That morning, the snow lay thick over everything, softening the world like a warm blanket. It muffled the usual city sounds, leaving the orphanage in a calm, peaceful stillness—at least from the outside. Inside, the usual chaos reigned. Laughter, shouting, and the thumping of feet on the wooden floors filled the halls. It was the kind of lively noise you'd expect from a house full of children, but somehow, beneath it all, I could still hear the quiet patter of the snow against the windows.
As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I noticed Eleri standing at my door, wrapped in one of her oversized sweaters, hands hidden deep in the sleeves. She was always up before me, like clockwork. It had become part of our morning routine.
"You're up early again," I said, stifling a yawn.
Eleri shrugged, offering a faint smile. "I couldn't sleep," she murmured, her voice barely rising above the whisper of the snowfall outside.
"Bad dreams?" I asked gently, though I already knew the answer. Eleri had nightmares from time to time, just like me, though I never told her about mine.
She nodded and turned her eyes toward the window, where the snowflakes danced and piled up along the sill. "It's the snow. It always makes me feel so small."
I knew what she meant. There was something about a heavy snowfall that made the world feel vast and endless, like everything outside was too big, too indifferent. It could make you feel like a tiny speck in the grand scheme of things.
"Come on," I said, stretching and getting out of bed. "Let's head to the common room. Sometimes it's easier to watch the snow than to think about it."
Eleri followed me, as she always did. She was like my shadow, always close by. I used to find it a little annoying at first—how she seemed to cling to me—but now, it felt natural. Comforting, even.
We made our way to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of steaming bowls of oatmeal, and found a spot by the big bay windows in the common room. The world outside was a winter wonderland, quiet and untouched. The snow fell steadily, transforming the streets into a sea of white. Inside, the warmth of the room and the faint hum of the heater made the scene feel almost cozy.
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, just watching the snow. I noticed the way Eleri's face softened as she stared outside, her usual restlessness calmed by the peaceful view.
"Do you ever think about leaving?" Eleri's voice was soft but direct, breaking the quiet between us.
"Leaving?" I echoed, glancing over at her.
"Yeah… the orphanage, the city. Maybe even the whole kingdom." She toyed with her spoon, her oatmeal untouched. Her gray eyes had that distant look again, like she was somewhere far away in her mind.
I wasn't sure how to answer. "Why would you want to leave?"
Eleri shrugged, her fingers absentmindedly tugging at her sleeves. "Sometimes it feels like there's more out there, you know? Like there's a whole world beyond the snow, beyond these walls. I wonder what it's like."
Her words stirred something inside me. I had wondered the same thing once, back when my parents and I first came to Orphic. They used to talk about how this kingdom would be a fresh start, a new beginning. But they never got to see that promise through. Since then, I hadn't given much thought to leaving. Orphic was all I knew now, for better or worse.
"Maybe someday," I said after a pause. "But right now, this is home. It's not so bad, right?"
Eleri gave a small nod, but I could tell her thoughts were elsewhere. She often had that faraway look, as if she was dreaming of a life that hadn't yet come. I couldn't blame her. The snow could do that—make you wonder what else was out there, just beyond the horizon.
Later that day, the headmistress gathered us all in the common room for an announcement. These meetings were usually about chores or reminders about curfew, but today felt different. There was a buzz of excitement in the air, something new and unexpected.
"Listen up, everyone," the headmistress said, raising her voice above the chatter. "In a few weeks, we're going to have a special visitor from the Siren community."
The room erupted into whispers. The Sirens. Even in the orphanage, we had heard stories about them—those mysterious beings who lived near the Antarctic Ocean. Some said they were protectors; others claimed they were dangerous. No one really knew the truth.
"They'll be coming to talk to some of you about the possibility of joining their ranks," the headmistress continued. "I know a few of you have expressed interest in the past. This will be your chance to ask questions and learn more."
I felt a shiver run down my spine. The idea of joining the Sirens? It was something I had never seriously considered. It sounded… unreal. Becoming one of them, living under the sea—it was the stuff of legends.
Beside me, Eleri was practically bouncing in her seat. "Can you imagine?" she whispered excitedly. "Becoming a Siren? It would be incredible!"
I smiled at her enthusiasm, though I didn't share it. There were too many unknowns. The idea of transforming into something not entirely human, of leaving behind the life I knew, made me uneasy. But Eleri was already swept up in the excitement.
"I want to ask them everything," she continued, her voice bubbling with anticipation. "What it's like underwater, how they live… everything."
I forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah, it'll be interesting, I guess."
In truth, the thought of it all scared me. I liked who I was, even if the world around me felt small sometimes. The idea of becoming something else—something I didn't fully understand—felt too overwhelming. But Eleri's eyes were filled with wonder, her mind already racing ahead.
"I bet they swim with whales and dolphins," she said, her voice filled with awe. "Can you imagine?"
I nodded again, though my thoughts were elsewhere. The idea of the Sirens and the possibilities they offered loomed large, like a distant storm on the horizon. But for now, it was still far off. For now, we had time—time to watch the snow, to dream, to stay in this moment a little longer.
As we sat there, the snow continued to fall outside, and for now, we were just two girls in an orphanage, sharing breakfast by the window. The future, with all its uncertainties, could wait.