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

Chapter 5

The Wailing Fox

Born from earth, shadows deep,

Eyes of beauty, fur of fright.

A lone wolf wanders, bound to weep,

Loveless through the endless night.

Retrieved from The Great Love Story of The White Fox

by Illyra Everdawn, Ch. 5, p. 23.

Seraphine Ashcroft

Her heart raced, a swarm of black butterflies fluttering in her belly. Max had once been Seraphine’s only friend. At one point, she had even envisioned a life together. He was like the sun, golden-eyed and radiant, the closest she’d come to feeling the spring’s warmth. However, she wouldn’t succumb to his presence. Max had left her, and Seraphine had chosen to forge her path alone. Just breathe, Seraphine. Become the voided creature they all fear. Show no emotion. Be a ghost.

He wasn’t alone, though. A group of well-dressed but scornful men flanked him. Max’s eyes briefly met hers, showing a glimmer of remorse before a cold indifference settled in. “Well, well, if it isn’t Seren. It’s been too long. A year? I had no idea you worked here,”

he commented, his tone stripped of any warmth that had once characterized their interactions.

Regaining her composure and forgetting about the knife on the floor, Seraphine replied hesitantly, “Y-yes, I’m just filling in. The owner, Mr. Vale, had to run some errands. You... I thought you’d left.”

He appeared unchanged, his blond hair and golden eyes as striking as ever, though his smile felt forced and unnatural.

Max’s expression faltered as he caught sight of her eyes, his attempt at indifference momentarily slipping. “Left? No, I’ve been here all this time. I simply chose not to seek you out. I’d rather not mingle with your kind.”

His words sliced through the air.

The group’s laughter echoed around them, deepening Seraphine’s humiliation. The realization that he had intentionally avoided her was a painful betrayal.

One nightmare at a time.

“I see. So the rumors are true,”

Seraphine shot back, her voice trembling. However, she drowned it all—the humiliation, the hurt—filling her cup of sorrows once more. “I may be an outcast, but at least I am not a coward or a deceiver. Like you.”

She held his gaze fiercely, daring him to avert his eyes first. Max had been Seraphine’s best friend since they were children. In time, he had become her only companion, ending in her falling for him in their twenties. A year ago, she declared her love for him. He told her he felt the same. Then, a week later, he disappeared. A rumor started that he was to be engaged with a proper lady. Max never contacted her or sought her out. Seraphine sent letters for months—every day, but there was no response.

Max’s eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Vale’s abrupt entrance interrupted the standoff.

“What is the meaning of this?”

he demanded, his tone sharp.

Seraphine’s heart sank. How many nightmares am I supposed to handle at once?

One of Max’s companions, a tall and strikingly handsome man with raven hair, gently placed a hand on Mr. Vale’s shoulder. His smile, both captivating and faintly sinister, softened his approach. “My apologies, sir. We’ve come to procure a sizable quantity of fish for a ball I’m hosting tonight. However, it seems your employee harbors some... resentment and rudeness toward my friend. Oh, I guess it must be about Max’s—”

Max cut off his words, looking at the extremely handsome male with painful pleading. “This is no place to discuss such matters.”

“Is it not?”

he remarked, his intense gaze settling on Seraphine this time.

It sent shivers down her spine. She felt he was pushing her to ask him, to confirm the rumor she ardently wanted to hear from Max’s mouth. His eyes roamed around her face, and she noted that they were an unusual yet mesmerizing blend of gray and clear blue dotted with white specks reminiscent of snowflakes. Despite dismissing it as improbable, she felt an inexplicable familiarity about him.

How in the world had Max ended up with such company? Is this person from another town? She had wandered this town for years, and Seraphine was certain she had never seen him. I don’t think you could go unnoticed looking like that.

Mr. Vale stepped back, his face etched with incredulity and indignation. “Young Wraithwood, my apologies. I should have recognized you immediately,”

he stammered.

Wraithwood?

This is worse than a nightmare... it’s real torment, like a winter storm.

Seraphine shared Mr.

