As We Fall (Blaise Zabini Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

Zoe

There's a snow globe in my room.

It sits on top of the dresser in the corner, snug between a collection of painted rocks and the pale yellow wall. No smaller than a golf ball, no bigger than an orange.

It's been there since before I can remember - probably since before I was born. Watching over me, silent and still, as I moved through the phases of life. Infancy, in a creamy crib. The dawn of school age, with cheap packs of crayons and butter cheese sandwiches. And now, of course, when I use it as a source of serenity and happiness whenever I need to.

Inside of it lives a family of several egrets. Two of the birds are tall, while the other one is rather short. All three are spindly and translucent white. They're frozen into a permanent, benevolent pose, their long necks roped over each others' like harmonic vines.

They've always fascinated me. As young as a duckling, I'd stand on the tips of my stubby toes, pudgy sausage fingers gripping onto the edge of the dresser as I marveled at the scene inside of the globe. I wondered what it was like to live in such a small, yet perfect, little world. What it felt like to look out on one that was much bigger. When I got concerned that it wasn't so great, my grandpa assured me that the egrets in the globe thought otherwise.

My grandpa has been my hero since I was born.

He took me in when I was dropped off on his friend's doorstep as an infant, and hasn't missed a beat since. He's shown up to each school awards ceremony with a disposable camera and a prideful grin, served tomato soup whenever I came down with a bug. Even takes me out on what he likes to call "dessert dates" at the end of each month, so we can talk about how the past thirty-odd days have been over a lava cake.

He likes to insist that he wasn't the one who put the globe in my room - that it just showed up one day. However, I've grown old enough to know that his telltale wink says otherwise, and that things don't just appear out of nowhere. I'm also old enough to know that plastic figurines inside of snow globes don't have feelings.

But I like to pretend that mine do.

***

I trace the outline of an egret's leg - a thin stem - on my paper. My snow globe, which I know is sitting on my dresser across the room, is floating through the back of my mind. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

There's an egret walking by right now, footing its way along the cobblestone street. They're quite common in the town on the outskirts of Copenhagen, which is where I live.

It's a small village, without identity. One with the rarity of air that's still fresh and people that are still kind, and a fishing pier right on the coast. There's an abundance of cute little streets and odd little shops.

My grandpa owns one of these. It's called Baby's Flowers, named after his prized miniature chihuahua. The shop sells a variety of seeds and plants, specializes in unique blossoms, herbs, and - hence the name - flowers.

It's been in business for years, which is why I'm usually not allowed to help out with it - at least when Joan (my bitchy, pottery-junkie Aunt) is running things. Abraham usually lets me help out when he's in charge, no matter how many flowers I crush and boxes I drop.

I turn the page of my sketchbook, leaving the egret drawing for another day. Although I love to draw, I'm a perfectionist. When things don't go right, I find myself with sweaty palms and a blank mind.