Zelda the Grey Quiet One
Book 1 – Of Butterflies and Elves
Chapter Eight – Storm's End
Summary: I'm nothing like my sister. While she's out and about exploring the wilderness. I spend most of my days huddled around the fireplace reading books, watching DVDs, snuggling Twig, and all in all being a smol couch potato. When ideas of moving to the city popped up, she was distressed, while I was apathetic.
*~~oOo~~*
Clawing
It's incredible how instinctive fear can be. Even before the lightning struck, Zelda was already running, leaving poor David behind without a second thought.
It's not safe here.
It's not safe here.
It's not safe here!
Her heartbeat pounds in rhythm with her frantic steps. The low rumble of thunder rolls closer behind her.
She doesn't stop. She doesn't even slow. She barely registers bumping into strangers, whose protests she barely registers.
Beep!
A car horn blares as she barrels through an intersection on a green light, the whoosh of tires grazing too close for comfort.
None of it matters. All she knows is that she has to get back—to the hardware store, to her mum, to safety.
But she can only outrun the storm for so long…
Raindrops begin to patter against her sweater, soft at first, but soon relentless.
Before she knew it icy winds whip against her, cutting through her damp clothes and clinging to her skin like frost. Her hair plasters to her face, and her white sneakers darken to grey, splashing through puddles that swell with every step.
Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she pushes forward. For someone who detests running, she's faster than she ever imagined, weaving through the panicked crowd of adults scrambling for shelter into nearby establishments.
A man darts into a café. A woman ducks into a pharmacy. Kids her age hide in a thrift store.
But Zelda presses on, ignoring their disgruntled shouts of dismay as she brushes past them.
Those places are not safe. They're not Mum.
A gust whips her face, carrying the tang of salt and scattering of leaves. The rain falls harder, each drop sharp as it lashes her skin.
Her eyes sting, the downpour blurring her vision. She raises an arm to shield her eyes from the pelting rain, but it barely helps.
The world blurs as a thick, ghostly mist swallows the streets ahead. Out of nowhere, a car roars past, its sudden appearance and disappearance in the low visibility sending a jolt of terror through her. Its horn blares, muffled and faint against the deafening rush of the storm.
"Almost t-there," she gasps, her voice trembling as much as her legs. Her lungs burn with every breath, her strength ebbing, but she keeps pushing forward, her sneakers splashing against the rain-slick pavement.
And running.
It always worked for her.
Just keep running. Keep running away, away from the danger, away from everything.
Like that time she runs from Hilda during the Giant Butterfly incident in the meadows.
Or when she avoids joining her twin and Mum on their journey to the Elf Minister.
And, most of all, when she flees from that storm—the storm that changes everything, that still haunts her dreams and wakes her to the harsh realities of this world.
But something feels wrong.
As the wind howls once more, she involuntarily shivers, her body trembles to more than just the cold. Her steps falter, and she skids to a halt, panting hard, sweat mixing with the relentless downpour.
The temperature seems to drop further, biting at her through her soaked sweater. Her breath escapes in uneven clouds as she glances around, water streaming down her face.
She should be there by now.
The Hardware Store was just a block away when she started running, wasn't it?
Yet Gertrude, her family's yellow car, is nowhere in sight
Her eyes dart to the pastel-coloured, wooden façade buildings around her. Neck swivelling with heart hammering in her chest.
Nothing looks familiar. The streets blur together, every corner eerily similar, every shadow elongated by the rain and dim light. The storm plays tricks as it veils everything in a grey, oppressive haze.
"No, no, no," she murmurs, her voice rising in pitch as the realization hits her like a cold wave crashing down. Her hands clutch at her scarf as if grounding herself will somehow undo this terrible mistake.
She spins around, silently praying it isn't true. But as she steadies herself against the side of a building, her lone figure standing in the middle of the dark and deserted streets.
"I'm lost," she finally says aloud, her voice breaking as the words hit her with full force. Her chest tightens, panic taking root, twisting her thoughts into knots.
How could this happen? The Hardware Store was so close! How could she have missed it? How could she be so careless?
Her breaths quicken, each one shallow and jagged. She wipes at her face, unsure if the wetness is from the rain or her own tears.
Tears?
When did she begin to cry?
