with Marie. The first two, both females in their early-twenties just a few years older than me, were tagged and redirected downstairs. Then, a piercing shriek erupted.

I ran up in time to find Parker wrestling the third wash-up, a twenty-something man covered head to toe in muscle, with blonde mangy hair that reached his shoulders. He was wearing only a towel or linen of some sort around his waist. Tarzan, I thought. For all I know, it could very well be him.

The man was easily six and a half feet tall and effortlessly towered over the Garners. He looked like... a native. He embarked on a rampage –trashing the carts, flipping the wagon, and obliterating everything in his path. He nearly threw Parker through the hospital doors.

"Over the past few years, attendance has skyrocketed. It's more a commercialized event now, but still very traditional," William says.

I think about this. It's not commercialized in the sense that I would think, with TV ads or social media buzz. Traditional. Kemper's pride and glory.

"How did it come to be?"

"It started as a small gathering on Christmas Eve. In the earlier days, the natives felt it important that refugees have somewhere to go. Then more natives wanted to attend. It then grew into a holiday celebration for new refugees," William takes a breath. "Now it's almost a tourist attraction."

I'm the attraction. He senses my uneasiness, but does not press.

"Any idea why it has grown? Why all the hype?"

"All we can assume is our land's thirst for action and knowledge has dilated. You know how people long to migrate to Kemper. Don't forget, kids all over the Five Lands grow up hearing stories of the portal and previous eras and resurfacing. They are living a reality that in your time would be seen as nothing than more fantasy."

"Or science fiction," I offer. "You know, with era-traveling time machines."

"Call it what you will. But there is something about our town... It draws people in."

His voice trails off the same way it always does –giving me the feeling he is holding something back.

I think about my first month in Kemper –before the streets were infested with tourists and there were no impending extravaganzas.

The first snowfall arrived as scheduled. Divine snowflakes, crystal clear and perfectly uniformed, fall from a hazy gray sky. Kemper's grounds were coated within minutes, creating the illusion of it being much brighter outside than it actually is.

The crooked rooftops in the town Square, the courtyard, the stables, the dirt lane leading into town, even the lighthouse –were all camouflaged into a stark sheet of snow.

The snow I remember was off-white and plowed into chunky piles, crowding street corners until it eventually became a putrid gray slosh.

Not here.

The snow here is different. It's plain and pure and inviting. It's light like air.

"Ev, have you considered yet your options for an escort?" William's question is fluid.

"Now that I think about it, I haven't even thought about it," I admit. I know he does not believe me.

"I'd like the pleasure of taking you," he says. "Should you allow me?"

His voice is charming but I realize it's more of a statement than an offer. A warm feeling washes over me and I feel my cheeks turn red.

"I would like that."

I nod my head. The truth is, I figured William would want to be my escort. I appreciate that he did not make me ask him. Plus, I know he won't let me make a fool of myself.

"Excellent, I'll be looking forward to it." He smiles.

Dinner was quick and William and Nic needed to get back to graphing terrain.

They are heading out early in the morning. The snow makes it more difficult to track and retrieve the refugees and given the weather conditions, the refugees have a smaller chance of surviving longer periods of time. William seems overly determined to rescue them now.

Charlotte escorts me upstairs to my room. I detect her unusually elated spirit and she can't refrain from yelping as she follows me into my room.

"Surprise!"

Lying on the center of my bed if a radiant lavender-periwinkle gown with thin straps, a lace bodice, and flowing train. I pull the heap of fabric toward me –my fingers grappling over the cool silk.

"Oh Ev! Do you love it?" Charlotte appears at my side. "It arrived just this morning from Notting. I added some finishing touches."

"You've outdone yourself, Charlotte." I breathe in awe. "Can I try it on?"

"No, no!" She shrieks. "Wait until the big day. It has been tailored to your exact measurements. I promise it will be stunning." Charlotte clasps her hands together, positively gleeful.

"Thank you," I say.

I can tell she's pleased with my reaction. If I'm going to be on display for all to see, my wardrobe may as well be breathtaking.

"I'm going to hang it in here." Charlotte gracefully whisks it over to my closet. "For safe keeping."

"Thank you again. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Charlotte leaves my doorway.

I play out the next few days in my head. I imagine my elegant dress and the stunned perplexed face of the crowd, and of William, of course.

I roll over to face my window and fixate on the glowing lampposts outside.