What life gives, death takes and what death takes, happens to mean the most to us. When it takes what means the most, it changes things, it changes people. That's how the devil finds ways to kill your happiness the moment you give birth to it. It's like the sun: when the light fades, darkness creeps up and takes what's left. Can you hear that whisper? Can you hear that beautiful rhapsody? There's a snow filled ball room in the evening sky, where two angels dance around under a million burning suns, one sad and one happy but they synchronize in the most beautiful way possible without so much as a single touch to the other's wing or hands or face. But then the piano slows down and the violins start to cry and the angels leave each other's side, for the only time they dance is when the morning greets the night and when the night greets the sunset of red, blue and yellow lights. It's that bittersweet feeling on the tongue when you're happy then sad, just one second later. It's the feeling you get when you don't know whether your tears are of joy or you're just weeping. 

  Well, in a small town, a village even, lived a woman who knew this cycle well. She knew that things never turn out the way we want them to, especially when we do everything in our power to make it that way. Obstacles will always be obstacles but obstacles that are people can't be erased from our thoughts, just embed into our memories. She understood that people wore masks to conceal their identity, to gain, to manipulate, to conquer their weaker counterpart, their prey. These masks allow them to hide their true colors.

 The colours of a simple spring aroma brought the sun up from behind the mountains. As it had been its brightest when the buttercups, who wrapped their petals up to imitate a rose, woke up to say hello to a young woman that fashion a gradient of mahogany on her skin. She made her away along the roads of Hope. It was only the middle of January so the wind came in crisp. The sweet aroma of baked goodies filled the square and she wanted to smell them so she stopped and savored the air. What did Miss Cambelle make today?- On her way back she’d pick up some pastries for her father but first she needed to see someone so she continued up the road, in her blue and white dress, her mittens and her forest green coat.

    “Bonjour, Mon Cher.” 

“Bonjour.” She dropped her knees and held her skirt before having a laugh with old Mister Stalker.

  “What can me get cha’, Miss Fisher?” 

“Beans.” It seemed practical to buy these since she didn't know when she would be back in town again.

   “Magic beans?”

“Red and Black eyed, Please.” She said with curled lips.

  “Next time you know the word, say it. Me don’t sell rice or crops, me sell beans, hear?”

“Heard.”  The girl nodded before tilting her head and looking through the window, just behind the man’s grayed head. “Is she any better?”

    “No, Lily darling. I’m afraid not. She’s been coughin’ all mornin’.”

“I’ll take a minute to see to her…" Lily said, taking out a few coins from her purse.

  “Go on. She’ll love to see ya’. Just don’t tell ‘er anything upsettin’.”

“Of course not.” She took the bag and journeyed to the back door, Mr. Stalker had already shouted “That be, Lily.” before she could enter.

  She kept her head low as to not hit the beams that protruded in the house. Lily went to the small bed that lurked in the corner of the room where spotted a flickering flame inside of a stove.  

  “I’ll fix it up.” Lily said softly, grabbing some wood from beside it.

“Please don’t, Lily. I’m fine.” They responded, before trying to spring up but with the groans, Lily reached her side to put her back to rest. “Oh, you mustn’t. You need your sleep, girl.” She rubbed the back of her hand gently against the girl’s rosy cheek.

  “You’re being a mother again. Please tell me you brought something, a bottle of liquor maybe.” Her eyes closed, Lily knew that she was sicker than ever and this was evident in the way they held hands.

“Oh, Isobel.” She started to scold her. “The only thing I brought with me is hope.” She pressed the girl’s hand against her own chest and started mumbling to herself.

  Isobel turned her head away. “Praying is for the weak.” She snickered.

Lily opened her eyes, staring at her before placing them back down. “I know.”

She watched how Isobel looked nothing like she used to, she felt a pit grow in her stomach. It was always a struggle to watch her, unable to do things for herself, but Lily knew Isobel was never one to complain. She wouldn't dare say how she was feeling, not to her father and certainly not to Lily. Lily prayed that her eyes deceived her, for she couldn't recognize this frail looking individual. It was only a couple months ago that Isobel was the girl that had what every girl wanted, she was plump like Monroe but her hair was like night water; dark with silver linings, shining whenever the light wanted to bless her with its presence. Her peach-coloured lips were badly bruised now and Lily wondered if it was because she bit into them every time she wanted to scream. Even though she wouldn't admit it, the pain was excruciating but she had gotten used to it. That's what Lily didn't want for her, the fact that Isobel could say she had gotten used to it.