Sniff.
Tears stream down her cheeks, unstoppable and warm against the cold rain. Her fists press tightly against her eyes as she snivels, trying to stifle the sobs rising in her chest. The muffled cries of a girl unravelling are swallowed by the relentless downpour, leaving her sorrow to blend with the storm.
*~~oOo~~*
The Hideout
Moments earlier—maybe ten minutes, give or take—before the storm hits:
Tucked between rows of towering buildings, hidden from the bustling city by a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, stands a three-story apartment building, a shadow of its former self.
The property has long since lost its running water and electricity, and the surrounding walls are plastered with graffiti—some vibrant and artistic, others brash and littered with colourful language.
This, folks, is what Trevor and his friends proudly call The Hideout. It's their go-to spot for hanging out, plotting pranks, or skipping classes entirely.
They chose this hidey hole for three solid reasons: one, for obvious reasons, it's secluded; two, it's a maze to get in and out of; and three, it's perfectly placed— 1.86 miles from their neighbourhood, 1 mile away from the arcade, and just a few blocks away from the comic book store.
The crown jewel of their so-called base? The hazardous, crumbling apartment building is smack in the middle.
Its facade is a patchwork of decay. Paint peels in curling strips, shingles dangle precariously from the roof, and the front door hangs crookedly on a single rusted hinge, creaking faintly in the still air.
The only remaining pristine and intact thing was its glass window at the front, clean, polished, and unblemished of its history. Its fragile body is preserved through the years of untold—
Smash!
Whelp there it goes—shattered! Shards scatter into millions of hazardous bits.
One glass shard reflects Trevor's fuming face. His hands clutches another jagged rock. With a furious grunt, he hurls it at the rotting structure.
"Stupid comic books!" The rock crashes against the walls with a dull thunk.
"Stupid Walking Dead!" Another sails through the air, hitting what remains of the porch railing and knocking it askew.
"Stupid tomboy!" Trevor bellows, his last rock landing squarely on the already-battered door. The impact sends it collapsing inward with a graceless thud onto the dry, patchy grass below.
The boy stomps around the property, surrounded by heaps of garbage, his breaths coming in sharp huffs. He grips his Trapper Hat, yanking it off and crumpling it in his hands before throwing it to the ground in a fit.
"She punched me! That girl—punched me! In front of everyone!" Trevor's voice cracks with anger as he paces. "And she took my comic—my comic! The one I waited weeks for! She didn't even deserve it!"
He starts kicking anything in his path—cans, broken bottles, even a splintered chair—each movement a burst of frustration venting into the air.
"I had it all under control! Everyone respected me! They feared me!" He sneers at the memory of the crowd's cheers, their stupid grins, all directed at her.
Trevor stops, glaring at the ruins of the building as if it were the embodiment of his shame. "Then she just... walks in and takes it all. One punch—one!—and suddenly she's the hero, and I'm the joke."
"She's not gonna get away with this," he mutters, his voice low and dangerous. "She thinks she's so clever. Ha! She hasn't seen the last of me..."
Panting, he snatches up his battered trapper hat, jamming it back onto his head with a huff. His stomping paces slow, his mind churning with ideas for revenge on that girl.
Kra-koom!
Trevor curses as a jagged streak of lightning slices through the once-clear sky. The world darkens almost instantly, the sun swallowed by heavy clouds. A soft drizzle begins to fall, cool droplets dotting his face and dampening his clothes.
Squinting upward, he watches the storm clouds roll in unnaturally fast, churning like something alive. "Freaking Weather Spirits," he curses, blaming the natural cloud-like creatures for the sudden shift.
Adding to his already miserable day.
Trevor grits his teeth and takes off at a sprint, desperate to get home or find shelter before the storm turns worse.
He spots a café and slows with a sigh of relief, the warmth and scent of coffee beckoning him. But the moment he steps inside, the reception is anything but welcoming.
"You think you can just stroll in here after what you and your little friends did to my store?" snaps the café owner. Before Trevor can protest, he's unceremoniously booted back outside, the door slamming shut behind him.
He growls, pulling his trapper hat lower over his wet hair as he crosses to a pharmacy. This time, he doesn't even make it past the threshold. The door slams shut in his face with a curt shout from inside. "Scram, Trevor! You're not welcome here."
