Macabre

1. Elaina

[[[ Skip this one if you'd like, its a long story with lots of detail, and I can't tell if its good or not. The rest are shorter, I promise. This was my first one and I went a little overboard on the detail and the story line. If you do end up reading this, however, then please enjoy this story along with the others. ]]]

Sitting in the corner overlooking her bedroom, she knitted her half-finished red scarf. It was getting cold out, and the space where her roof had been was missing. It would not have surprised her if snowflakes began falling onto the ash. Her bedroom was not fit to bear the weight of snow, since what was once a beautiful bedroom was now half a burned ash pile and half a broken heart.

Elaina knitted her red scarf in the corner, like she had the day before, and the day before that. The scarf would soon be nesecarry if she wished to remain here. Downstairs, she could once again hear the laughter and the conversations spilling from wine cups of seven people. Her family.

It had been a few years since the wars on their country had began, and it was not uncommon for families as large as hers to house soldiers or orphans, both created by the conflict. Tonight, Elaina's house held three soldiers in return for food and supplies. An even trade must be made.

Her red scarf was long, it was almost completed, but it was not finished. It had to be longer to complete its designated task. How else would one enjoy the snow?

Footsteps began up the stairs. The only room on the second level left was the nursery, and the inhabitants had no use for that space anyways. You had to pass Elaina's room to get to the nursery, and no one wanted to pass by and happen to see her out of the corner of their eye.

No, the footsteps did not belong to Elaina's mama or papa, they were too light. Nor were they any of her sisters, for they were all terrified of the war and anything to do with it. Both of Elaina's brothers had been shipped away in the war, and she had not seen them in quite some time. No, these footsteps were different. A stranger. One of the soldiers.

A body appeared in the doorway of Elaine's bedroom, and she hid herself behind a piece of rubble, to stay out of sight. She watched the soldier as he carefully stepped in and crouched, peering down at the vast space where part of the room had collapsed after the fire.

It was a boy, Elaina realized, not a soldier. No, it was a soldier, he was wearing the proper uniform. He seemed only years older than her, although she couldn't tell from her corner. His blue clothing was a tad baggy at the hips, but otherwise fit quite snug on his frame. This is how she could tell that he wasn't soldier material, though he hunched over as if he were going to be beaten at any second.

Elaina carefully moved the piece of rubble off and away from her, and she stood up soundlessly. She cleared her throat and the soldier bolted upright. "Who's there?" He called. His voice sounded delicate, nothing at all like how he expected a soldier to sound. But now she could see his face properly. He was a handsome man, boy, more rather, and he looked as if he would be writing poetry, not fighting in a bloodbath.