A Flame in the Snow

A romantic tale inspired by "The Little Match Girl", originally written by Hans Christian Anderson. All players are over the age of eighteen unless otherwise stated. For those of you who have been following me for a while, I hope that you enjoy this romantic tale. Romance is my first love when it comes to writing. Please enjoy. I hope that it gives you hope that we all deserve to be loved. Enjoy.

-BBD

The Players

"Elena": A penniless woman in her early twenties who sells matches on the street to stay alive. She collapses in the snow on New Year's Eve.

"Nikolai": A handsome, wealthy, but lonely inventor who has shut himself off from the world after the loss of his fiancée, Liora.

"Anton": Nikolai's brother and only living relative who disapproves of Elena.

Setting: 19th century Europe, Winter

Chapter 1 -- The Coldest Night

Snow fell in soft, indifferent silence as the city prepared for celebration. Gaslights flickered in golden halos along the cobbled streets, and shop windows glowed with warmth, trimmed with evergreen garlands and the glint of holiday wares. Inside the grand homes, laughter rose like music--muffled by thick walls, unreachable to those on the outside.

Like me.

My bare feet pressed into the icy stones as I clutched a bundle of matches to my chest. My threadbare shawl barely held back the wind, and my fingers--red and cracked--trembled against the cold. I hadn't sold a single match all day.

I was warm once.

I remembered the smell of my mother's coat, the soft heat of the hearth, my father's laugh that rumbled through the floorboards. But they had faded one by one--consumed by sickness, debt, and a city that had no place for the poor except the shadows.

"Matches?" I called out softly, but the crowd bustled past, swept up in the spirit of the new year. A couple brushed my shoulder without a glance, and a boy pointed at me, laughing.

"Look at the beggar lady!" he scoffed.

"Hush that nonsense," his nanny said before leading him away.

Little creep, I thought to myself. Why was it so easy for someone like me to fade into the shadows of life?

The ache in my limbs deepened, and I stumbled into an alley between a bakery and a dress shop. I sank onto a crate dusted in snow, curling in on myself. A lantern high above painted the alley in thin amber light, but it gave no warmth.

I looked down at my matches. I'll just light one. Yes, just one, just to feel something.

With a flick of my thumb, the match flared to life--brief and brilliant. I cupped it with my hands, staring into the tiny flame.

In its light, the alley vanished. I saw a fireplace crackling inside a beautiful parlor. A feast lay on a long table--roasted meats, fruits, sugared pastries, and warm bread. A woman stood there smiling, and for a moment I thought it was my mother reaching out to me.

The flame died.

I blinked, shivering harder now, but my heart ached for the vision. I struck another match.

This time, I saw a ballroom filled with music. Chandeliers sparkled above, and couples twirled across a marble floor. At the edge of the crowd stood a man in a black coat, watching me with piercing eyes. He stepped toward me, extending his hand.

"Elena," he whispered.

I gasped as the match burned my fingers, and I dropped it. The vision vanished again.

"Elena," I repeated aloud. How did he know my name?

The wind howled through the alley as midnight bells began to toll in the distance. The new year was beginning, and I was more alone than ever.

I pulled my knees to my chest and pressed my forehead to them. Just one more, I told myself. Just one more match.

My limbs stopped shaking. My body had gone strangely still.

As my eyes fluttered closed, the warmth of the match lingered--along with the memory of the man who had called to me through the flame.

Chapter 2 -- A Stranger's Hands

Warmth pressed against my skin--not imagined this time, but real. Heavy blankets cocooned me, thick and soft, and the scent of beeswax and woodsmoke filled my nose. I breathed in sharply, eyes flying open.

This wasn't the alley.

The room was dim, lit by a fire crackling in a carved stone hearth. Velvet curtains cloaked the windows, and oil lamps lined the shelves of an old bookcase. I lay in a grand four-poster bed, too large and too fine for someone like me. My fingers curled instinctively into the linen sheets, half-expecting them to vanish like the dreams in my matchlight.

"You're awake."

The voice startled me. I sat up too quickly, my head swimming. A man stood near the fireplace, tall and pale, his dark hair slightly disheveled as if he'd been running his fingers through it. He wore a simple white shirt under a waistcoat, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His face was striking--sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes the color of stormclouds. Intelligent, wary, and... tired.

I shrank against the pillows.

"Don't be afraid," he said gently. "You're safe. I found you in the snow outside Fenton's Bakery."

My throat was dry. "You... you brought me here?"

He nodded once. "You were barely breathing. I didn't think you'd last the night."

I stared at him, trying to piece together the hazy memory--the alley, the flame, the vision of him reaching out. But that had been a dream. Hadn't it?

"Why?" I whispered.

