January arrived beneath a heavy fall of snow.
It wasn't the thin dusting that came and went in a single morning. This was a true winter snowfall, deep and unrelenting, the kind that settled over the land with every intention of staying. For two days the flakes drifted down without pause, burying the garden paths until they disappeared beneath the white and piling into deep banks against the manor's ancient stone walls. The lake vanished beneath the mounting snow, transformed into a vast white expanse that blended seamlessly with the pale horizon, until earth and sky became almost impossible to tell apart.
Morwenna woke to a strange silence.
It was not merely the familiar quiet of the manor, but something deeper, almost tangible. Every sound seemed muffled, wrapped beneath a thick white blanket. There was no distant bustle from the kitchens, no echo of footsteps along the corridors. Even the fires in the hearths burned softly, their crackling reduced to a gentle murmur. The snow had swallowed the world.
She slipped from beneath her heavy quilts and padded across the room, bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor. Cinder was awake the instant she moved. He trotted after her, his claws clicking softly against the boards before springing onto the window seat and pressing his damp nose to the frosted glass.
Everything had changed.
The snowfall had transformed the estate into something almost unrecognizable. The distant trees wore thick white coats that bent their branches beneath the weight. Garden paths had vanished completely, hidden beneath untouched drifts. The ancient stone walls were softened into smooth, rounded shapes, while the frozen lake stretched across the landscape like an endless sheet of white, blending so perfectly into the pale winter sky that the horizon itself seemed to disappear.
It looked less like the world she knew and more like one remade overnight.
Morwenna pressed her face against the cold pane. The chill seeped through the glass, stinging her cheeks.
"Snow," she whispered, her breath blooming across the window in a small circle of mist.
Behind her, the steady click of Seraphina's knitting needles continued without pause.
"Yes, little one," she said. "The first real snow of the season."
Morwenna spun around at once, her eyes shining. "May I go outside, please?"
Seraphina paused, her needles suspended halfway through a stitch as she considered the request. The cold was bitter enough to seep into the manor's ancient stones. Still, the old wards blanketing the estate would soften the worst of winter's bite within the grounds.
"After breakfast," she decided. "And only if you wear every single layer I give you."
Morwenna nodded so vigorously her hair bounced around her face.
Breakfast disappeared at a speed no one in the manor had witnessed before. Her porridge vanished in determined spoonfuls, and the toast followed scarcely a moment later.
Jane paused with her teacup halfway to her lips, one eyebrow lifting in amusement.
"You are hungry zis morning, ma chérie?"
"Snow," Morwenna declared with complete seriousness, as though the single word explained everything.
Seraphina inclined her head knowingly. Jane hid a smile behind the rim of her porcelain cup.
Getting dressed took considerably longer than breakfast.
Layer after layer disappeared beneath more layers. First came soft wool against her skin, followed by thick trousers and a heavy jumper. Her dark green cloak was fastened snugly beneath her chin. Seraphina tugged thick gloves over her hands until each finger felt impossibly plump. A blue woolen hat was pulled firmly over her ears, its little tassel wobbling every time she moved. Morwenna had not yet decided whether she liked it. Finally, Seraphina laced up her sturdy boots until they fit snugly around her ankles.
When it was over, Morwenna stood perfectly still, her arms sticking awkwardly away from her sides.
"I can't move," she complained.
"You can," Seraphina replied, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat. "It simply takes a little more effort."
Morwenna tested the claim. One stiff step. Then another.
She looked up at Seraphina.
"I can."
"You can."
Satisfied, Morwenna marched toward the door with all the determination her bundled limbs could manage.
Saoirse was already waiting by the garden entrance, wrapped in a thick coat and woolen muffler against the cold. The moment she spotted Morwenna, she broke into a grin.
"You look like a tiny mountain."
Morwenna ignored the remark entirely and stepped over the threshold.
The cold touched her face the instant she stepped outside. It was sharp and wonderfully clean, filling her lungs with air that felt brighter somehow. Fresh snow crunched and squeaked beneath her heavy boots.
She stopped after only a few steps and looked back over her shoulder.
Dark footprints stretched behind her, cutting through the untouched white.
"Look."
