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Clove Odella
Nov 23rd, 2002, 07:20:28 AM
The heater was broken again. It wouldn't turn down. That had to be it. The girl groaned and kicked off her thin blanket, not bothering to open her eyes. The heat was only getting worse, and now her lungs were starting to ache, a gritty feeling running down her throat. She squint her eyes open, letting out a weakened scream. Flames were licking at her door frame, the door already half way to ashes. She called for her mother, scrambling away from her bed to the back corner of her room. Shouting out again, she broke into a fit of coughs. No response. She snatched up her shucked blanket and wrapped it tight around herself as a sort of armor from the flames. Then, as fast as her legs could carry her, she rushed through the burning door way and into the hall. When the blanket caught fire, she dropped it.

"Mother! Answer me!" The girl called, tearing through the house in search of her. The fire was growing worse as she neared her mother's bedroom. She grit her teeth and kicked the door open. Her stomach wrenched into a knot, body freezing. She could taste bile creeping up her throat. Her mother's charred and flaming body lay curled up on the bed.

"Frell.." She managed to breathe out before turning around and rushing back down the hall. She needed to get out of the house. Her hand grabbed onto a sheathed sword that had belonged to her father, as well as a handful of clothing from a laudry basket placed in the living room. She took one last glance around the burning room before shoving the front door open and plunging onto the snowy ground. Her feet didn't even touch the ground before she got back up and kept running.
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A shudder ran across Clove's spine as she stared at the smoldering remaints of a small store. She pushed surging memories back to the farthest depths of her mind and sighed. It had been 5 years since that night, yet it seemed much longer. Standing from her seat in a small cafe, the decorations in her hair jingled. The woman slung the strap from her sword over her shoulder and lifted her bag. There was no use in remembering the past; the sword was the only thing that connected her to it. Her life, her name, even her look were all different.