Vale’s astonishment, yet shamelessly, she couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting back to him—the most admired and, to her, the most hated person in Coldhaven, a prince without a crown.

Evren Wraithwood’s presence was wholly unexpected, his appearance seemingly confirming her grimmest suspicions—an arrogant, entitled nobleman masquerading as a gentleman.

His handsome features were undeniable, yet Seraphine knew too well that such beauty could be misleading.

Her experiences in the Otherworld had taught her that outward allure often concealed deeper, darker truths.

However, she had to admit, she liked that darkness. Or was it his darkness? Or the contrasting darkness in those eyes, with those white flecks? She quickly dismissed the thought and reminded herself who this person was to begin with.

The owner’s eyes blazed as he turned toward her. Already predisposed to dislike her, the infamous Evren Wraithwood’s presence just intensified his anger. What a noisy wolf that man was, and somehow Seraphine found Evren’s presence more maddening and unnerving than Max’s. She pondered whether she should feel relieved or concerned, considering minutes ago, she was on the verge of feeling heartbroken once again.

“You. I showed mercy because of your father’s reputation, but you’ve proven yourself a menace. Leave now, and do not return,”

Mr. Vale spat.

“Mr. Vale, listen—”

Seraphine began, but he interrupted sharply.

“Do not come back here. Ever. You bring misfortune to this shop and to everyone in it. Leave now, and I might refrain from informing your father of this incident.”

With those final words, Seraphine walked to the door, throwing one last resentful look at Max.

While she walked away from her post, relieved that Mr. Vale had promised not to tell her father about the occurrence, she glanced at Evren Muddy Wraithwood again. He stood beside the entrance, blocking her path with a look of mingled anger and curiosity. Is that a smirk on his face? Seraphine moved toward the door, looking down to hide her face under the hood, ready to step into the deep winter of Iceveil’s streets.

As she neared Evren, he whispered—or so she thought—“Interesting. Is your heart breaking enough? Or can you endure more?”

Those words chillingly echoed others she had heard before in her mind. Perhaps she mixed Evren’s voice with the whispers she had been hearing.

There’s no way.

She suddenly stumbled and fell onto the hard cobblestones, scraping her cheek. As Seraphine attempted to rise, a warm trickle of blood stained the pavement. “In the name of Nemera,”

she cursed under her breath.

“Begging to someone different than Brannon? You deserve that, witch,”

Mr. Vale declared coldly. Seraphine lay there, fixated on the blood drops dotting the gray stones. “I won’t pay you a dime. Consider yourself lucky to leave unharmed,”

he added scornfully.

Max, Evren, and their group exited the shop, but she remained on the ground, not daring to look up. Evren’s voice carried back to her. “I’ll return later to pick up the large order, sir. For now, my friend Max has a wedding to prepare for. Isn’t that right, Max?”

Lifting her head, Seraphine met Max’s eyes. There was a deep sadness there, but his tone was dismissively neutral. “Indeed, I am looking forward to the company of a refined and elegant lady.”

Then, carelessly, Max stepped close, his foot catching and dragging Seraphine’s beloved crimson hood. The one Max had given her years ago, the only remaining trace of their friendship.

“Stay down, Seren, where you belong, in the dirt, with your kind. And get yourself a new hood. This one’s beyond repair and does little to hide those cursed eyes of yours.”

With a swift kick, Max tore the hood further, its fabric ripping apart easily. “See? It’s worthless now,”

he said coldly before turning away.

At that moment, her tears mixed with the blood. Seraphine felt she might drown in her own grief.

Still, she slowly stood, leaving the ruined hood behind. A solitary snowflake landed on her face, marred by blood, tears, and the day’s grime. With a heavy heart, she turned and fled the scene.

Seraphine ran swiftly, tears freezing on her cheeks and falling into the snow. Like the flowers, those frozen tears were destined to endure forever—cruel reminders of her sorrows. Drops of frozen blood now permanently marked the snow near the entrance to the Weeping Forest.

She couldn’t think straight after the encounter with Max. Mr. Vale would likely spread rumors about what had happened, complicating her job search since most were eager to stay in the Wraithwoods’ good graces. And what did Evren say?