Next, the antique store. "What did I tell you about showing your face here again?" The words barely register before another door slams, sending him stumbling back into the rain.
His last hope, the thrift store, isn't any better. "Beat it, kid," mutters the shopkeeper, waving him off like a stray cat.
Trevor stumbles onto the wet pavement, water dripping from his hat and soaking his already-drenched sneakers. He rubs his sore backside where the antique shop owner had shoved him, his frustration bubbling over.
"I'll make you lot regret this!" he shouts at the closed doors, though the rain quickly drowns out his voice. Muttering curses, he kicks at a puddle, splashing water up his shins as he glares at the empty street.
Trevor's mind reels, tallying up all the shopkeepers now on his mental list for future pranks. He promises payback—eggs on windows, glue in locks, the works.
The cold rain bites at his skin, each icy droplet a reminder of his failures today. His friends' antics, combined with his own, have made him unwelcome almost everywhere.
Almost.
The comic book store flashes in his mind—a place that, if he's being honest, he actually likes. Despite its dorky crowd, it was somewhere he could always walk into without suspicion. But now? Now that stupid girl has ruined that too.
Once again his fists clench at the memory. A hand cups his cheeks, throbbing.
Trevor seethes, his breaths coming in short hot bursts as the rain worsens, drumming against the pavement like a cruel taunt.
"This day just keeps getting better," he mutters sarcastically, his teeth chattering as he shuffles forward, seeking shelter in the endless downpour.
There!
Trevor stumbles toward a solitary bus stop, its metal frame dimly illuminated by the weak glow of a lone streetlamp.
His chest heaves as he clambers under it. Rain drips from his soaked trapper hat, which he angrily wrings out. His dark hair clings to his forehead as he shakes off the water.
"Finally," he mutters, leaning against the cold metal pole to catch his breath.
Sniff.
He freezes, his ears straining against the relentless clang of rain against the metal roof. The sound comes again, faint but unmistakable—a soft, shuddering whimper.
He turns his head and squints into the dim corner of the bus stop, and there, tucked into the shadows, is a girl!
She's curled into herself, knees hugged tightly to her chest as if trying to disappear. Her sweater clings to her drenched frame. Her long hair hangs in wet strands that partially obscure her face, but not enough to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Another sniffle escapes her, followed by a muffled moan as the storm rages on.
Trevor's brows knit together, a mix of confusion and something else flickering across his face. He takes a step forward, intending to speak, but—
Kra-koom!
A flash of lightning lights up the street, and a deafening crack of thunder follows almost instantly.
"Eep!" The girl cries out, curling tighter into herself, trembling uncontrollably as she stifles a sob.
Trevor squints as the brightness of the lightning burns into his vision, leaving spots dancing in his eyes. For a moment, everything feels like a blur, but then it clears.
And he sees her.
The grey sweater. The red scarf. The long, brown hair.
It's her.
The girl who punched him. The girl who stole his comic. The girl who humiliated him in front of the entire store.
His chest tightens as the memory surges back, hot and bitter. His lips curl into a slow, deliberate sneer, the corners of his mouth twitching with something dark.
*~~oOo~~*
Bus Stop
Zelda stumbles beneath the dimly lit bus stop, her legs barely carrying her as she collapses onto the frigid metal bench. Her knuckles turn pale as she grips the edge and her breath comes in shallow gasps.
Her mind spins, a carousel of noise and panic, but nothing settles, nothing soothes.
She raises her head just enough to look out at the rain cascading beyond the shelter, and then—
The sky bursts alive with a jagged streak of lightning! Its blinding light carving through the suffocating darkness!
Instinctively, her hands snap up to her ears to ward off the inevitable—
Kra-koom!
"Aaah!" she gasps.
Her heart hammers against her ribs. She squeezes her eyes shut. "No, no, no… not again," she whispers, her voice cracking as distant memories claw their way forward.
Her body curls inward, knees pressing against her chest as her arms wrap around them.
Another flash.
Kra-koom!
Another deafening crack of thunder.
"Stop it," she pleads, her voice barely audible over the storm. "Please... just stop."
But the storm doesn't listen. It rages on, merciless and unyielding with howling winds even threatening to pull off the very bus stop she's in.
