Breezy days are not always what one typically sees. Apple trees frame the sky for wandering eyes as the numbing cold in fingertips begins to fade, turning back to pink instead of bright red from the cold mud that lingered under fingernails and on lips.

The left side of the aching body rolled along the damp soil, littered with unpicked and rotten apples that had succumbed to the season and their unwanted taste.

Head pounding but pushed it away. Arms that were drained of any energy to pick the shaking body from the ground. Seeing a puddle of surprisingly clear water to see the reflection. A thin line of blood dripped down the face connecting with a few baby hairs that stuck to the damp face along with a few grains of soil and leaves.

Getting up stiffly, using the trunk of the tree for support, as the ground seemed even more difficult with torn-up donated boots.

In the distance, a bell rang—a heavy, old bell from a grand church that overlooked the orchard. It stood proudly over miles of apple trees, laden with blood-red apples hanging from the branches. Taking a moment to picture where in the orchard currently standing. Spotting the tip of the church's cross as gray rain clouds roll over the hills.

As the church bell rang once again, emerging from the orchard. It was time for supper. The meals were not always the most appetizing, consisting of cabbage, potatoes, and carrots, along with bread and a drink—either water, milk, or overly sweet cider pressed from the apples.

The apples on the trees were forbidden to be eaten or picked, as only the nuns were allowed to harvest them and decide their use.

"Where have you been?" one of the nuns asked, their expression one of disappointment as though they had stubbornly left without saying anything.

Looking up at the nun, having never cared about which one looked different since they all wore the same attire. "The same ones pushed me down again," you answered. In the back of your mind, knowing that the nuns never truly understood the complexities of children's minds or their selective targets. Consequently, punishment was always inevitable, even when trying to defend yourself.

Hot baths were preferred, especially with the constant runoff from the rains. Stepping into the stone-made bath, your skin would turn a bright pink as steam rose off your hands. After drying off and getting dressed, you would then wear a simple white dress with a black apron over it, complemented by a red ribbon wrapped around your waist. Your polished shoes and white linen socks were pulled up to your ankles. There was no arguing. It was uniform to be dressed and presentable for potential adoption.

Whoever donated these items must have noticed how unenthusiastic the nuns were while dressing every child here.

As you watched everyone around you enjoy their meals, you picked at the mushy food placed in front of you. You understood that some part of your family owned the orchard, but it didn't explain why you were being cared for in this orphanage. Questions nagged at your mind: Was something happening that you didn't know about? You recalled other children mentioning they were only here until their situations improved. If that was the case, why had you been raised in this place since birth?

Whispers among the children always seemed to include your name at some point, and it was never for anything good. A wave of anxiety washed over you, prompting you to push your food away and excuse yourself from the table, ignoring the sudden stares from the other children. As you walked along the corridor of the church, you passed the sister's prayer room before reaching the front of the bell tower, which was connected to an arched tunnel leading out to the back courtyard.

A gentle river flowed between the back of the church and the pine forest on the other side. Sitting on one of the rocks, you watched as the tadpoles swam through their mossy habitat, sheltered by the duckweed from predators above.

As you heard rustling in the bushes across the river, you felt no fear; you knew that nothing could cross over without first traveling to the front of the orchard. However, what emerged from the pine trees took you by surprise. He had hair and eyes that glimmered like gold, and his face seemed nearly perfect as the sunlight shone through the pine branches upon him. You had never seen such beauty in a male before, and subconsciously, you stepped down onto the rocks, moving closer to the moss trailing down into the water—not out of shock, but out of awe. Clutching your hands over your heart, you felt the rhythm of your beating heart as you stared at the boy across the river, who was staring back at you.

You couldn't see his expression due to the distance between you, but deep down, you were certain that this was an angel visiting from above. As you parted your lips to speak, you were abruptly interrupted when you felt the solid rock beneath you give way. You slid down and plunged into the water, where the current of the river pulled you along. Each time you came up for air, you drifted further away from the church, calling out for help in a desperate, futile manner.