Seraphine quickened her pace. Without Mr. Vale’s payment, she needed to trade anything she could at the Shadowmarket—just one good deal was enough. Then, she remembered the pearls in her dress pockets. If she could reach the veil and speak with Dorah and perhaps some others, she might manage to earn some coins in time.

Bang, bang, bang.

The clock indicated one hour till midnight—plenty of time, yet Seraphine felt desperate to distance herself from the town. She needed a safe place to breathe.

Run faster, Seraphine! Faster!

As she entered the Weeping Forest, the atmosphere was unsettlingly strange. She attributed that to herself and her feelings. She followed her usual path, yet somehow, she kept finding herself walking in circles. Left, right, left—her usual markers were nowhere to be seen. It was as if the forest had shifted, the trees rearranging their ancient trunks to confound her. The entrance to the veil should have been clear, but now it was obscured by some unnatural trickery of the woods. Something’s definitely not right.

Continuing her disoriented trek through the woods, Seraphine stumbled upon a warning sign. It resembled those typically seen at the forest’s entrance, but this one appeared much older, weathered by time and elements. She had never seen it before, which seemed impossible. Seraphine knew every path, every forest nook like the back of her hand.

“Welcome to the Wailing Forest,”

the sign read.

Wailing? She hadn’t heard of it before. Not to mention, this was supposed to be the Weeping Forest. Her teary eyes focused on the sign once more, noting there was more.

Welcome to the Wailing Forest

Walk carefully among the towering trees. You are not lost, barely wandering. Here, there are no horrors, merely silent witnesses to sorrow. If a wish you seek, come laden with despair—a broken heart may prove its key. Venture deep & enjoy the ride.

“What is all this?”

Seraphine murmured, looking around and wondering if someone had placed this here as a joke. If that was the case, then it got her. Yet, deep down, she knew it wasn’t a prank. Unease blossomed in her stomach.

Suddenly, the wind began to push her. She tried to hold onto the sign, but the wind was stronger, compelling her to move away from it.

She bent down, seeking shelter beneath an old tree. Perhaps she was just tired and had misunderstood the path. Maybe she had imagined the sign altogether. She had been hearing voices, so she might’ve started imagining things too.

Seraphine sighed deeply, the wind pushing her against the tree as she tried to figure out her location. It didn’t matter if she was losing her mind or her heart or if everything seemed against her today. What mattered was that she needed to find a way back. Despite feeling damned for life, she wouldn’t allow herself to get lost and frozen in the forest. Deep down, she knew that living was the greatest torment she could bestow upon those who had wronged her.

As the storm raged on, she wondered if it was also affecting all of Coldhaven. They had storms before, but this one seemed personal.

“Breathe, just breathe,”

she muttered to herself, holding on to the tree.

Seraphine still had time to reach the veil. She moved her frozen hands to cover her face but realized she had left her cloak behind. She almost laughed. The Ancients must truly hate me. She slowly focused her eyes, looking around for a clue, a path, but she had no idea where she was. Despite her weariness, never in her life had she been so disorientated to the point she lost her way.

Then, she felt that usual tingle in the back of her neck. Seraphine was not alone.

Grim Wanderer

The Grim Wanderer hovered nearby, shrouded in shadows, watching the crimson-eyed girl crumble before Maxwell. This heartbreak was no accident. It had been orchestrated, a cruel thread woven into the tapestry of manipulations he had designed around her. He had subtly nudged Maxwell toward a marriage of convenience, leveraging his considerable influence and dark connections. Yet, he wasn’t devoid of flair for the dramatic—he believed Maxwell was unworthy of Seraphine, and in his twisted perception, he was doing her a favor.

However, the sight of her so defeated stirred an unexpected unease in him. Initially, the Grim Wanderer had planned to lead her astray in the Weeping Forest, to make her miss the veil or arrive hopelessly late. However, his plans had evolved, now leading her not just astray but to a place of his own making—a darker, deeper part of the forest.

