More fic! Two chapters in the same day! Yay!
Really, though, it's only happening because I waited a week after publishing the first chapter to post it here because I'm lazy. Next chapter won't be up for a week.
Enjoy!
The night air was bitterly cold against the little girl's fingers; they were already numb from the biting wind, and she could only barely keep her grasp on her bundles of matches. It was New Year's Eve, the dead of winter, but she couldn't go back home without selling any of the matches that no one seemed to want to buy.
A blast of icy air cut through her cheek like a knife, numbing her skin, and she dropped her face to avoid getting snow blown into her eyes.
In her hands she held easily a hundred slim, cheap matches, bundled into groups with rubber bands to avoid losing any. It would be so easy to slip one out of its bundle, strike it and let it warm her for a moment at least.
With another blast of wind, she decided to do it. She slipped a match out of its bundle, scraped it down a rough brick wall, watched a small flame bloom to life.
She wrapped herself around it, both to absorb as much heat as she could and to shelter it from the wind. The little fire glowing at its tip was impossibly hot, a woodstove instead of a flicker of fire, but when she pulled it away to examine it the flame went out and she was left in the cold again.
Another match. Her whole body warmed, and she could smell potatoes and molasses and roast turkey—a feast. It materialized before her eyes—a warm room, a large table stocked with food. She reached forward to grab some, but the match went out and she found herself again in a wet, cold alley.
She didn't hesitate to grab the next match, but what formed before her eyes was very different. A human figure took shape before her—her grandmother, the only person in her family who had truly loved her, would have done anything for her, before she had died at least.
The match in her hand flickered, and she took hold of the whole bundle and scraped it down the wall, dozens of matches catching fire, glowing and warming her to her core. Her grandmother solidified, and the girl rushed forward to hug her, dropping the bundle of matches but keeping hold of the single, still-lit one that had brought forth her grandmother. She closed her eyes and buried her head in her grandmother's shoulder, waiting to feel the warmth of her grandmother's arms wrapping around her, but instead her grandmother grew cold and rough beneath her fingers.
The little match girl pulled back only to find that she had been hugging a tree. But there were no trees near where she had been …
The girl took a better look at her surroundings. She was in an enormous forest, in what seemed to be the still-warm beginnings of autumn, leaves on the trees turning colors but not yet falling. There was no one here; not her grandmother, not anyone but her.
Suddenly feeling very small and lonely, the match girl brought her arms up to hug herself, only to find she was still holding her match, still lit but flickering.
If the flame went out, would she be back in the alley again? Back in the cold?
She had to keep this flame burning.
There was an abundance of wood around, but the girl didn't know how she could use any of it to keep the fire going without setting the whole forest alight. But there, behind the twisted remains of a tree stump, was something glistening in the setting sun.
The girl rushed over to find an oil lantern, lying on the ground. Most of the oil had tipped out, but a small amount remained nestled inside the lantern, with the tiniest hints of a flame flickering in the rapidly darkening twilight.
This has to work, the girl thought, and she thrust her match inside, lighting the oil and bringing it back to a healthy glow. She carefully tipped the lantern the right way up, trying not to spill any more of the oil, and closed the door that protected the flame from the wind.
With a steady light source, the little match girl set off to find a warm place to stay the night.
Behind her back, the shadows left by the lantern began to twist and converge, weaving into a vaguely human shape.