Her mind betrays her, dragging her back to that day. The blinding flashes, the deafening roars, the flooding, the tree, the roots. Her chest tightens as she recalls it all.
"Why... why now?" she sobs. Her body shakes, whether, from the cold or the horrible memories, she can't tell anymore…
Each strike of the elements makes her burrow further into herself, trying to disappear, trying to vanish into the smallness of her frame. "I hate this," she whispers brokenly. "I hate this... so much."
The dark sky answers with another crack of lightning, its brilliance searing through the rain-soaked darkness. Thunder follows a deafening boom that shakes the air, but Zelda hardly flinches anymore as she's reduced to a withered husk,
…
Thus she doesn't notice the footsteps splashing through puddles until it's too late.
"Well, well, well," a voice sneers, slicing through the howling winds. "If it isn't tomboy."
Her entire body freezing as he recognizes that voice.
Trevor.
Zelda peeks out from behind her arms, her breath catching at the sight of him looming over her. Rain drips from his trapper hat and plasters his dark hair to his face.
His expression is twisted with a mixture of anger and glee, his lips curling into a cruel grin.
She rubs her nose, forcing herself to put on a brave face.
"W-What do you want?" she asks, her voice cracking into an unintended squeak.
Yet her defiant gaze remains locked on him, but the redness of her puffy, tear-streaked eyes betrays her true emotions. Her mind flashes back to his venomous words from the comic book store.
You'll pay for that…
Trevor's grin widens seeing the look on her face, his shadow stretching long against the dim light of the bus stop's flickering lamp. "What do I want?" he echoes, his tone mocking.
He steps closer, forcing Zelda to inch back against the cold steel wall. "I want payback—justice!" he says, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You've got this coming for messing with me back at the store!"
Zelda swallows hard, her throat dry despite the rain. "L-Leave me alone,"
"Aw, what's wrong, girlie?" Trevor jeers, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Scared of a little storm—?!"
Kra-koom!
A sudden bolt of lightning splits the sky, followed by a deafening roar of thunder that rattles the metal bus stop. Zelda shrinks further into herself, letting out a small cry, but Trevor seizes the moment. He slams his palm against the bus stop's metal partition with a resounding clang! Timed almost perfectly with the storm's fury.
"Eek!" Zelda cries, her whole body flinching at the combined noise.
Trevor relishes the power he holds, his voice rising above the downpour. "Not so tough now, are you!? No crowd to cheer you on, no manager to hide behind. Just you and me!"
Her trembling voice barely reaches him through the rain. "If this is about the comic book… I-I'm sorry. You can have it. Just—please—leave me alone."
Trevor scoffs, his sneer twisting into something darker. "This isn't just about the Walking Dead comic, you tomboy. This is about respect. About teaching you a lesson—!"
He stomps his foot into a nearby puddle, sending a splash of muddy water toward her. "Take this!" he jeers, the murky droplets peppering her already-drenched clothes.
The poor girl flinches but doesn't move otherwise.
"Oh, what's the matter? Too scared to fight back?" Trevor taunts, "Then how about this!" He stomps into another puddle, this time sending a larger splash her way. "And this!"
The muddy water splashes against her legs and sweater, leaving streaks of grime trailing down the fabric. Her shoulders tremble—whether from the cold or fear, he doesn't know, and he doesn't care. Over the pounding rain, he catches a faint, broken whisper: "Stop it."
Trevor doesn't stop, too consumed by his own boiling frustrations. He's determined to vent them all on her, pelting her with freezing water again and again until he's satisfied.
"There. Nice and filthy—just like a proper wilderness girl should be," he spits at her for good measure. "Covered in mud and muck. Bet you're used to it, eh?"
He chuckles, kicking one last swipe of muddy water hitting her square in the back.
She flinches harder this time, a small sound escaping her lips—part whimper, part gasp.
The sight of her so small and trembling seems to fuel Trevor's spite. He circles her like a predator, his voice rising over the storm.
"Where's that big mouth of yours from earlier, huh? All that talk about standing up to me and my friends—gone! That ridiculous declaration you made, what a joke!" He laughs.
He crouches slightly, leaning in closer. "Face it—you're just a scared little girl, completely out of your depth."