Saoirse came to stand beside her, her breath drifting away in a pale cloud.
"Those are yours," she said. "You are leaving your mark."
Morwenna studied them for a long moment before deliberately taking another step.
Then another.
And another.
Each new footprint made her smile a little wider.
They spent the next hour exploring the garden together. Everything had been transformed. The fountain stood half buried beneath a drift, though its heart still moved, a dark circle of restless water surrounded by ice. The clipped hedges resembled sleeping beasts tucked beneath thick blankets of snow.
Morwenna walked cautiously, her arms stretched out for balance as she tested each step. Sometimes the crust held beneath her boots. Sometimes it gave way with a soft whump, swallowing her feet almost to the ankles.
Saoirse crouched beside her and showed her how to pack snow into a ball. The thick gloves made the task frustrating. Snow slipped through Morwenna's clumsy fingers and crumbled apart again and again.
She refused to give up.
Finally, she held up a small, lopsided lump with unmistakable pride.
"Snow."
Saoirse laughed.
"That is a snowball. Now throw it."
Morwenna hurled it with all the strength she possessed. It flew only a short distance before bursting apart in a spray of powder.
Her delighted laugh rang through the frozen garden.
Saoirse packed another snowball and tossed it gently. It bounced off Morwenna's shoulder and exploded across her green cloak.
Morwenna stood perfectly still for a heartbeat.
Then she bent down with renewed determination to make another.
Together they built a creature in the middle of the lawn. It was supposed to be a fox, although its ears fell off several times before finally staying in place.
"It is Cinder," Morwenna declared.
The real Cinder watched from the safety of the open doorway, thoroughly unwilling to venture into the snow. He had tried once, lifting a cautious paw before snatching it back and shaking it in clear disgust. Now he sat just inside on the warm rug, staring suspiciously at the lumpy white fox as though questioning why anyone would create such a thing.
Morwenna noticed him.
She trudged back across the lawn and crouched beside him, every movement slowed by the layers of winter clothing.
"Look." She pointed proudly at the snow figure. "You."
Cinder flattened his ears.
She patted his head with a bulky gloved hand.
"Cold. You stay."
Apparently satisfied that he understood, she turned and waddled back into the snow.
By then the flakes had begun falling again, light and lazy beneath the grey sky.
Morwenna tipped back her head and opened her mouth, trying to catch them on her tongue.
Most drifted past her entirely.
The few that landed melted at once, leaving cool droplets on her lips and cheeks.
"Taste?" she asked.
"I suppose it tastes like winter," Saoirse replied.
Morwenna considered that very carefully.
"...Good."
For a while she kept trying to catch the falling snow, reaching toward the sky with quiet determination even though success always slipped away from her.
Saoirse noticed the change first.
The healthy pink in Morwenna's cheeks had deepened into a bright, windburned red. Her nose ran steadily, and she kept wiping it with the back of one damp glove.
"Are you cold, pet?"
Morwenna shook her head.
"No."
"Your nose says otherwise."
Morwenna frowned at the wet wool coating her glove and wiped her nose once more.
They lingered only a few minutes longer.
The snowballs stopped.
The reaching stopped.
Soon she was simply standing in the middle of the white garden, breathing in quick little clouds as the excitement slowly gave way to weariness.
"Time to go inside," Saoirse said gently.
"No."
"Yes. There will still be snow tomorrow."
Morwenna looked up uncertainly.
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. It is not going anywhere."
The little girl thought about that with visible effort, her thoughts seeming almost as sluggish as her movements.
Finally, she gave a reluctant nod.
Saoirse lifted her into her arms. Even through all the thick wool and padded layers, she could feel the cold that had settled deep into the child's small body.
Inside the manor, Seraphina took one look at the girl's flushed face and moved immediately.
"A warm bath. Now."
At first, it seemed to help.
Steam curled through the bathing room as Morwenna sat quietly in the tub, the warmth slowly chasing the chill from her skin. She drifted a small wooden boat across the water, watching it bob gently between the ripples as though nothing at all had happened.
But by dinner, something was wrong.
She barely touched her food.
The bright candlelight seemed to hurt her eyes. She squinted against it, turning her face away whenever she looked toward the table.
