Ora Arnth could have been happy.
It was as simple as that. Merely being around her had your spirits soaring. It wasn't something she could control, or even admit to being a power, but everyone could see the glow that surrounded her. It blazed as bright as her smile, and it was effortless in its beauty.
Ora was the girl who could survive anything. She wasn't naive, just strong in her beliefs. She wasn't invulnerable, just weathered. By the age of twenty four, she had lost friends, family, and more than a few places she had called home. But she had a pair of strong arms around her, arms that had pledged to be hers forever. It was all she ever wanted, and love filled every square inch of her.
Ora worked as a nurse, bringing hope to every patient she smiled at. She wasn't afraid to work in the touchy areas, like with terminal patients and the young children. Because even if their conditions turned her fingers numb, left her mind buzzing, nothing was able to touch her heart, her fortress, built by the smiles she inspired.
Some of the more superstitious, Godly doctors went so far as to request her. Whispers said that miracles followed her footsteps. This never failed to pull a laugh from her. It was just smiling. She didn't offer hope, only happiness. Laughter wasn't 'the best medicine', only something to help keep the blood pumping. She wasn't a miracle, just living in the only way she knew how.
One day, the hospital was busier than usual. She didn't crawl into bed until three hours after her shift had ended. Roger, her anchor, must have been working late at the factory. Their queen-sized bed only succeeded in sending shivers down her spine.
By the time she woke up, bleary-eyed and still cold, Roger was already gone. There was a note on the table, a reminder of love in the form of a still-warm muffin, and blistering hot coffee.
Ora's mouth twisted slightly, but didn't pull up into her usual grin. She was tired, is all. She had the afternoon shift, so that could be remedied. A kid had died on her watch last night, after all. Cancer strangling him as he slept. Nothing she could have done, but still. A blow. Something that still dragged at her spirit, so much fresher than any of her memories of loss, but bringing back older wounds.
Her mother had died in childbirth, along with what would have been the youngest of three siblings. Her baby brother, who had died without even taking one breath, opening one innocent, beautiful eye.
Her father had died of cancer, when she was sixteen. Her younger sister had been taken away from her, and she was shoved to one side, as the people who were supposed to take care of orphans like her instead focused all their efforts on finding a family that would take good care of poor, crippled baby sister.
She had lived where she could, done what she had to, to finish high school, put herself through nurse school after that. She had wanted to be a doctor, but just couldn't afford the extra years in university.
All these memories were supposed to a have faded, so long ago. They didn't bother her anymore, or so she had thought. She had Roger, and a roof above her head that she had helped pay for. No little ones yet, but they had been trying, and it was bound to happen. She was strong. But her attempt to smile fell flat.
Stomach turning, she rushed to the bathroom, and emptied her stomach into the toilet. After rinsing her face with freezing water, she again tried to force a smile onto her pale face. It took, what? Fourteen muscles to smile?
That had never seemed like an effort, until now.
She was getting ready to go to work when she got the call. She was sick, was all. A cold. She would go, talk to a supervisor, explain that she couldn't stop shivering, and go home sick. She had never taken a sick day in her life. She was sure it would be fine.
But the call drove that all from her mind.
There had been an accident at work. Roger was at the hospital now, though they wouldn't tell her his condition. Only that he was alive.
He was awake when she got there, smiling, joking with the buddies that surrounded his bed. When he caught sight of her, his eyes lit, and his face stretched into a look that was all hers.
Usually it would have filled Ora with enough warmth to tickle even her toes. But now, she could hardly pull an answer from her cold lips.
"How bad?" She whispered into his ear, as she was held in his strong embrace.
He told her. And then she did something he hadn't done since she was ten. She cried. Loud, harsh sobs that shook her whole body, until the only heat she felt was the arms that held onto her, kept her from falling to pieces on the hospital floor. Her Anchor, her love...
Never to walk again.
It wasn't until a week later, until after Roger had finally come home, that she realized that she was not, as it turned out, sick. No. She was with child.
Tears once again flowed down her cheeks, and she took refuge in her Anchor's arms.
She doesn't see Roger much anymore, as he works behind a desk, where he was once just a labourer. Working overtime, as much as he could. She has been cold, so cold since she got pregnant, and she tried to hold their child as little as possible. Because the child gets cold, so cold, and her lips freeze, so that she can't force them to turn upward.
Cold is merely an absence of heat. And absence has always played funny games with the heart.
Ora Arnth can be content. But happiness has slipped just out of reach.