 The girls grew up together but this did not affect their personalities. Lily grew up a saint, and Isobel… well, a sinner but this has never kept Lily from loving her friend, she loved her and she prayed for her every day since she was bedridden. 

Lily waited until Isobel was fast asleep before she left quietly, off to the bakery. Oh, everything looked wonderful, so wonderful that their smell did not lie one bit. She pressed one hand on the glass and the other up to her lip.

  “What’ll it be, Miss?” 

She glanced at the pâtissier. 

“I can’t decide.” Lily's eyes brightened every time she caught a glimpse of a different one but  the puffs made her mouth water the most. They were round and the melted butter was a sign that they were still hot so was their skin that held a sun-kissed brown similar to hers. Lily thought about it, what it would feel like to bite into one. She could already hear the crunching of the crust and feel the softness of the inside as it melts in her mouth. 

 She couldn’t decide but seeing her face when she looked at that specific pastry, he knew exactly which one she wanted.

 “How many?”

  “Oh, just two please.” She slapped her lips together. 

Her stomach churned just thinking about the baked goods, she couldn't wait to share some with her father but coming to the door, she noticed it ajar which, in itself, led to suspicions. The whole house had been ransacked, someone was tumbling through the house and it certainly wasn't Mr. Fullin. The young woman's mind went straight to her father's well being. 

 "Dad?" She said but no one answered, she walked into the room where she could see the TV lying on its side, helpless and cloudy. She turned it off slowly, still looking around. 

 "Dad?!" She yelled, running to the kitchen. He never left the house.  How could he?-She thought as she ran up stairs looking around, the whole house looked like a tornado came for lunch. She didn't know where to look. She scurried to the barn thinking her father would be there, tending to the goats or the cows but when she unbolted the door with a quick warp, it was just the animals. They made pleasing sounds, excited to see Lily but she was more fixated on something else, someone else. 

 Staggering downhill, she hoped to see some sign that her father used the road but nothing was viable in her quest for clues.  She reached the square once more. People stared, thinking she had just gone left or a screw came loose. She ran around in circles, asking anyone that knew her or was nice enough to  hear her plea. She didn't understand it, all her life he never left her side. She knew something was wrong. Her eyes danced around as she held her hair almost as if to scream bloody murder. Then there came a man clip-clopping through a nearby passage, she rushed over holding on to his leg. 

"Please help me find my father. He, he has long brown hair up to his neck, darker than mine and a big beard." The uniformed man watched her green eyes shed tears as she jabbered, looking around with sweaty palms. "I can't find him, I can't. I need to find him."

 He assured her. "Miss, are you sure he didn't go out by himself?" He said, seizing the horse from its bolting movements. 

"No, no, you don't understand, he, he can't walk. It's his legs, you see." She cried. "Where is he?" She begged, looking to the sky.

The officer recalled an incident earlier that day, it was a gruesome thing really. He didn't want to alert Lily if he wasn't sure but the victim sounded so much like the description Lily gave that he had to take her to the hospital. She felt light-headed when he explained that there was an accident just outside of town and by the time the eye-witness took him to the scene, the man had died. He told her there was a possibility that it wasn't her father and in seeing that she could have  a little more peace of mind. He advised her to hope for the best but to expect the worst.

The doctor who still tried to save him and the officer who found him, both were her entourage to the coldest room in the building. It was at the back, at the end of the road it seemed. It was like she was falling into a deep hole of thoughts, she wanted so badly for it not to be him but the odds were against her. This time, it could be him- She hated that she already said he was dead, feeling guilty for even considering it. 

The door finally opened, she could smell them. All of them. This time it made her stomach turn. It didn’t sink in yet; she refused to believe it until she saw him, if it was him. What her eyes saw, her brain couldn't comprehend yet. She looked at the long lines of covered corpses and the small bells on their toes. She wondered if her father was in here, maybe… maybe his bell would jingle before he went under.

