Welcome reader! Thanks so much for choosing to start my book! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

I just want to note that this is a first draft so it's unedited and undoubtedly bursting with silly mistakes. I gladly welcome any comments and critiques so please don't hesitate to do so!

Thanks again and enjoy!

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Though the trees have no voices, I can hear their pain as the wind tears through their branches. They groan and shriek over the vicious howl of the storm, the noises clashing together to create what sounds like a ferocious battle of the elements. 

I hunker down further into my small bed, resisting the urge to cover my ears as I wait the storm out.

If she doesn't sleep, neither do I.

I glance over at my sister, who sits near the window, eyes glazed and jaw clenched tight. Though we broke her nervous habit of tugging at her hair years ago, after it started falling out, I can tell by the way her fingers twitch against the windowsill that the urge is still there.

Willow glances over, catching me watching her. Her long blonde hair looks dull in the candle light, her face half obscured by shadows that flicker across her pale skin. "Can you hear it?" she whispers. "They told me the storm was coming, that something evil was riding the wind down from the mountains."

"The trees always think evil is coming. Half of the time their warnings are wrong, you know that." I aim for a calm, matter of fact tone but Willow hears the unspoken words that linger in the room; half of the time the trees' warnings are true.

The loud crack of a branch breaking free splits the moment of tense silence, making me flinch and immediately feel like a fool for it. I lick my chapped lips. Willow always manages to get me worked up about these things; she has a hard time filtering truth from lies in that head of hers. But, as she leans her forehead against the pane of glass that separates her from the storm, I'm once again struck by the burden her gift places on her. I want to curse those trees and burn them down to piles of ashes for constantly putting worries in her head.

A quiet tap on our bedroom door announces our father's arrival.

"You girls still awake?" he asks quietly, cracking the door open. Seeing that the candle is lit, he opens it fully, a tired smile on his face as he takes us in. Though he is a tall man, he is all points and edges, thin where he had once been sturdy. These last few years have been tough on him and each new one seems to whittle him down further, turning him more into a shadow of the man and father he had been before we lost Mother.

"You should try to sleep, you both have early morning deliveries for Mr. Hamlyn. I'm going to do a quick sweep around the house, just to make sure none of these trees are going to be a problem if this wind gets any worse." He runs a hand through his thinning brown hair, worry creasing the corners of his eyes as the windows rattle in their frames from a particularly strong gust of wind.

"Are you sure it's safe to go outside, Father?" I shoot Willow a look, expecting her to jump in and agree, but she's still staring out into the darkness like we aren't even there.

"I'll be quick; I just want to go to bed knowing my girls are safe for the night." He cuts off any further protests and leans over to press a kiss to the top of my head. He does the same to Willow, who still doesn't move, but Father takes no notice. Closing the door gently behind him, I hear him clomp out into the main room, no doubt grabbing his coat to bundle up before he ventures outside.

"Willow?" I prompt, wondering why she didn't try to stop Father from going outside, when she's obviously so afraid. But she acts as if she doesn't hear me. Maybe she doesn't. Sometimes Willow gets so lost in her mind that it's nearly impossible to pull her out of it.

I sigh, leaning back against my pillows, tucking the blanket around me more securely. Patience is something I've always struggled with, but when it comes to Willow, I've had to learn to exercise it constantly. 

After a few minutes of silence, I send a huff in her general direction, laying down with the intention of closing my eyes for a second, just until Willow snaps out of it. A minute later, I hear the rustling of her nightgown as she makes her way over to my bed.

"Talia?" she asks in a quivering voice, the one that always sends a splinter of pain into my heart. It's the voice of Willow- my little sister Willow- afraid and overwhelmed. After coming out of these trances, she's usually confused and lost, floundering to find herself. 

My chest tightens and I know what she is asking, wordlessly scooting over to make room for her. Willow is in my bed in a flash, immediately taking up all the blankets and pressing her freezing cold feet against my legs.

"Brat," I mutter, shifting my legs but holding her close the way Mother used to when we were little and sought out the safety and warmth of her bed on nights like these. We would lay down between her and Father and she would hold us in her arms, telling us stories about mythical beasts in the mountains, of princesses and princes, of a world of wonders. Father never said anything but when she was done, he would reach over and they would fall asleep with their hands linked together over Willow and I.

Holding Willow like this always makes me ache for Mother, but it also makes me feel like she is with us, even if it is just in our memories. Even if it's just for a second. I hold Willow tight, humming to try and drown out the noise of the wind, to drown out whatever was happening in her head. 

I fall asleep with my sister in my arms, praying to the gods, not for the first time, to help my sister find some peace.

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The sound of screaming jolts me from my sleep, a bolt of panic clearing my sleep fogged brain in a second. I shoot out of bed, eyes searching in the dark until I find her curled into a ball on the cold, wooden floor, hands clamped over her ears, mouth wide open as screams rip out of her.

"Willow!" I yell, grabbing at her hands and trying to pull them away from her head, where I can see her nails are digging into the tender flesh of her temples. She fights me, kicking and scratching, screaming the whole time, the sound making my ears ring. I grab her wrists in my hands, shaking her, yelling her name, but her eyes are squeezed shut, her screams only getting louder. She's trapped in a place where I can't reach her.

The crack of my hand against her cheek as I slap her makes me wince, but her eyes shoot open and a low moan slips out of her. My hands are shaking against her.

"It's here," she whispers, and I can see blood dripping out of the corner of her mouth from where she'd bit her own tongue. It looks black in the dimly lit room, the only light coming from the faint moonlight through our window.

"What's here?" She ignores me so I shake her again, watching her eyes slowly focus on my face. "Willow! What's here? Why were you screaming like that?"

She just stares at me, her eyes glazed with terror. Whimpering noises are escaping her and I'm suddenly reminded of last summer when we passed our neighbor's house on the way to town when he was butchering his sheep. There was one cowering against the far side of the fence, bleating in terror, smelling the blood of the others and knowing it was next. The dinner in my stomach curdles, sourness coating the back of my throat.

Willow suddenly grabs me with icy fingers, those of a corpse, clamping down on my hand hard enough to make my bones ache. The whites of her eyes seemed to glow in the dark as she looks at me. The terror I see in them turns my blood into a frozen river rushing through my veins. This isn't the Willow I know, the one who crawled into bed with me. This Willow is empty, like she's in a trance, so taken by her fear that there's nothing left.

"It's here," she rasps, blood still dripping from her mouth. "It's here... the trees are screaming and dying and father's screaming and dying, and soon we will be too."

My heart stops as the words leave her in a rush, choking her on the way out. Choking her like the fear rising in my throat is doing to me. I can't focus but I know I'm moving, know I'm scrambling for the bedroom door, flinging it open and stumbling out into the main room. Father's bedroom door is open and I can see his bed is empty and undisturbed. My mind whirls. What time is it? How long has he been out there?

I can hear Willow following me, her clawed hands grabbing at me but I shake her off and run to the front door. Before I even reach it, the shrieking wind flings it open and it hits the wall with a loud bang. Willow immediately starts screaming again, the sound ripping its way from her throat.

"No Talia, no! Please don't go out there, please!" She's sobbing, tears streaming down her face, streaking her skin. For half of a second I stop. But I turn my back, knowing that if I look at her, I'll never go outside and I need to find Father. He can't be -

No! I shove that thought from my mind. I refuse to believe it. Willow has to be wrong. There were no other options.

Ignoring the desperate pleas from behind me, I take a deep breath and step out into raging storm.