He blinked, caught off guard. "Why did I help you?"

I nodded.

He looked away, jaw tightening. "Because no one else did."

Silence settled between us. The fire popped.

"I'm not... going to jail, am I?" I asked cautiously. "For trespassing? Or stealing a bed?"

That drew the ghost of a smile from him. "You didn't trespass. I carried you in. And as far as I know, you haven't stolen anything... yet."

My lips twitched despite herself. "I don't have the strength for thievery."

"I'm Nikolai," he said, stepping closer but still keeping a respectful distance. "Nikolai Arsenyev."

The name rang a bell--vaguely tied to inventions and factories. His family owned half the coalworks on the east side of the city. She'd seen their name carved above a copper gate once, in a part of town where she wasn't supposed to walk.

"Elena," I said. "Just Elena."

"Well, Just Elena, your fever's gone and your fingers are no longer blue. That's something."

I looked down. My hands were wrapped in soft gauze, fingers visible through the white linen. They didn't hurt anymore.

Nikolai turned to the small table beside the bed and poured water from a glass decanter into a cup. He handed it to me. I hesitated, then took it.

"You can stay until you're strong enough to leave," he said, voice clipped now, as if reading from a script. "You won't be bothered. The staff was dismissed for the holidays."

I sipped the water, eyes still locked on his. "You're alone?"

"I prefer it that way."

I wondered how true that was.

When I finished, he took the cup and moved toward the door. Before he left, he glanced over his shoulder.

"You called my name," he said. "Before you woke up."

I froze. My fingers curled into the sheets.

"I thought maybe you knew me," he added, almost to himself.

"I don't," I whispered. "I saw you in a match."

He paused, eyebrows knitting. "In a match?"

I didn't answer him. I just turned towards the fire.

I didn't see the way he lingered in the doorway, or the look on his face that was something between curiosity and fear--like a man who'd been wandering alone in a dream for too long... and suddenly found someone else there.

I couldn't answer him. How would I explain it?

Chapter 3 -- A House of Ghosts

I awoke to the sound of ticking.

Soft, persistent, and everywhere. Dozens of tiny clocks, each with its own rhythm, chattered like quiet voices filling the walls. It was still dark out, but the fire had been stoked and a silver tray of warm broth and bread waited on the side table. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the spoon, but the heat was life-giving. I ate every bite. This was more than I had eaten in days

Then I rose.

The nightgown I wore was cotton and clean, far too fine for someone like me. I tiptoed across the thick rug, my bare feet sinking into it like moss, and cracked the bedroom door.

Silence.

I stepped into the hallway, a long corridor of dark wood, lined with sconces and portraits in gold frames. The eyes in the paintings seemed to follow me as I wandered past. I turned corners slowly, always expecting to be stopped--but no one appeared.

Eventually, I found the source of the ticking.

It was a room filled with clocks. Tall grandfather clocks, tiny wind-up mantels, sunburst wall clocks with brass pendulums--all ticking in an uneasy harmony. In the center stood a worktable scattered with gears and tiny screws, half-finished projects laid out like surgical instruments. Next to them sat drawings: detailed sketches of clock mechanisms, steam engines, and intricate contraptions she couldn't begin to understand.

This was where he worked.

"Curiosity is either a virtue or a curse, depending on who finds you."

I startled and turned.

Nikolai stood in the doorway, dressed in black slacks and a wool sweater. His sleeves were pushed up again, a smudge of graphite on one forearm. He held no lamp, yet he looked perfectly at home in the half-light.

"I didn't mean to intrude," I said, stepping away from the desk.

"You didn't. You just wandered into the heart of the machine." His eyes flicked to the drawings. "Do you like clocks?"

"I've never seen this many." I hesitated. "How do you sleep with all of them ticking?"

"I don't. Much."

He stepped into the room, going to the table and absently adjusting the position of a tiny gear with his pinky. "They're not just clocks. Some measure time. Others measure pressure, vibration, even heartbeat." He tapped a dial on a brass instrument that looked like a compass mated with a teacup. "I design what others won't build."

I approached slowly, watching the way his eyes studied the pieces before him.

"You're lonely," I said before I could stop myself.

Nikolai's hands paused. The silence between them stretched, save for the clocks.

"I lost people," he replied. "And I chose silence over sympathy."

I understood that. Too well.

"I used to live in a theater attic," I said quietly. "Abandoned. Dust and rats, mostly. But I liked it. I'd sneak down and listen to the actors rehearsing below. I never saw their faces. Only shadows from the catwalk. But it was warm. They were always telling stories."

I didn't know why I told him that, but he listened.

Nikolai leaned back against the desk, arms crossed. "You've seen the city's cruelty and still believe in stories?"

"Only the ones with sad beginnings."

