Prelude 12/21
The bloodied background of the sky showed that the sun was giving into midnight's cold glamour. Another day had ended, another cold night began. But something had happened that day. Something odious, something vile. For on that day, there had been a murder. A murder that had left police baffled and the townsfolk frightened for their lives as they did not understand why something like this happened in their tiny town. The thing that scared them the most were the words. For the meaning of the words were unclear to the people and the only person who understood language like that was now dead. Dead on the night before the Winter Solstice. And death before the Winter Solstice meant bad luck for years to come. For all.
Vision 1 : The Mortician's Daughter
The snow cracked under his feet as he walked through the forest. It was eerily quit. No wind, No noise, nothing. Dead trees lay alongside the pathway as he slowly made his way up to the house. But something here was not right. No lights were on, no voices were to be heard, all signs of LIFE were missing. He looked around. The only thing he could see was a raven perched on a nearby branch. A raven?! Not possible, he thought. All the birds had already migrated south to escape the harsh hands of winter. His eyes were playing tricks on him. But the closer he looked, and the harder he focused, he began to realize that the raven was quite real. Shivering, he continued his way up to the house. He had a bad feeling about this place. He was very superstitious and since black meant evil, he knew something would happen. *ploink* He jumped at the noise. Only a drop of water from an icicle. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he reached the front door. Opening it, he quietly slipped inside. How odd. There was no sign of life, yet there was no dust collecting. That, he thought, could mean two things: either they were still here and did not want to show it, or they had not been gone for that long of a time period. He decided to go with the second option. Looking around carefully, and trying not to make any noise (in case his theory of them not being home was wrong), he made his way into their massive library. Ahhhh they had made his work easy by organizing their books into categories and each category by author in alphabetical order. After five minutes of looking, he located the item he had been wanting for the past twenty years. Bewitched: the history about magic. After all, some monster had killed HIS child, his ONLY child. And he wanted revenge. Now. Badly. No amount of counselling was going to help the amount of grief he held for his dead child. There were days where he would sit and grieve for his dead wife. Now he was grieving for both his dead wife and child. He moaned as the memories came back. Seeing his daughter’s blood, broken body on the ground, her hair floating in a pool of her own rapidly freezing blood. It was all too much. Grabbing the book, he ran out of the house into the streets like a madman. People scrambled out of his way, cursing loudly if some of their ware spilled on the ground. He ignored them and continued to run. After all, he could not remember any of them losing their loved ones and watching them pass into the void. What did they have to worry about? The only thing they had to worry about was how to put bread on the table. And most of them weren’t even married. But he was an old man, with no family left, having lost them all to the black hands of Death, and here people were caring more about their goddamn wares. Where is the world coming to, he thought as he finally reached his house. Panting, he opened the door and froze, for there stood his daughter. “B-B-But how could this be?” he stammered. “Dear daddy, you should know that I am the mortician’s daughter. The mortician being you, you are expected to see the ghosts of the dead as you deal with them everyday,” she said sweetly. He collapsed in a chair. “Don’t worry daddy, you haven’t done anything. It’s me. I have only returned because I have not finished my duty on Earth. Once I am done however, I will return to Heaven,” she said, noticing his panic. He sighed, relieved, and saw the truth in her words. Morticians did deal with the dead everyday and it was not considered insanity if they came in contact with one. Moreover, morticians weren’t expected to be superstitious. If they were, then there was no good reason for them to be working with the dead. So why was he afraid of a raven? They were supposed to be his friends. Mumbling, he got up and started to make tea. She watched him, out of gentle curiosity and out of concern for she feared that he might injure himself on purpose. He turned and saw her beautiful face looking curiously up at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on doing anything except making a simple cup of tea,” he said and she smiled. ”So sweetie, what is it you have to do?” he asked. “Find my killer,” she said, a small, sad smile upon her face. “Mind if I helped?” he asked. “Of course not, daddy. And besides, think of all the talk the villagers will be having when they find out that a mortician helped find a witch’s killer,” she said, a bright gleam in her eyes. He smiled. Suddenly, he heard a loud croak. He looked out his window and there sat the raven. “You should name him and look after him,” she said. “He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”Fine. I hereby name you Asya,” he said and Asya gave a loud croak and flapped his wings of night. He glared and fed him some pieces of bread. Asya ate like he hadn't eaten in a decade. When he finished, he flew and sat on a branch in the old, gnarled, elm tree that grew in the front lawn. Just as he turned around, the kettle gave a loud squeal and let loose a blast of steam, telling him his tea was ready. When he pored his tea in a cup, brought some biscuits on a plate into the living room and gotten himself comfortable with his pipe, he finally had a good look at the ghost of his daughter.

http://www.wattpad.com/story/22933909-blood-and-snow-volume-four-blood-soaked-promises