The Crimson Snow (A Realm of Chaos and Void #1)

Chapter 2

The Gray Fox

Beneath a veil of smoke and shadows, the slight fox crept,

Encircled by fangs, cruel beasts thirsting for its breath.

Cornered, with no path to flee, the fox tinged its coat

A deep, mournful gray—the hue of dusk and despair’s depth.

Retrieved from Golden Tales from the Otherworld

by Galen Sorrowspring, Ch. 15, p. 9.

Seraphine Ashcroft

As Seraphine crossed the threshold, the world transformed—a dizzying, surreal reversal that defied the ordinary laws she knew. She stepped into the Otherworld realm, a domain known in tales, where there was no snow but a dark land bathed in an eternal season, neither hot nor icy cold, surrounded by trees adorned with multicolored foliage.

Over time, she learned that the veil didn’t just conceal this place. It physically inverted it relative to the human realm. Beneath her feet, the ground felt like clouds and water, while the sky seemed as hard as earth and pavement. The stars were static, and Seraphine felt as if she were floating. The air was thicker but richer, infused with the essence of nature, tangible enough that she sometimes considered wrapping the air around her fingers and bottling it.

In Coldhaven, she was a mere human and an ill omen, yet amidst the chaotic throng of creatures, she felt unique and fortunate to have been granted access to a place from folktales. On this side of the veil, Seraphine was free. I am home.

Seraphine drew a deep breath to steady herself before venturing farther into the Shadowmarket, a labyrinth of shadowed stalls and endless curiosities, a haven for creatures of the dark arts.

While Seraphine navigated through the Shadowmarket, iridescent wings of aos sí fairies flickered by dangerously. Above, eerie wails of sluagh mingled with the market’s clamor, haunting the air. Hags and bogles haggled fiercely, their noses nearly touching. Sleek kelpies, with eyes gleaming with mischief, prowled for the unwary. The market, alive with entities bearing horns, multiple tails, or ethereal glow, was a vivid testament to the dark magic infusing every corner.

Shops overflowed with enchantments and oddities: vials of potent potions, ancient tomes in enigmatic hides, and bizarre objects defying explanation. With a sarcastic twist of her lips, Seraphine recalled a naive misadventure. A seemingly innocuous lamp shop had almost ensnared her, turning her into part of its inventory. That memory sharpened her caution. I won’t be falling for such tricks again.

Trickery and mischief were as valuable here as gold, and she had become a master at the game, having earned a peculiar respect among the shadow dwellers. Perhaps it was the thrill of the game or mastering the art of deception, but she relished outsmarting those who thrived on beguiling others. “Another day, another dance in the dark,”

she said, her voice a whisper lost in the bustling market.

Seraphine halted before a shop in the darkest corner of the market. Its timeworn wooden facade flickered intermittently under the soft glow of candles, casting grotesque shadows over sinister wares: gnarled animal limbs, jars of preserved fangs, and murky vials of unidentifiable liquids.

“Someone could use an upholsterer,”

she sighed, eyeing the shop’s sign, which was carved from wooden branches and labeled with what the owner claimed to be magic berry juice, Screams & Pierces. Knowing the owner, Seraphine suspected it was actually inscribed with blood, not “fairytales and magical” berries.

Standing behind the counter was Theodorah, a terrifying witch from the Hollowspring lineage—reputed to be older than the realms and wiser than the Ancients, or so the hag would brag. Her hair, a cascade of snow-white locks intertwined with withered roses and sharp thorns, blended into her deep green cloak against the dim background. To many who ventured into the Shadowmarket, Theodorah personified the terror that pervaded the place. Her smile, laden with sharpness and horror, was designed to incite fear and demonstrate power. However, it never affected Seraphine.

“Hey, Dorah,”

Seraphine called out, her voice carrying a light, easy grin as she stepped into the shop’s familiar confines. Her eyes radiated and sparkled with something few humans had ever seen: genuine trust and care.

“I thought you weren’t coming. What keeps those crimson eyes of yours lingering in that dreadful human realm?”

Dorah rasped, her voice an ethereal echo filled with nightmares and tinged with an accent.

“Indeed, the human realm is nothing but a web of tears and deception, a purgatory of ennui,”

Seraphine said, dramatically placing a hand on her forehead.

Dorah smirked. Seraphine leaned against the shop front, inches from Dorah, who smelled like leaves and vanilla. Close to the hag’s long, pointed ears, entangled in thorns and decayed roses, she whispered sardonically, “Babies, puppies, and oh, those horrendously brilliant, shiny dresses.”