The Wailing Forest, a hidden extension of the Weeping Forest, retained fragments of magic from the Otherworld and the Underworld. Now, it served as a secluded refuge for the Grim Wanderer.

Still, tonight, of all nights, he should have stayed away. Urgent matters awaited him, yet he found himself drawn to Seraphine’s resolve as she stood in the snow. Her eyes were fierce with determination as she calculated her way out against the strong wind, probably seeking a path to the veil.

The Grim Wanderer watched her, captivated by her resilience. Her dress was torn, with no cloak to shield her from the cold. How is she not freezing? Like poisonous roses or ghostly kisses, like all the things forbidden in the most decadent way, her strikingly beautiful scarlet eyes were impossible to ignore.

“Who are you?”

she called out suddenly, her voice cutting through the forest’s silence. Although Seraphine couldn’t see him, her instincts were sharp. “What are you then, if not a who?”

Amused and taken aback by her perceptiveness, the Grim Wanderer couldn’t help but laugh—a sound that hadn’t escaped his lips in centuries. He should have known better. She had always been clever, outsmarting him centuries ago during their first encounter. Now, she remained a cunning fox, ever so capable of seeing through veils that others could not.

As she stood scanning the shadows for any sign of him, he realized he was on the brink of making a monumental mistake. He looked at the dark sky as he released his hold on the magic. The storm stopped. The moon was clear now and high, and he could see some brilliant stars—not as shiny and beautiful as those in the eyes of the crimson-eyed creature but still a sweet companion.

The Grim Wanderer watched her breathe and close her eyes in relief. How many times have we been under the same moon, the same sky? Had she ever wished for company besides the stars and old trees, just like me?

“Answer me!”

Seraphine said louder this time, undeterred.

He should’ve just moved away and let her follow his initial plan. However, her eyes were shining with so much emotion, so much fierceness, so much of her that, against his better judgment, the Grim Wanderer answered her.

Seraphine Ashcroft

“Hello there, Crimson Eyes,”

a rough, dark voice echoed through the woods.

Seraphine felt the trees arch as if drawing closer to the voice, almost purring at it, compelled by it. The wind was static once more, and this time, Seraphine was not looking for a way out.

One would normally be afraid of an unknown voice in such a dark place, but something about it felt just right, familiar even. Driven by curiosity, Seraphine paced from one tree to another, trying to pinpoint its source. Let me catch you.

“Are you just going to hide there like a scared cat?”

she called out, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Look, I’ve had a terrible day. So, if you’re here to play games, just leave me alone. I have places to be.”

Her frustration was palpable, but she hoped he would answer again. Perhaps he knew a way out of this place. Glancing up at the moon, she realized it was already midnight. The veil would close soon.

“Definitely not. I am not a scaredy-cat—that’s a bit too offensive, Crimson Eyes,”

he retorted mockingly. His voice seemed to echo all around, or perhaps it was just her imagination playing tricks. It was a little distorted too, as if his voice was veiled somehow. Still, she couldn’t see him.

Now that the storm was over, she noticed that the place was stunningly beautiful—the tall trees were adorned with sharp icicles and snow that glittered like diamonds, while the snow underfoot felt softer, like flour. Despite the chill in the air, she noticed snowflakes gently falling. She wondered if people realized that snow came in different shades of white.

What is this place? She knew now that this was not her forest.

“I think you are since you keep hiding. Anyway, whatever or whoever you are, what is this place?”

Seraphine said, her eyes sharp, scanning every inch of her surroundings for any movement, anything that could reveal the source of that voice.

“Well, it seems like you keep avoiding the obvious and, as always, are looking in the wrong places,”

he said, just as she felt something brush her head—snow.

She looked up and saw it. Perched on a branch of one of those arched trees was a tall figure cloaked in the most stunning white fur she had ever seen. It appeared as though the cloak covering his body and face was woven from whiteness itself.

Seraphine had been a fool. All this time, she thought she was the hunter, but it seemed she had been the prey all along. Whoever this was, he wasn’t an inoffensive creature or ghost from the Otherworld but a predator. Instead of fear, however, she felt something akin to interest.