“Is that him?” He questioned, lifting the white sheet.

    Lily gulped, blinked a few times and nodded her head. “Yeah, that’s…it’s my father.”

She couldn’t recognize him, his face had been sunken in, it was clear that the person that had slain her father did it mercilessly but she knew. She knew it was her father. He had broken fingers and a broken arm. She watched him from head to toe, naked as he was, swollen and blue but he had the thinnest bones for feet. She didn’t know if he died with his eyes lit or them filled with terror. She wondered who could do such a thing… He was selfless and this was what he got from it. Lily knew that her father’s death wasn’t an accident and she was going to uncover the truth, even if it meant sacrificing her entire life or putting it on hold.  She had to face it, he was dead. She hadn’t the words to express herself.  Is this it? This was how he was taken away from her? What’s left now? Lily felt the slightest shock from her spine down. Before she knew it, she’d collapsed where she stood, collapsed and blacked out. Where would her mind take her now? How could she save herself from herself?

She spent the entire day in the hospital. The sun was nearly asleep; the nurses’ voices could be heard just beyond the curtain, seeing patients. She felt something: sad but she didn’t know why. Why? Why was Lily sad? She started to recall the last few hours; her father was dead, someone killed him. Someone killed him-Was all that ran through her mind and she was set on finding out who it was and if she had a chance, she’d make them pay.

 The tight grip on the bed was a sure sign she didn’t wake from the nightmare, she was now living in it. She wiggled her toes to feel for the ground but when she couldn’t, she pushed herself down onto the floor. After fastening her shoes, Lily slipped her coat on and trembled as she ran the drapes to one side.

 The Fisher house would be as good as empty; Lily didn’t want to go back. She couldn’t bear seeing what was left there. She needed someplace to stay, to be. Her aunt had already sold her house in the village and was halfway around the world. She was also shunned by her mother’s family so there was no way they’d let her go there now. 

 “Ma’am? Are you feeling better?” said a nurse. 

No. I don’t think I’ll ever feel better.- Was what she wanted to say but Lily nodded as she walked out of the room and into the hall. It seemed like a long, long walk. The corridor had stretched three times what it was when she came in. It could be because she was in a rush to see her father but now she was hesitant to even leave the building, hence, she didn’t know what her next move was going to be.

  Lily Fisher: everyone seemed to have her but who did she have? Who could she turn to?

The town’s square was nearly empty by now and the poor girl was left in the middle of it. The place seemed like a maze, she didn’t know which way was the right way, which way would lead her to the light, which way she could find redemption. 

Within a couple of seconds, within the blink of her eyes, she found herself at the door steps of the Stalker house. She lifted her hand for a knock but pulled them away, holding it to her chest. It was late, how could she bother them with her worries when they had worries of their own? It wasn’t right. What could Mr. Stalker do for her? What could Isobel do for her in the state that she was in? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t; Lily turned to leave when the door creaked open.

  “Lily, that be you?” Mr. Stalker squinted his eyes in the darkness. With his candle, He could only make out her golden hair that shone in the moonlight.

“Yes.” She whispered.

 “What brings you bout this hour, me dear?” He hovered his hand over the flame before turning back inside. He didn’t wait for an answer but instead said “Come in.” and she did.

After being seated, Stalker resided beside her.  He noticed her weary eyes, her near to death colored skin and the droopiness of her stance when she was at the door.

  “What be the matter? And why’d ya’ leave poor Fullin home alone?” He questioned, rolling up his nightgown’s sleeve to scratch his arm. 

 “Isobel’s asleep; she seemed so much better after you left.” He slapped his lips before saying. “All me do for her and she doesn’t move an inch. You come then she wants to start cookin’.” He chuckled. “Oh for Pete’s sake… What’s buggin’ ya’, Lily girl?”  He folded his arms as he said in a heavy voice.

 She slowly wobbled her head to his side, glaring at him. 

  “Someone killed my father.”

“What?” He sat up, brows up. “You mean, Mr. Fullin’s…” He held the hairs on his head.

  “Dead.” She replied coldly. “He’s dead.”