Semua Bab Christmas in ashes : Bab 1 - Bab 10

I have never trusted December.People say that sounds dramatic, but those people never watched their parents’ house burn down on Christmas Eve while the rest of the town kept singing carols like nothing happened.So yes,every time snow falls, my skin crawls.And tonight, on December 1st, Hallowpine is drowning in it.Snowflakes tumble from the sky like they’re drunk on holiday spirit, sticking to my eyelashes as I lock up my bakery. Sugar & Sin,the name sounds cute until you realize the only sugar inside is the kind I dump into coffee to survive this town.The bells above the bakery door jingle behind me in that cheerful, irritating way that makes me want to kick them off their screws. But I don’t. Aunt Ruby would “exorcise” me with a vat of eggnog if she saw me abusing Christmas decorations again.The street is quiet. Too quiet.Hallowpine usually glows with warm lights and fake joy this time of year. Kids skating. Couples taking pictures. That unsettling animatronic Santa by the pos

I have always believed that silence carries its own kind of warning. That night, after everything that happened with the red-eyed child, the mysterious gift box, and my uncle’s strangely rehearsed reactions, the silence inside our wooden lodge felt like the pause before a nightmare opened its mouth.The old Christmas clock above the fireplace ticked with a smug rhythm, as if it knew something I didn’t.Tick. Tick. Tick.I wished it would shut up.Aunty Ruby had gone to “check the generator,” which was interesting, considering the lights were working just fine. My cousins were already asleep upstairs—well, pretending to sleep, if the little giggles from Ivy’s room meant anything. And me?I stood at the window again. That damn window. I couldn’t seem to stay away from it.The snow outside was glowing under the moonlight, thick flakes swirling like powdered sugar shaken by a giant hand. Our cabin sat alone at the edge of the forest, and the woods were dark enough to look bottomless.I did

The sound of the front door breaking was not a sound I’ll ever forget.A thick, heavy CRACK that vibrated through the floor, down the staircase, and straight into my spine. Dust drifted from the ceiling like falling ash. My breath caught in my throat.Ruby braced himself against the cellar door, her shoulders trembling.“He’s inside the house,” he whispered.No kidding. Even without the sound, I could feel it. The temperature plummeted so sharply my breath turned white in front of me. Frost crept down the cellar walls like skeletal fingers reaching toward us.Then Footsteps.Slow, Calm,Measured,Not rushing. No desperation. As if the creature in my home knew exactly how this night would end.My heart thudded painfully.And then he spoke again,my name. My real name.“Liora…”That voice… no mortal should have a voice like that. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t threatening. It simply was quiet enough to whisper yet strong enough to make my bones hum.Ruby spun toward me, fear etched deep across he

Good girl.Those two words coil around my spine like ice-tipped fingers.I can’t breathe. I can’t move. All I can do is stare at the cellar door as the light above flickers..,steady, shaky, then steady again,like the building itself is debating whether to survive this night.My mother’s voice,too bright, too sweet,calls again.“Liora! Honey, open up! We’re worried sick!” Honey.Sweetie.Both wrong.Both deliberate.I press myself farther into the shadows of the cellar, until my back grinds against stone. My pulse isn’t beating anymore—it’s galloping.He’s mocking me.He’s mimicking her.He’s learning me.And worst of all… he’s enjoying it.I swallow hard and force out a shaky whisper. “Mom?”“Yes, baby,” the voice sings. “It’s me. Please open the door.”The cadence is right.The tone is almost perfect.But the warmth..the real warmth,just isn’t there.My mother is many things: elegant, strict, easily irritated by messy hair and mismatched socks, always carrying a cup of cinnamon tea like it’s

The flare paints the sky a violent, angry red and the storm replies like a beast offended. Snow lunges at us in sheets and knives and the world narrows to wind and white.I put my face into the storm and all the noise narrows to one impossible sound: his voice in the air, and Aunt Ruby’s curse that follows it.He does not move like a human. The Winter King stands perfectly still,silver hair flaring, coat snapping like a flag no matter how the wind fights him. He watches me the way people watch a painting they plan to steal.“Your mother lit that flare,” he says, not as a question. “She had the gall to interrupt.”My breath stalls. My mother. She’s out here somewhere, throwing flares into a blizzard like a woman in a war she doesn’t fully understand. Aunt Ruby…the person who’s been shielding me since my parents,lies not far from the tree. Her coat is torn; she’s curled against snow, not moving. For a second the ground tilts in my chest and I feel the world stretch thin.“I’m not going