He glares at her hunched, soaked form, expecting her to snap back, plead, or even cry louder. But all he gets is silence. Unnerving, infuriating silence. It gnaws at him, leaving him alone with his spiralling thoughts. His jaw tightens, the stillness stoking his anger like fuel to a fire.
"Do you even realize what you've cost me?!" he spills. "—Do you have any idea the lengths I went to keep those nerds and geeks in line?!"
He whirls back toward her. "My friends are gonna laugh at me for a whole week because of you!" He starts pacing. "You ruined my life with that little stunt!"
But Zelda remains curled inward, unmoving.
The silence presses against him, suffocating in its defiance. Trevor's fists clench at his sides as his frustration reaches its breaking point.
"Hey!" he barks, stomping toward her. His hands launch forward, gripping her shoulder in a harsh yank as he tries to force her out of her huddle. "Say something when someone's speaking to you—"
"Get your hands OFF ME!" Zelda snarls, her voice sharp and feral.
Fwhip!
Trevor staggers back, caught off guard as her arm flies up, nails raking across his cheek. He hisses as his hand instinctively flies to his face. Pulling it away, he stares at the streaks of blood on his palm, his breath catching in disbelief.
Zelda locks eyes with him. Tears streak her dirt-smeared cheeks, but even through her trembling hands and wrecked appearance, her glare remains unyielding.
The old Trevor might have hesitated at the sight before him, but after witnessing her broken state just moments ago, something inside him hardened.
His expression darkens in an instant. His eyes narrow, and without warning, his hand shoots out.
"Now you've done it. Come here!" he snarls, grabbing a fistful of Zelda's collar.
"Wait—No!" Zelda's voice cracks with panic as he yanks her forward. Her sneakers skid against the slick pavement, unable to find traction. Desperation flares in her chest as she pounds her fists against his chest, each strike weak and futile against his grip.
Outside, the world is shrouded in a curtain of rain, the haze obscuring them from prying eyes. No one would see, no one would intervene. Just two kids locked in a desperate, uneven struggle.
"Stop squirming!" Trevor hisses, "Gak!" but a stray punch from Zelda connects with his neck, sending a dull ache radiating through his throat. He staggers slightly, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second before tightening again, anger flaring in his eyes.
"Let go!" Zelda cries, her voice cracking, fists pounding against him harder now, though her blows lack the strength to make a difference.
Fed up, Trevor's free hand snaps across her face in a sharp, brutal backhand. The slap cracks through the heavy rain, momentarily drowning out the storm's roar. Zelda stumbles, her head jerking to the side, a red mark blooming across her cheek.
Without hesitation she yanks her head back and spits, the glob landing squarely on his face.
Trevor recoils, "Ugh, you little—" he snarls, wiping at his face, but Zelda seizes the opportunity, darting toward the edge of the bus stop.
"Oh no, you don't!" Trevor growls, grabbing her scarf and yanking her backwards. She gasps as he locks his arms around her in a clumsy hold.
Not one to go down easily, Zelda slams her elbow into his gut, causing him to grunt. She thrashes, bashing the back of her head toward his face. Trevor barely jerks away in time, her head glancing off the side of his temple instead of breaking his nose.
Their struggle sends them tumbling to the ground, rainwater splashing around them.
Free for a fleeting moment, Zelda scrambles to her feet, but Trevor grabs her by the ankle. With a rough pull, he sends her sliding back.
Clang!—Her head smacks loudly against the thin metal wall of the bus stop.
The world spins around her, the clang reverberating in her ears. Dazed, Zelda tries to steady herself, but her vision blurs and Trevor straddles her with a triumphant sneer.
She growls, summoning her remaining strength to throw another punch, but he slams her back down with a brutal shove, pinning her beneath his weight.
"You're not getting away this time," Trevor hisses.
Zelda lets out a strangled gasp, a cry caught in her throat as his hand clamps down on her neck. Pressure builds, cutting off her airway, her pulse pounding in her ears.
"Just stay still," he grits out, his voice cold and unrelenting. "You'll tucker out in a few seconds. Don't worry—I've practiced this before with Andy."
Her hands claw at his face, her nails digging into his skin, but it does nothing to loosen his grip. He grits his teeth, unfazed, tightening his hold. "And once you wake up, you're…"
She can't hear the rest of what he said.