A quiet chuckle escaped him, low and soft.

"You can stay here as long as you like, Elena," he said, meeting my gaze. "This house has too many rooms and not enough living things."

"Are you sure?"

"Everyone leaves eventually. You don't seem like the type who'd take much."

I stepped closer, brushing my hand over a half-drawn sketch of a woman in a mechanical exoskeleton--something hopeful, perhaps. "I've never taken anything I wasn't desperate for."

"I know."

Our eyes met across the table.

For a moment, the ticking clocks didn't seem to matter.

Chapter 4 -- Kindling

The days blurred into a gentle rhythm.

I spent my mornings wandering the house with bare feet and wide eyes. I explored sunlit libraries that smelled of dust and parchment, parlors with covered furniture and faded portraits, and even a music room with an untouched grand piano. I never touched the keys. They felt sacred, like a memory sealed under glass.

Nikolai kept mostly to his workshop. I would hear the occasional clang of metal or the hiss of steam escaping some arcane invention. Sometimes, he vanished for hours. But each night, there was food waiting for me. A fire lit. Fresh linens on the bed. Silent kindness.

I tried to return it in small ways.

One morning, I repaired a torn curtain hem in the study. Another day, I polished the brass handles on the doors. I swept corners, organized shelves, trimmed the wick of the oil lamps before dusk. It made me feel less like a ghost, less like I was taking advantage, more like I was paying my way.

Then came the afternoon when the house shifted.

I wandered down a new hallway, led by a draft and a loose floorboard that creaked like a beckoning finger. At the end was a narrow, windowless door.

Unlocked.

I hesitated, then pushed it open.

Inside was a room unlike the others. It had no ticking clocks or drawing tables. Instead, it was filled with sketches taped to the walls--dozens, hundreds of them. All charcoal or pencil. Some yellowed, some torn. They were portraits.

The same woman in every one.

Different expressions, different angles, but always her. High cheekbones, delicate mouth, dark curls pinned in a bun. Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes her eyes held sorrow. But she was unmistakably beautiful. Hauntingly so.

I stood, breath shallow. I didn't know how long she stared before I heard the voice.

"Don't be afraid of her."

I turned sharply. Nikolai stood behind her, his eyes unreadable.

"I didn't mean to intrude," I said quickly, but he shook his head.

"No. You should see her. You look like her."

My chest tightened. "She was someone important."

"She was everything."

He stepped into the room, brushing his fingers across one of the drawings. "Her name was Liora. She was a dancer. Brilliant, reckless. She said music felt like wind beneath her ribs."

He said it like a confession.

"We were engaged. Three years ago, on New Year's Eve, she left the gala early. The driver lost control of the carriage on the river road. She drowned before they could pull her out." His jaw tensed. "I tried to bring her back in every way I knew. But time is cruel. It only goes forward."

I stepped closer. The room suddenly felt colder, as if I were breathing in the remnants of grief.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"So was I," he said, voice hoarse. "Until I saw you in the snow."

I looked up, startled.

"You looked like her," he went on. "But you weren't her. And that was the first time I felt something different. Not pain. Just... wonder."

The words landed between us like a struck chord.

"I'm not her," I said softly.

"I know." His eyes flicked to mine. "That's why I let you stay."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I looked again at the sketch of Liora, one where the woman danced, feet in midair, smile full of joy.

"She must've lit up every room," I murmured.

"She did," Nikolai said. Then, more quietly, "But she didn't know how to stay in one place. You... you belong in stillness."

I turned toward him, the words wrapping around me like a shawl. Something stirred in my chest, something warm and frightening.

Nikolai looked away first.

"I'll show you the garden tomorrow," he said, stepping toward the door. "It's frozen now, but beautiful still."

He left me alone in the room of ghosts.

But when I looked around again, the woman in the sketches seemed less like a shadow... and more like a door that had finally been opened.

I sat there a long time, studying this pretty lady, the lines of her features and face. She did look like me, quite a bit. I don't think that's the only reason why Nikolai rescued me.

When you're a beggar, it's so easy for people to step over you, ignore you, pretend you aren't there or just make fun of you, like that little boy did. He didn't. He saw more than just a woman in trouble. He saw me.

Elena.

I knew that he was lonely. His clocks and inventions couldn't talk to him, hold his hand, or lay next to him.

They aren't human.

I was.

Chapter 5 -- Dance of Embers

The garden lay beneath a blanket of untouched snow, white and glittering in the pale morning light. Iron trellises stood like skeletons among frost-covered hedges, and dormant rosebushes clung to the walls, thorns crusted with ice. It should have looked dead.

But it didn't.