Then, she lay on the floor, batting her eyes playfully.

“Impertinent child, have you no manners? You can’t lie down on one’s shop floor,”

Dorah muttered, the roses in her hair opening and closing—a display of her irritation. Yet, her tone betrayed a deep-seated fondness. “I should have left you to the arms of a pooka or a spriggan the day you found yourself lost in this place.”

Seraphine stood again, brushing dirt from her dress, and smiled at Dorah. “Oh, you wouldn’t have! I make your life miserably delightful,”

she retorted, moving closer to the hag and kissing one of the hair flowers. Dorah had indeed been the reason she had survived her first foray into the Otherworld.

Seraphine had been three or four years old when she found herself running through the forest, convinced she was chasing a white bunny with crimson eyes like hers. It appeared just outside the Weeping Forest, and she couldn’t resist following it, as though it were a game. It was midnight, and despite her father’s shouts echoing as he ran after her, she couldn’t stop.

Moving between the arched branches of the sentinel tree, she stumbled through the veil and fell to her knees. Disoriented and frightened, Seraphine found herself amidst the bustling Shadowmarket. Initially, she thought it was all a nightmare, but the reality became undeniable, especially as the creatures around her began to take notice.

Creatures mocked her, pushed her aside, and some, like the kelpies, circled ominously, feigning attempts to devour her. Banshees screamed in her ear, turning her ordeal into the living embodiment of the frightening tales her father used to recount. Terrified, Seraphine ran, cried, and hid beneath the whispering leaves of talking trees. She dashed from one terror to the next throughout the night and into the dawn until a hag appeared. Among all the fearsome entities, Dorah was the most daunting, yet she sat quietly in front of Seraphine, simply waiting.

Minutes—or perhaps hours—passed without Dorah moving.

When Seraphine had calmed slightly, Dorah extended her hand, offering guidance back through the veil to the human realm. However, she first showed her more of the creatures of the Shadowmarket and plucked some talking flowers from the trees, magically transforming them into butterflies right before Seraphine’s eyes. What had started as a harrowing nightmare subtly shifted, weaving itself into a dreamlike wonder.

After Dorah thrust Seraphine back through the tree portal, her father found her and scooped her in his arms. She was buzzing with excitement, eagerly recounting her ordeal. Naturally, Leander was skeptical. Seraphine attempted to show him the portal but to no avail. Her father simply laughed it off as a child’s dream.

Undeterred, Seraphine knew it was no dream. Despite her young age, she returned night after night, discovering that the veil briefly opened for one hour after midnight. Eager to share this secret world, she tried to bring her best friend Max along, timing it perfectly. Yet, he, too, ended up face-planting in the snow just outside the portal. It seemed the veil would only admit her. As such, she continued her visits alone, each becoming less frightening.

Dorah would always be there to greet her, escorting her through the Shadowmarket, imparting arcane knowledge, and spinning tales of the Otherworld. Over time, Dorah had transformed from a figure of fear to a motherly presence, albeit in her own mysterious and gruff manner.

“Also, I have something that might interest you, something truly precious,”

Seraphine declared, cunningly hiding a pearl from the stolen necklace in her palm. It was of little value, but she knew the art of negotiation with the old hag.

“Precious? Looks more like trash to me. I know your tricks, Seren,”

Dorah retorted with a snarl.

“This item—”

Seraphine continued, feigning seriousness. “Is imbued with such malevolence that you could trade it for an entire selkie.”

“Lies and fabrications. I taught you better than to attempt such flimsy deceptions on me,”

Dorah scoffed, dismissing her. “Be gone. You’re driving away my customers.”

She stood her ground. “Well, it seems I may just take this to old Bauchan instead. He’s desperate enough to trade his soul for far less,”

she taunted, knowing that Dorah detested losing a bargain.

“Oh, what a shame. I guess I’ll just go then.”

Seraphine feigned a disappointed sigh and turned as if to leave.

“For Nemera’s wings! How much?”

The urgency in Dorah’s voice betrayed her interest. Seraphine had her right where she wanted.

“Ten coins,”

Seraphine asserted boldly.

“Ten coins for an unseen item? Are you out of your mind?”

“Perhaps I am. But you know me. So, ten coins, or I’ll see if that charming Fir Darrig over there might offer fifteen,”

Seraphine challenged, gesturing vaguely at the crowd.