Across from one another, Jane and Jack exchanged a silent glance.
"I think it ees time for bed, ma chérie." Jane said gently.
Morwenna did not argue.
The fever came before midnight.
Whether it had been brought on by the bitter cold, a winter illness already taking hold, or the strain her young body had endured awakening its magic, no one could have said.
She woke with a scream that ripped through the nursery's silence.
Jane reached her almost instantly.
Morwenna was sitting bolt upright in bed, her face burning crimson, her small body shaking with violent chills despite the blankets tangled around her. Her eyes were open, but they did not seem to see.
"Maman!"
Jane gathered her into her arms without hesitation.
« Je suis là, ma chérie. » Jane cradled the trembling child against her chest. "I am here. I am right here."
The heat pouring from Morwenna's body was frightening.
She clung desperately to Jane's nightdress, shivering so hard her teeth chattered.
Jack appeared moments later, Cinder hurrying anxiously beside him.
"What happened?"
"A fever." Jane scarcely looked up. "A very high one."
Jack crossed the room in three long strides and rested a hand against Morwenna's forehead.
His expression hardened immediately.
"I will fetch Mother."
The night lost all sense of shape.
Hours dissolved into one another as the fire burned low and was built up again. Shadows swayed across the nursery walls while the rocking chair creaked steadily back and forth, its slow rhythm becoming the only constant in the room.
Again and again, Jane laid cool cloths across Morwenna's forehead, only for them to grow warm within minutes. Fresh water replaced the old until the porcelain basin itself seemed never to stay full for long.
They coaxed tiny sips of water between the girl's lips.
Most came back.
Sometimes she turned away with a weak groan, letting it spill from the corner of her mouth. Other times, her stomach rejected it almost immediately.
Her cries gradually faded.
The piercing screams became soft whimpers.
The whimpers dissolved into exhausted silence.
Then, without warning, another broken cry would escape her, tearing through the stillness before fading once more.
She drifted endlessly between sleep and waking without ever finding rest.
Whenever her eyes opened, the fever shone brightly within them. She reached into empty air, grasping for things only she could see.
"Maman..."
A pause.
"Gran...ma..."
Another shallow breath.
"Maman..."
"Cinder..."
Cinder scarcely left her side.
Curled tightly against her whenever Jane allowed it, his warm body remained pressed to hers as though determined to anchor her to the world. He watched every movement with unblinking golden eyes, never wandering farther than a few steps away.
Jane never slept.
She remained in the rocking chair with Morwenna nestled against her, counting every uneven breath, every restless stir, every tiny sound.
It should have been an ordinary winter fever.
Jane repeated the thought to herself through the first day.
By the second, she no longer believed it.
The fever only climbed.
Morwenna's skin remained painfully hot, yet dry beneath Jane's hand. She scarcely woke at all now. Only faint, incoherent murmurs escaped her lips as she shifted restlessly beneath the blankets, her brow never relaxing, even in sleep.
Seraphina searched through her herb stores, filling the nursery with the bitter scent of feverfew, willow bark, and yarrow. Had Morwenna been fully awake, she would surely have protested the taste, but now Jane could only persuade her to swallow the smallest amounts between careful drops of water.
Jack lingered in the doorway for what felt like hours.
His broad frame filled the entrance, casting a long shadow across the nursery floor. He looked older than he had only days before. Weariness had settled into every line of his face, and his grip on the doorframe was so tight his knuckles had turned white.
"She is so small," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Children do fall ill," Seraphina replied quietly. "Sometimes gravely. But they recover."
Jack kept his eyes on his daughter.
"This feels different."
No one answered.
No one could.
The entire manor seemed to hold its breath.
Morwenna, who normally filled every room with quiet curiosity and gentle life, now felt impossibly distant. It was as though she had slipped beyond the reach of every hand stretched toward her, drifting farther away beneath the relentless heat of the fever while those who loved her could do nothing but watch.
Cinder stayed close, refusing all food and ignoring the door, pressing nearer each time the girl made even the smallest sound.
Aldric found Jane that evening. She hadn't moved from the rocking chair, her hair dishevelled and her eyes shadowed. The fire had burned low, leaving the nursery dim and draped in heavy silence.