I stepped onto the stone path with a sense of reverence, her breath ghosting in the air. Nikolai had shoveled a walkway before me, clearing a winding trail through the maze of frost. He stood beside a frozen fountain, gloved hands in his coat pockets, face turned up toward the faint sunlight.

"I thought I'd forgotten what this place looked like in winter," he said as I approached. "I used to bring Liora here in the summers. She called it her ballroom."

I smiled faintly. "I can see that. It feels like somewhere music would echo."

He looked at me, really looked, and the silence between us thickened. Then, with a dry smile, he offered his hand.

I blinked. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing," he said simply. "Or trying to. Don't laugh."

"I don't know how."

"Neither do I. We'll be terrible together."

Still hesitating, I took his hand. His palm was warm through the glove, steady. He placed a tentative hand at my waist, and I mirrored his awkward stance.

We began to move.

There was no music but the crunch of snow beneath our feet, no rhythm but the shared breath between us. Nikolai's steps were clumsy at first--measured and formal, like a man trying to remember something learned long ago. I followed, unsure, lightheaded from laughter and cold. Our bodies swayed beneath the bare arches and icy branches, two silhouettes spinning slowly in a world of white.

The moment stretched into something golden.

I looked up at him. "You're not a very good dancer."

"No," he agreed. "But you're smiling, so I must be doing something right."

I laughed then--a real one, unguarded and whole. It startled them both.

He stopped, hand still on my waist. "I haven't heard you laugh before."

"I haven't had much to laugh about."

He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his gloved fingers grazing her cheek. "You should."

Our breath mingled in the cold space between them.

I didn't move away.

His eyes searched mine, uncertain. His lips parted slightly, as if to speak--but instead he leaned down and kissed me.

It was soft. Careful. A question, not an answer.

I froze for half a heartbeat, then melted into it, tilting my face toward his. The kiss deepened, slow and hesitant, snow falling around us like applause.

When we pulled apart, my heart was pounding.

Nikolai stepped back, brows furrowed. "I--"

"I know," I said. "I'm not her."

His gaze flickered. "No. You're not. That's why I kissed you."

We stood in silence, the moment still delicate and new. Then he smiled.

"I think I want to remember this winter," he said. "Not for sorrow. For something else."

My chest ached, but it wasn't pain.

Hope, maybe.

I took his hand again.

And together, in a frozen garden built for ghosts, we danced until our feet grew numb and the sun slipped behind the chimney tops.

Chapter 6 -- Whispers in the Hall

The kiss had changed things.

Not in loud or obvious ways. Nikolai didn't suddenly flood me with declarations. He didn't rush to my door or demand my attention. But something in the air between us had shifted--warmer, charged, uncertain.

The servants returned after I had been there several days. There was the maid, the cook, and the gardener. Nikolai introduced me as his friend, a woman who was down on her luck. They seemed to accept that.

The trouble was with the servants back, there was nothing more for me to do. I wandered down to Nikolai's workshop. I knocked softly.

"Come in," he called.

"Nikolai, I hope that I'm not intruding. I just..."

"Come, sit," he gestured for me to come closer. He pulled a stool up to the workbench for me. I looked down at the workbench. There were gears and springs and other things that I didn't know existed.

"I was wondering how long it would be before you came to watch me work."

"I wasn't sure if I was intruding."

"Never."

I sat and watched him tinkering around with his gadgets. He showed me his notebooks with drawings and diagrams of projects that he had been working on, some for years. We stayed in there so long that the light began to fade. A knock came at the door. Nikolai opened it.

"Forgive me for intruding Sir," Edward, the gardener said, "but your brother is coming for supper tonight."

"Tonight?" Nikolai's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yes, Sir. He says that he has something important to discuss with you."

"Eh... we will be ready. Thank you, Edward." Nikolai closed the door and turned to me.

"We must get freshened up for dinner with my brother."

"But... but, I have nothing to wear!" I had been wearing just simple clothes since coming to this house.

"We will find you something suitable, I promise."

A couple of hours later, I stood stiffly in the dark blue gown with the long sleeves and high lace collar that belonged to Nikolai's mother. My cosmetics were lightly applied, my hair pulled neatly off my face. Nikolai came to stand beside me. He looked as handsome as ever in his dark suit with the matching vest.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes!"

"Don't be." He took my hand. "You look beautiful."

The bell on the door rang. Isabella, the maid, opened the door. A tall and slim man stepped through the door. He handed his hat and coat to Isabella. He didn't say thank you or good evening! He simply stomped the snow off his shoes and stepped into the front hallway.

"Koyla!" He called out.

"Who is Koyla?" I whispered.

"My childhood nickname," Nikolai whispered back. "Wait here."

He approached the man with open arms.

"Anton! What a surprise!"

They embraced briefly.