“Eight coins. That’s my final offer,”

Dorah growled, unwilling to let the deal slip through her fingers.

“Deal,”

Seraphine agreed promptly, satisfied with the outcome, though she’d have settled for less. Her commitment to avoid less reputable shops wasn’t a real sacrifice. The Shadowmarket was teeming with opportunities.

As she handed over the pearl, Dorah examined it closely, her expression softening with surprise. With a reluctant nod, the witch conjured eight coins from magic leaves with a puff of her breath.

“There. It pains me to say I’ve overpaid, but you’ve learned well. Let that suffice for today’s lesson,”

Dorah muttered, a mix of annoyance and pride coloring her gruff tone.

The girl placed the coins in a pocket of her dress and smiled.

“Seren,”

Dorah called out, her voice laden with seriousness.

Oh no, not this again, Seraphine thought, forcing a pained grin. She looked at the old hag, already anticipating the familiar lecture.

“You’ve burdened yourself enough here and in that dreadful realm of yours. You’ve worked enough for them... Why persist in laboring for those humans? It’s not just for your family, is it? Your father would surely agree with me.”

Seraphine knew he would but stayed silent. Dorah pressed on. “You could live among us, work with me. You’re far too skilled just to cut fish and admire pretty dresses. You could be much more here, Seren.”

Seraphine had always dreamed of staying in the Otherworld. Yet, she required more time. Her father and sister still needed her care. “I… I’m but a mere human. While I may be accustomed here, what about the other parts and creatures of this realm? I don’t belong.”

But I want to. I yearn to stay and witness more leaves transform into butterflies, more monsters into wonders.

“Are you?”

she challenged, setting aside some dried animal parts and producing a bottle resembling liquor.

“Am I what?”

Seraphine inquired, watching as Dorah downed the bottle effortlessly. Well then.

“Human,”

the witch countered, her gaze piercing, the roses in her hair seemingly watching too.

Seraphine rolled her eyes. “For Brannon and Nemera’s sakes! Yes, I am. No horns, tails, or magic here. If not human, then what? A stone? A ghost?”

she half-joked, though she often thought of herself as a ghost, a mere presence but nothing more.

With the tenderness that neither her family outside of the Otherworld nor any creature here could match, Dorah touched her cheek and looked at her. “Always praying to the wrong Ancient,”

she murmured. “You hold the world and an endless universe of keys and souls in your eyes yet remain unaware. A mere human couldn’t reach this realm, but you know that. You’re just too afraid to admit it, to see it, to see yourself as other than what you’ve been told all your life.”

With that, the witch moved to the other side of the shop, fetched another bottle, and organized some curious items. Still, Seraphine caught what could have been sorrow in the old hag’s eyes.

They shifted to lighter topics, like gossip about a notorious wanderer merrow and amusing stories Dorah had overheard from the old trees. All the while, Seraphine assisted Dorah with various clients searching for nameless items.

As Seraphine prepared to leave, a cat sith approached. Larger than the usual kind, almost the size of a puma, it had stark white eyes and a distinctive red mark under its ear—a symbol Seraphine vaguely recognized.

Dorah tensed at the cat sith’s arrival. “What an unpleasant visit,”

she said, tension coloring her voice.

The cat sith smirked disturbingly and spat out a piece of paper.

Intrigued, Seraphine watched as ancient symbols materialized on the paper. She recognized the language but couldn’t decipher the message. Dorah read it, her face paling. Moving quickly, she retrieved a hidden box from the back of her shop.

Before Seraphine could get a clearer look, the paper burst into flames and disintegrated. “That’s overly dramatic,”

Seraphine concluded.

Dorah produced a tiny vial containing a liquid that shimmered like captured starlight, its aura as sinister as a serpent’s hiss. “This is all I have. No more requests like this,”

she told the cat sith, who swallowed the vial, likely hiding it beneath one of its formidable teeth.

“And tell your master he’s not welcome here anymore,”

the witch declared, turning her sharp gaze on Seraphine. “What in the bean-nighe are you still doing here, Seren?”

she snapped, her patience thinning.

Acknowledging the urgency of her schedule, especially with an important appointment pending, Seraphine exited the shop, but not before casting a final glance at the enigmatic cat sith. She made her way through the tenebrous labyrinth of the Shadowmarket, her mind teeming with questions about the cat sith, her earlier conversation with Dorah, and the unsettling cryptic message.