He jumped down from the tree, landing right in front of her. Oddly enough, she couldn’t see his face. A hood hid it, revealing only his mouth. He seemed human, but something was off about him. He was very tall—she was tall herself, yet he towered over her by a head.

“You talk like you know me. Are you the one who has been whispering to me?”

Seraphine countered, keeping a good distance from him as the usual tingle at the back of her neck intensified.

He leaned against a tree, his furred cloak blending with the snow. “Maybe I am,”

he replied, catching a snowflake in his hand. Seraphine noticed his lips quirked up. Suddenly, the snowflakes froze in mid-air, the wind ceased, and time seemed to stop.

How ridiculous—winter and snow frozen in time. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up. She realized then he was different, unlike anyone she’d met. What is he? Her curiosity, mixed with an inexplicable pull, made her step closer to his overwhelming presence.

“Where are my manners?”

he said, performing a mock bow. “You may call me the Grim Wanderer.”

He circled her slowly. “I was one of the unfortunate inhabitants of the Otherworld, ruled by Nemera, stuck here in the human realm after the creation of the veil,”

he said with a sly grin. “My job is to grant deals occasionally, like any Otherworld creature. Well, not entirely harmless, indeed, but neither are you.”

“Grim Wanderer?”

Seraphine laughed, feeling a strange thrill. “You must have a proper name.”

“I do have a name, Crimson Eyes, but I won’t share it with you,”

he said, stepping closer.

Seraphine bowed her head, trying to see more than his mouth. His face remained blurry, but he looked human.

The more human-like they appear, the more powerful or deadly they tend to be, or so the books I read in the Otherworld said. What unnerved her most was how he made her heart beat faster—not from fear, but from something she despised. Trying to ignore this, she decided his claim of being trapped here seemed genuine, and his chattiness was oddly comforting, which, again, uneased her.

“Well, that must be such a terrible thing, living among humans like us,”

she whispered, moving closer. “What a nightmare! Damn Nemera! What kind of ruler leaves behind such a scaredy-cat in this terrible place?”

He smiled, dimples gracing his cheeks.

Dimples. They were the cruelest trait since she found them mesmerizing.

“Aren’t you a trickster? What is a nightmare but a mere misinterpreted possibility of a dream?”

he purred.

Seraphine felt warmth filling her chest and cheeks at the realization that they were inches apart now.

“Now, to your question, you are in the Wailing Forest. How you got here, I’m not sure. This is the first time I’ve seen a human enter this place, unless...”

“Unless what?”

Seraphine spat, her gaze sharp. He was alluring, but if he was from the Otherworld, he couldn’t be trusted.

The Grim Wanderer waved his hand, and the world resumed its pace. Snowflakes began to fall again. He started to pace back and forth among the trees, feigning deep thought, hiding behind one tree and appearing between others.

“Unless you were desperate enough, broken-hearted perhaps, that the forest allowed you entry. This place was established centuries ago and can only be found by someone with a profound desire for a wish, someone so broken and sorrowful that the forest’s single option is to offer a doorway to alleviate their pain. It’s one of the few remnants from the Otherworld still present in the human realm.”

“That sounds like a fairytale,”

she said, her voice skeptical.

He shifted slightly, stopping in front of a tree not far from her, his voice somber. “Fairytales aren’t kind, Crimson Eyes. They are woven with lies and sorrow—you know that. Deals are designed to favor my kind. Tales are more than just stories. They are lessons meant to discourage repetition. There’s nothing fairytale-like about them. Actually, let me tell you a story. I am feeling quite chatty tonight.”

“And desperate for attention, Grim Wanderer. First climbing trees and now spinning tales,”

she remarked. Though she couldn’t deny a spark of interest, Seraphine sat on the snow-covered ground. “Indulge me then,”

she continued, a mix of skepticism and intrigue in her tone. “Tell me a story, lie to me, trick me, do whatever since it’s too late for me to get over what I had in my plans for tonight. Just one condition, and I will listen.”

“What is it that you want?”

His voice echoed around her like a dark melody.

She closed her eyes. “Make it interesting.”

He laughed. “Deal.”