"What brings you out here? You rarely come to visit?"

"I just came to see if the rumors were true." Anton walked down the hallway towards me.

"Rumors?"

Anton stopped mid stride.

"The rumors that you had a common street beggar living with you."

"Anton, it's not...."

Anton paused when he saw me.

"Who are you? Why are you wearing my mother's gown?"

"Good evening, Sir. I am Elena.

I am a friend of Nikolai's."

I extended my hand to him, but he wouldn't move.

"You expect me to touch the hands of a filthy beggar?"

"That's enough, Anton!" Nikolai appeared behind him. "You apologize to her this instant!"

"Apologize for what? She is a beggar! You think that a fancy gown, some makeup and jewelry can hide who she really is?"

"Mr. Arsenyev, I was not always a beggar. I was born to parents who were very well-off."

"Humph!"

"It's true! I used to live in a beautiful flat. I had fine clothes, good food, and people that loved me."

"So what happened?" Anton folded his arms across his chest.

"Father got sick first. Then he died. Mother and I kept going for awhile, until she got sick. I used the bulk of the estate trying to care for her, but in the end it wasn't enough. I had to sell everything we had just to stay alive. She died soon after, and I had nothing left."

Anton kept his arms folded. Nikolai came to stand beside me. He put his hands on my shoulders.

"You do have something left. You have me, Elena. You're not alone anymore."

"Oh stop it! Stop!"

Anton yanked his brother's arms down.

"How long until she steals from you?"

"Steal? Me? I've never taken anything from anyone!"

Anton's eyes narrowed.

"Oh really? That's not what I heard."

"Anton, stop! You have no right to speak to her that way!"

"Ask her about Ranskin."

My blood ran cold.

"Ranskin? Who is Ranskin?"

"I..." I stammer.

"You tell him girl, or I will!"

"Elena?" Nikolai's tone was gentle.

"Ranskin... he took me in after my mother's funeral. I was his housekeeper."

"Tell him what kind of business he was in," Anton urged.

I swallowed.

"He... he had one of those places where.... men go to..."

"Get pleasure?" Anton sneered. "Yes, brother, she worked in a house of ill refute! Tell him the rest, Elena!"

My chin trembled.

"One day Ranskin came to me and he said that if I wanted to stay that I had to... elevate my position if I wanted to stay. I told him no. He brought his friends into my room and... and..." my breath caught in my throat. "I didn't want to, Nikolai! They held me down and..."

I burst into tears.

Nikolai grabbed me and held me to his chest.

"Shhh, shhh, please don't cry. Please darling, I had no idea. It's alright now. Shhh, shhh," he gently stroked my hair. He turned to his brother.

"Are you proud of yourself? Why did you have to upset her?"

"There's more to the story," Anton went on. "Since she's not able to tell you, I will. After that incident, Elena stole two boxes of hand dipped matches and ran away. She started selling them on the streets for pennies."

"She did what she had to survive! That man took advantage of her! She didn't deserve what happened to her!"

"She is nothing more than a common prostitute and a beggar! You're better than this, Koyla!"

Nikolai released me and faced Anton.

"You listen to me! Elena is a nice girl! She's kind and warm, and she has given my life purpose again! I don't care about her past! She would never take anything from me!"

"She has already taken Mother's dress!"

"No! I gave that to her! I gave it to her to impress you! My mistake!"

They started shouting some more. I gathered my skirts and raced back to my room. I scribbled a note to Nikolai and got out of the beautiful dress and back into my own old clothes. I found one box of matches and hurried down the back steps and out one of the side entrances and into the snowy night, alone.

I ran and ran until my chest burned from the exertion. I looked around. I was back in the middle of town.

Where our story began.

My past... it still clung to me like ash.

I walked alone, not being seen, being ignored, until I came to the alley where Nikolai first found me. I sank down onto an old wooden crate. I pulled my knees to my chest and wept. I cried for everything that I had lost.... including him.

It was only a matter of time before he found out the truth. I wasn't an innocent virgin. I was barely eighteen when that part of my soul was destroyed. A part of me was darkened forever.

I was a fool. Fool enough to believe that someone like Nikolai could ever want me. He had money, his inventions, and I'm sure any woman he wanted. One day he'd find his society princess, a woman of his caliber and equal status. He'd forget about his little match girl.

The wind howled and bit through my little worn shawl. Snow clung to my hair and face. I sneezed and shivered. I curled up tighter in an effort to protect my hands from the cold. My head began to bob. I was getting tired. Very tired.

I struck a match. I saw Nikolai standing in the ballroom, with his hand out to me.

"Dance with me," he said.

I took his hand.

The match flickered out.

The burned match fell from my hand.

"Elena! Elena!"

