Humming a song to yourself, you pushed the side gate to the courtyard open.

Dried out branches and fallen leaves crunched below your every step.

Autumn had already painted the land of your father in its favourite colours.

The fields were as golden as fresh beer, while the crowns of the trees burned in bright orange and red.

It smelled of honey and wax.

The bees tried to gather the last bits of pollen before winter would take away their only source of food.

Wrapped in layers of thick cotton and leather, you made your way down the path to the fields where pumpkins and other seasonal vegetables grew.

Your eyes wandered over the rows.

It would be a good harvest, enough to get you through the first few weeks of winter. Soon you'd be able to plant new crops that would be able to endure the first and first snow.

With a satisfied nod of your head, you kneeled down and dug your bare fingers into the cold, moist soil to dig out a pumpkin.

It was a nice vegetable, large in size and also feeling decently heavy.

It would make good soup. Or bread, perhaps.

A cool breeze danced across the field.

Colourful leaves were blown into the air and started to kiss each other to form touches of new colours.

The sight made you look up and stare into the deep blue sky.

It made your heart feel heavy.

"Forgive me, mother...", you mumbled to yourself and had to smile a sad, lonely smile. "I couldn't. I failed to keep father's legacy complete."

The wind started to howl and tear at the edges of the trees crowns.

It got so strong that the layers of your clothing started to make you feel chilly.

"Dammit!", you cursed, pulled your head in and escaped the dark clouds that darkened the already gloomy sky.

Icy drops of rain hit your head.

You could feel how the solid, slippery ground turned into mud and splinters of ice.

The soles of your shoes were old and almost worn down to the bare minimum. One wrong step and you'd break your neck.

You still remembered the days of your childhood when servants and peasants had always made sure that the streets were walkable and the ice crushed to prevent a younger version of you from hitting your knees bloody.

Now there was no one left.

Not even the dogs that used to chase after the chickens and barn cats.

In white clouds your breath rose from your lips.

Your entire body was freezing cold and it felt like you were about to turn to ice.

"Well...", you pushed the heavy wooden door of the servants entrance open. "This isn't what you imagined life, didn't you?"

A dark, dusty kitchen greeted you.

It smelled of dried cinder and used oil.

As you had moved into this estate, it had still been clean. Just deserted and without an owner.

But now it had turned into a ghost mansion. Only two rooms of the many others were decently clean, the kitchen and your bedroom.

Groaning under the weight of your harvest, you placed the stacked basket on one of the working tables and bend down to light a fire in the oven.

The wood was dry, unlike many things in this place, but frozen. As soon as the sparks of the firestones touched the logs, they died with a hiss.

"Ugh!", you squeezed your eyes shut. "I can't with this!"

Driven by your emotions, you snapped your fingers.

A small flame lit up in the palm of your hand. It had been long ever since you've felt the touch of magic run through your veins.

If you thought about it, it hasn't been ever since you had buried your father next to your mother.

A sigh made your chest pull together.

The tips of your fingers were enough to make the wood start to burn.

Golden shimmer and a wave of warmth kissed your face. It smelled of dried trees and a wildfire in autumn.

A cold gush of wind crawled through the cracks of the stone walls.

Shivering, you tried to warm your fingers in the warmth of the flame.

This truly wasn't what you had expected to become one day.

Everything your parents had raised you for seemed so far away now, almost like a lie.

"No.", you whispered to yourself, eyes shut, shaking your head.

This wasn't their fault. Without them, you wouldn't even breath anymore.

Life had just played evil tricks on them. They had been unlucky.

You, on the other hand, never knew how it was to struggle. Not until your father had passed, many winters ago.

Now life was for you just the same as for any other.

It would be fine.

You just had to put in a little more blood and sweat.

A wave of feeling heavy was about to wash over you, just the way it did many days and even more nights.

But all of a sudden, a sound tore the silence apart.

Struck by it, your head shot up.

With bated breath you let your eyes wander through the dark.

The tips of your ears twitched. Slightly pointed, but curved instead of sharp.

Again, something made a noise.

This wasn't what the house usually sounded like.

It was unknown. Unwelcome.

Out of reflex, your hand reached for the fire fork and grabbed it tightly.

You could have used magic to defend yourself as well, but it was a dangerous game that you had never mastered to play.

One wrong move and the old wooden beams would make the house burn to ashes.

As someone who lived in this place, you wanted to avoid such things from happening.

For the third time, something creaked. It was as if rats wakes on the old planks of the floor. But rats weren't heavy enough to make more than a whispering sound.

As silent as you could, you walked towards the kitchen door and pushed it open to throw a glance into the hallway that led to the dining room.