"You need to rest, Jane," he said, his voice a low rumble.
"I can't."
"You will be no good to her if you collapse from exhaustion."
Jane looked up at him. Her eyes were rimmed with red, the sheer weight of her fatigue sitting heavily beneath them. "I know. It's just…" Her voice faltered, cracking slightly. She looked down at Morwenna, her fingers tightening their hold around the small, fragile weight in her arms. "I can't leave her, Father. Not like this."
Aldric didn't argue further. Instead, he drew a heavy chair closer to the hearth and sat down. "Then I will stay as well."
They passed the night in that shared vigil. Aldric drifted in and out of sleep in his chair, his head occasionally nodding toward his chest, while Jane remained wide awake, watching the slow, shallow rhythm of Morwenna's breathing. Cinder lay at their feet, a quiet, steady presence.
At some point in the darkest hours, Saoirse came in with a tray of tea. She set it down on the side table, brushed her fingers once against Jane's shoulder in a silent show of support, and left without saying a word.
On the third day, the magic began to slip through.
At first, the manifestations were small, almost easy to miss. A candle on the mantelpiece guttered and hissed when Morwenna cried out in her sleep. The flame flickered wildly, then flared into a bright, sudden spark before settling back into a steady glow. Jane noticed it. She looked at the candle, then back at her daughter's flushed face, but she remained silent, her heart sinking with a new kind of worry.
Then the frost came.
The window beside the bed, the one that offered a view of the frozen lake, began to change. A thin, crystalline layer of frost began to form, not on the outside against the wind, and not on the inside surface, but within the glass itself. Fine, silver patterns spread outward from the centre like delicate lace or frozen fern fronds.
Jane reached out a trembling hand and touched the pane. When she pulled her fingers back, they were damp and stung with a piercing, unnatural cold.
"Jack!" Jane's voice cracked. « Elle brûle. » "She is burning."
He came at once, his gaze fixing on the silvering window. His jaw tightening as he took in the sight of the spreading ice. Aldric stepped in behind them, his expression becoming thoughtful.
"Her magic is responding to her distress," Aldric said quietly, his eyes narrowed.
"She has never done anything like this before," Jack muttered.
"She has never been this vulnerable before. Her body is fighting the fever with everything it has. It can't hold her magic properly—not while it's so distracted."
They watched in a stunned sort of silence as the frost spread, slowly claiming half the glass pane. Then Morwenna made a small, strained sound in her sleep, her brow furrowing, and the frost receded slightly, as if it were being drawn back by an unseen hand.
Jane didn't leave the nursery after that.
The glass cracked that evening. It was a sudden sound that echoed through the room.
Jane woke in the chair, startled, without remembering when she had finally fallen asleep. Her arms were stiff, but they still held Morwenna securely. The child felt warm against her, but the quality of the heat had changed. It no longer burned with that relentless, dry intensity.
Morwenna's eyes opened. They were clear.
She looked at Jane first, her gaze lingering on her mother's tired face. Then her eyes wandered slowly around the room before finally settling on Cinder, still curled tightly beside her.
"Maman," she croaked, her voice dry.
Relief tightened Jane's throat until she could hardly speak. She gathered her daughter into her arms, every movement careful, as though she feared the slightest touch might shatter the fragile miracle before her.
"You are awake, ma chérie. You are back with us." Her voice trembled as she pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "I am here, ma chérie. Maman is with you. You are safe now. Non, you are not going anywhere."
Morwenna seemed to think about that for a moment, her brow faintly furrowing as she processed the words. "Yes."
"Are you hungry, love?"
There was a long pause as the girl considered the internal sensation. Then, "Yes."
Jane let out a quiet laugh, a sound that was unsteady with the weight of her relief. Exhaustion and joy tangled together in her chest, making her eyes sting.
Recovery was a frustrating process. Morwenna was incredibly weak; even the short, shuffled walk from the bed to the window left her leaning heavily against the wall, her breath coming in quick pants. Holding a small silver spoon demanded her entire focus, her fingers trembling in a way she clearly disliked.
"I don't like this," she said on the third day of her recovery, pushing her bowl of broth away with a scowl.