Was someone calling me? No, I'm sure it was just the cold.

"Elena! My God, Elena!"

A pair of strong arms wrapped around me.

"Oh God, please tell me that I'm not too late!"

I slipped down into The Dream.

I opened my eyes. Beside me a man knelt, his hands folded in prayer. I felt the warmth of the blankets.

"Nikolai?"

The man raised his head.

"Elena!"

He sat on the bed and hugged me tightly.

"Elena! I thought I lost you!"

"Nikolai, I.... I'm not..."

"Stop." He released me and took my hands. "Elena, what happened to you wasn't your fault. I don't care how beautiful you looked or how good you smelled, or what Ranskin felt you owed him. Those men that took advantage of you are lower than snakes in the grass. Any man that would do that to a woman is beneath the dirt on my shoes. You deserve to be held and stroked and made to know that making love can be beautiful." He took a hand and stroked my cheek.

"Thank you."

"I threw Anton out. He is my only family, but if he cannot accept you, then he is dead to me."

"You gave up your only living relative for me? I... I... don't..."

"Yes, you do. Why don't you think you deserve to be happy?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Nikolai cupped my face in his hands.

"I haven't been with a woman since Liora died. I want you very much, Elena, but only when you're ready."

"How will I know when that is?"

"You will. Listen."

I got quiet and heard the soft ticking of the clocks.

"Hear that? We have time. I don't want you leaving this house again, unless I'm by your side."

He bent his head and parted his lips. He kissed me softly, gently, and warmly.

"This is where you belong, Elena, with me."

I awoke a short time later, not even aware that I had drifted off.

I heard the piano.

Faint, slow chords drifting through the corridors like candlelight.

I followed the sound down the stairwell, through a corridor I hadn't explored before. It led to the music room, door cracked just enough to spill gold onto the floor.

Nikolai sat at the piano.

He didn't see me. His back was straight, hands trembling slightly over the keys as he played something I couldn't name--a melody tender and aching. Not perfect. Not practiced. But full of feeling.

I stood in the doorway and listened. The music sounded like longing. Like apology. Like the space between two people afraid to love again.

When the final note faded, he stayed still for a moment, head bowed.

"You're better than you let on," I said softly.

He turned, not surprised to see me. "I only ever played for her."

"Then why now?"

Nikolai looked at me. "Because you're still here."

I crossed the threshold, stepping into the dim lamplight.

"Tell me something true," I said. "Something you haven't told anyone."

He hesitated. "When Liora died, I didn't cry at first. I was angry. I built machines, broke them, rebuilt them again, thinking I could invent my way back to her. I almost destroyed everything in this house trying."

I nodded, then sat beside him on the piano bench, not touching, but near enough to feel his presence.

"My turn," I said. "When I was seven, I used to sit in front of the fireplace for hours, just watching the flames dance. I think part of me believed it was magic. That if I stared long enough, someone would appear."

Nikolai's voice was barely a whisper. "And did they?"

"Yes. You did. You came."

He ripped my chin up with his hand and kissed me again. This time there was no hesitation. He wrapped his arms around me and our tongues played with each other until he finally let me up for air. He got up and stood by the window.

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he shook his head. "I... I'm..."

I got up and went to the window beside him. I touched his arm.

"Elena, you woke up the man in me."

I looked down and saw the bulge in his pants.

"I stopped because I didn't want to frighten you."

"It's alright. I'm sorry."

"No, no," he turned to me, "don't be sorry. This is a good thing. My body is responding to your touch, but I would never do what those men did. I want to make love to you, but only if you feel ready. I want us to enjoy each other. I want you to see how beautiful it can be."

I nodded.

Nikolai turned to me and cupped my face in his hands.

"I wish you could see what I see when I look at you."

"A beautiful woman?"

"A beautiful soul."

Chapter 7 -- The Clockmaker's Heart

Snow fell for three days without stopping.

The world outside the house disappeared under white silence, and inside, Nikolai and I moved like people who had stepped out of time. No more pretense. No more cautious distance. We drifted through rooms together now--reading by the fire, sharing whispered stories in the stairwell, stealing kisses beneath chandeliers long dimmed.

But not everything melted so easily.

One morning, I found Nikolai in his workshop, staring at a mechanical heart.

It was small--about the size of his palm--made of bronze and crystal. Delicate tubing lined its sides, and inside ticked a tiny engine, pulsing like a heartbeat. I didn't speak at first, just watched as he adjusted the tiny screws with surgical precision.

"I built this to revive the dead," he said quietly. "A foolish dream. A child's hope in a man's hands."

I stepped closer. "It's beautiful."

"It doesn't work," he replied.

I touched his shoulder. "Not every miracle has to."

He looked at me, truly looked--like I was no longer a flicker on the edge of vision but something solid and luminous.

"I was afraid to love you," he said. "Because I thought love only ended one way."

I reached for his hand, wrapping my fingers around his. "Love doesn't end. It changes."

He hesitated, then pressed the tiny heart into my palm.

"It doesn't tick unless it's held," he murmured.

I brought it to her chest, cupping it between her hands. Slowly, the crystal core glowed faintly, and the engine gave one small, perfect thump.

My breath caught.

Nikolai's eyes widened. "I never made it do that."

"You never gave it to someone who needed it," I whispered.

He took a step closer, then another, until our foreheads touched. There were no more ghosts between us, only warmth, and the thudding possibility of something new.

"I love you," I said. It came easily, without fear.

He closed his eyes. "You lit a match. And I followed the flame."

"Yes, to my heart."

Nikolai gently took the heart from my hand and set it on the work bench.

"Did I..."

My words were swallowed by his lips. He kissed me as he never had before, hungrily, pulling me tightly to his chest, his tongue invading my mouth. His hands ran all over my back. He walked me backwards until I was against the wall. He pressed his waist to mine.

It was then that I felt the unmistakable hardness in his pants. Finally he let me up for air, only to whisper in my ear,

"Elena, are you ready?"

"I... I think so."

"Come." He scooped me into his arms and carried me to his bedroom.

There, he carefully undressed me, and then himself. I gasped. I had never seen a naked man before. When Ranskin and his friends took me I had my eyes squeezed shut the entire time.

His phallus stuck out from his body like a wooden rod. Dark hair covered the deep Y shape of his groin. His muscles rippled as he moved towards the bed. I covered my breasts as he approached.

"No," he said softly. "Please. Let me look." He knelt beside me and gently moved my arms. For the longest time, he didn't move. He just knelt there, his eyes moving up and down my body.

"W... what are you doing?"

"Looking," he whispered. "Elena, you have no idea just how beautiful you are. I want you to feel free to ask questions. I want you to feel pleasure. We have... all the time in the world."

"I'm afraid."

"Don't be," he straddled me and leaned down. He captured my mouth with his lips. At the same time, he cupped one breast and began to roll the nipple between his fingers. He slowly descended onto my neck with kisses. I began to feel sparks that started in my chest and wrapped around and down my spine. Little bumps rose on my flesh. Nikolai worked his kisses down to my breasts. He swirled his tongue around my nipples.

"Uhhhhhhh!" I felt my breath catch. He took his time with one breast, and then the other, gently licking and swirling his tongue around the intimate flesh. That was when I became aware of moisture between my legs. It wasn't my time of month.

"I... I... between my legs," I hesitated. Nikolai paused and looked at me.

"Don't be afraid. That is your body's way of preparing for intercourse. It means that you are aroused. What I am doing is awakening your pleasures. Shall I continue?"

"Yes!"

Nikolai kissed down my torso to my abdomen.

"Open your legs for me," he said.

I spread my legs. He reached down and parted the lips. Liquid pooled onto his fingers. He slowly worked a fingertip inside of me.

"Uhhhhhhhh!" I gasped.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No! It just feels... strange."

"I want you to just feel," he said. "Do not think. Feel it, Elena. Let yourself completely surrender to my touch."

His thumb flicked a small button just under my triangle of pubic hair.

"Ohhhhhhhh!" I grabbed the bed sheets.

"That is your pleasure center, my dear. Every woman has one. If it is stimulated correctly, then you experience the height of pleasure. Would you like me to show you how it feels?"

"Yes! Yes, please!"

Nikolai scooted down until his head was between my legs. He kissed the button. He dragged his tongue around the lips of my vagina.

"Ohhhhhhhh! Ohhhh, Nikolai! Oh my love!" I gently bent my knees. His head bobbed up and down as he flicked my button with his tongue and lips.

"Uhhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhh!"

A quake of pleasure sensations gripped me. I felt my vagina throb. I grabbed my knees and arched my back. I had never, ever, felt so wonderful! Nikolai raised his head.

"You had your first orgasm. Some call it the little death. How did you like it?"

"Ohhhhhh," I panted, "ohhhh, it was so, so...."

"Breathe, Elena. Feel."

"Can you make that happen again?"

"I can. Would you like me to make love to you now?"

"Will it hurt?"

"It shouldn't. If at any time you want me to stop, I will."

He knelt in front of me. He grabbed his hardened organ and rubbed my entrance with it. Slowly he pushed the tip inside of me, then he eased back. He pushed again.

"Uhhhhh," I gasped.

"Lift your hips for me," he said.

I pressed my feet into the bed and raised my hips. He pushed and pushed until I felt something inside of me give way. He slid into me.