"You need to eat," Jane told her gently, brushing a stray hair from the girl's face. "It will help you grow your strength back."
"I don't want to be weak."
Jane knelt beside her chair, lowering herself so they were eye-to-eye. "No one wants that, Morwenna. But sometimes, the body needs time to mend itself."
Morwenna looked down at her small hands, turning them over slowly as if they belonged to someone else. "Was I dying, Maman?"
The question lingered in the quiet room, heavy and cold. Jane's hands stilled where they held the wooden bowl. "No, ma chérie. You were ill. You were very ill indeed. But you are better now, and that's what matters."
"I didn't like it."
"No one does, darling."
Morwenna was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the fire. "My head felt wrong. Everything felt wrong."
Jane drew her gently into an embrace, feeling the small, sturdy heart beating against her own. "I know. It's over now. You are safe."
In the days that followed, small, strange things continued to happen around the girl. Morwenna reached for her cup of milk one morning during breakfast. Before her fingers could even brush the ceramic, the cup slid across the smooth table toward her hand, stopping exactly where she needed it. She froze, staring at the cup with questioning eyes.
Saoirse saw it happen from across the table. She said nothing, her expression neutral as she poured more tea as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Morwenna glanced at her own hands, then back at the cup, and eventually picked it up the normal way, her grip tight.
Later that same day, she struggled with the stubborn buttons on her dress. Her fingers were still clumsy from the illness, the fabric slipping through her grasp each time she tried to secure the fastening. A small, sharp sound of frustration escaped her.
Across the room, a heavy book fell suddenly from the library shelf. No one was standing anywhere near it. Morwenna stared at the volume where it lay face-down on the floor, her breath hitching.
"Gran-ma."
Seraphina appeared in the doorway almost instantly. "Yes, little one?"
"The book fell."
"I saw."
A pause followed, thick with unasked questions. "Did I do it?"
Seraphina crossed the room and lowered herself to the floor beside the girl. She took Morwenna's small hands gently in her own, her touch grounding and warm. "Your magic is waking, Morwenna. It was sleeping before, deep inside you. Now it is learning how to move."
Morwenna looked back at the fallen book, her head tilting. "It was sleeping?"
"Yes."
"Like I was sleeping? When I was sick?"
"A different kind of sleep, perhaps. But… yes, in a way."
Morwenna considered that explanation carefully, her young mind working through the logic. "Will it stop? The falling things?"
"In time. It will learn to be still and wait for you. For now, it simply doesn't know how to be quiet yet."
Morwenna nodded, as if that made perfect sense to her. After a moment, she stood up, walked across the rug, and picked up the book herself, sliding it back into its place on the shelf.
On the fifth day after her fever broke, Saoirse said something particularly cheeky that made Morwenna laugh. It was a real laugh—bright and sudden. For a brief, beautiful moment, the entire room felt lighter, the lingering gloom of the illness finally lifting.
By the end of the week, the strange incidents began to fade away. Morwenna was herself again, running through the stone halls with Cinder at her heels, giving Saoirse detailed instructions in the kitchen as though she had never been ill at all. Every so often, she would glance down at her hands, as if expecting them to misbehave again, but they remained steady.
One morning, she pressed her palm flat against the nursery window. The glass was bitingly cold against her skin. She waited, watching the surface, but nothing happened. No frost formed; no cracks appeared. She pulled her hand back, studying her palm for a second.
"Good," she said firmly.
That afternoon, Jane sat in the library with the baby blue journal open on the desk before her. She dipped her quill into the inkwell and added a new, careful entry.
January. High fever. Magic response observed: frost, cracked glass, objects moving. Retained awareness afterward. Asked questions. Accepted explanations.
Jack appeared in the doorway, pausing there for a long moment before stepping inside the room. "How is she?"
"Asleep. Finally," Jane said, leaning back slightly in her chair and rubbing her eyes. "She is well, Jack. Her magic surfaced during the fever. It was quite a display."
Jack stepped closer, glancing down at the elegant script she had written. "That's early, isn't it?"
"Everything with her is."
He reached across the desk and took her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers. They stayed like that for a while, quiet, listening to the soft crackle of the fire.