"Elena? Talk to me. Are you alright?"

"I think so."

Nikolai kissed me softly.

"I would never ever hurt you. I love you."

"I know."

He pulled me into his arms and captured my lips with his. As he pushed into me, his tongue swam in my mouth. When he pulled back I pushed forward. Oh, this, this... him.... him! Softly I began to moan, and so did he, our sounds muffled by each other. Heat began to build as our flesh rubbed together. Suddenly he stiffened. He rose up and gritted his teeth. An animalistic groan escaped his throat. I knew what that meant.

"Darling, I'm so sorry! I tried to hold it back, but you feel so good to me!"

"Nikolai, it's fine." I stroked his cheek.

"It is?"

"Yes."

He took my hand and kissed it.

"Elena? Will you marry me?"

I gasped. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I love you. I don't want to spend another lonely day without you by my side. I want you to be Mrs. Nikolai Arsenyev. I don't want you to ever be cold or hungry again. Your heart melted the ice around mine. I belong to you now."

"Yes! Yes, I will marry you!"

Outside, the snow began to soften, and the clouds parted to let the sun in.

Chapter 8 -- New Year's Light

The city rang with bells.

The year's final hours ticked away in golden chimes and distant laughter, fireworks waiting in the hush between seconds. From the tall windows of Nikolai's house, I watched the glow from the streets below, distant and dreamlike. The world I had once barely survived in now seemed far away, as though I had stepped into another life.

I stood in the music room, wearing a soft velvet dress Nikolai had tailored just for me. Around my neck, a chain held the tiny mechanical heart. It beat faintly, just for me.

Behind me, Nikolai adjusted the clock on the mantle, winding it gently.

"Almost midnight," he said.

I turned toward him. "Have you ever made a resolution?"

He smiled faintly. "Once. I resolved not to believe in anything I couldn't build."

"And now?" I asked.

"I believe in you."

He crossed the room and took my hand.

We stepped onto the balcony together, the cold nipping at our skin, breath turning to mist. The city below shimmered with light and promise. Somewhere, a child shouted with joy. A violin played in the distance. Fireworks began to whisper against the sky.

Ten...

Nine...

I leaned into Nikolai, my head against his shoulder. The fire that had once been just survival in my chest now glowed steady and warm. I wasn't the little match girl anymore.

I had lit something real.

Eight...

Seven...

"I used to think the world didn't want me," I said softly. "That I was something it meant to forget."

Six...

He brushed my cheek. "Then the world was wrong."

Five...

Four...

Three...

He leaned down, lips brushing mine, quiet and reverent.

Two...

One...

The sky exploded with color, fire blooming against the stars. Reds, blues, golds--each burst reflected in his eyes.

And there, beneath the first light of the new year, Nikolai whispered, "You saved me."

I smiled through the shimmer of tears. "We saved each other."

We kissed as the snow began to fall again--not cruel this time, but gentle. A blessing, not a sentence.

And inside the warm house behind us, every clock struck midnight in perfect time.

Epilogue -- Light Beyond Winter

Spring came slowly to the city.

The snow melted into soft streams that wound through the streets, carrying away the last of winter's cold. Buds pushed through cracked sidewalks and trees stretched new green fingers toward the sky.

Inside the house, warmth was no longer borrowed from fires alone. It lived in laughter, in shared breakfasts and quiet afternoons spent in sunlit rooms.

We had learned to live with our pasts--not as chains, but as parts of a larger whole. The mechanical heart hung from my neck still, its faint ticking a reminder that life is fragile and beautiful, and that even broken things can beat again.

Our wedding was intimate and small, but we didn't need pomp and circumstance. We exchanged vows and rings in a simple garden ceremony with his servants as witnesses. All we ended up needing was each other.

Nikolai had reopened the workshop, not to build machines to defy time, but to craft instruments that captured moments: music boxes that played lullabies, clocks that chimed memories, delicate automatons that danced like shadows. He was never short of customers or orders. In fact, he got so busy that he hired two young men to work with him.

As for me, I had begun teaching children at the community theater, helping them find their own stories, their own voices. Sometimes, I would light a small candle on stage and tell them about the young and homeless match girl who found a flame that never went out. I loved teaching them. They always had lots of questions after our lessons. Their little eyes were so bright and eager. Their imaginations had no endings. Nikolai and I talked about having children. One day. We had time.

We did do another project together. We planted a garden beneath the glass conservatory--roses, lavender, and wildflowers that bloomed year-round. It was a living promise that even the coldest winters end.

And when the city lights blinked awake at dusk, we would stand hand in hand on the balcony and watch as the world whispered its stories around us.

Because now, we both knew:

Some flames are not meant to burn out.

They are meant to guide you home.

The End