The edges of her vision blur, dark tendrils creeping in as tears spill from her wide, desperate eyes. The world narrows to the unbearable weight on her chest and the iron grip on her throat.
No!
Zelda gasps!
In a final burst of desperation, she summons strength from deep within, curling her knees up beneath him. She plants her feet firmly against his chest and, with a guttural grunt, shoves with every ounce of force she can muster.
"Gak!" Trevor's breath explodes from his lungs as her kick sends him tumbling backwards, dislodging his hold.
Zelda collapses, gasping, the sweet rush of air filling her lungs as she coughs violently. Her vision clears just enough to see Trevor staggering out of the bus stop, clutching his chest as rain pelts his back.
He groans, nearly slipping on the wet streets. Pain etches across his face, as he straightens.
Zelda, still sprawled on the ground, barely has the strength to lift her head. Her body feels like lead, her breaths ragged and uneven. But the sight of Trevor marching back toward her, murder blazing in his eyes, sends a jolt of fear through her.
"Why you bitc—!"
Slam!
A white pickup truck barrels into view, its headlights piercing through the downpour like a vengeful force.
Zelda's entire world freezes. She barely registers the vehicle as it hurls toward Trevor. Her lips part to scream, but the sound dies in her throat, drowned out by the storm's roar.
Have you ever seen someone be run over? Let me describe it to you.
It's not like the video games where the body ragdolls with exaggerated sprays of blood. No, the reality is far crueller, far more visceral!
The truck's front bumper collides with his torso with brutal force. His body folds unnaturally as he's launched forward, limbs flailing in arcs. The asphalt doesn't welcome him kindly—he hits the ground with a sickening thud, only to be dragged beneath the skidding tires.
The first wheel rolls over him, the sound a mix of gut-wrenching snaps and wet crunches as the weight of the truck grinds over his limbs. His arms twist at impossible angles, his legs bending in ways no human anatomy should allow.
The second tire follows, mercilessly rolling over his head. The human skull doesn't shatter like glass; it resists, but not enough to hold its shape. But you can imagine the once-recognizable features of his face are left mangled.
The truck, as if spitting him out in disgust, sends his limp body tumbling across the street, out of view, before coming to a screeching halt. It hydroplanes, the tires losing their grip, and slams into a nearby pole.
Skrr!—Bang!—Kra-koom!
Lightning slices through the sky, the flash so bright it burns against Zelda's eyes. The thunder drowns out everything—the rain, her heartbeat, the world itself.
For a moment, everything freezes.
Zelda's breath catches, shallow and quick. Her wide eyes lock onto the blood streak stretching across the road. Thin rivulets of crimson snake through the rain-soaked asphalt, vanishing into the dark pools.
The smell hits her first—metallic and bitter, sharp enough to curl her stomach. Smoke curls through the air, clinging to the rain as a tangy taste of copper coats the back of her dry throat.
She swallows hard, the motion sending a painful jolt through her bruised neck. Her legs tremble as she pushes herself up, her body protesting every movement. Each ache and bruise screams for attention, but the rush of adrenaline in her ears drowns it all out.
Zelda hesitates under the shelter of the bus stop, her fingers gripping the edge of the cold steel for balance. She peeks out, the rain hitting her cheeks like sharp needles.
The pickup truck's blinking hazard lights are the first thing she sees. They flicker faintly through the mist, casting rhythmic bursts of red onto the wet street.
Its white frame lies crumpled like discarded paper, the hood smashed into a bent telephone pole. The tires hiss as air escapes, and dark streaks of oil creep across the ground, mixing with the rain.
Her eyes flick to the silhouette slumped over the wheel, faint movement dances through the hazy window. The driver groans—a low, muffled sound—but her focus doesn't linger.
Something else demands her attention.
Her heart stumbles as her gaze lowers to the street.
A body lies motionless on the ground.
"No…"
Kra-koom!
The world flashes white for an instant, thunder shaking the air, but Zelda barely notices. Her chest heaves, her breath hitching as she stumbles backwards.
Her eyes stay locked on the sight before her… Trevor.
Or at least, what's left of him.
Her gaze catches on the trapper hat, a darkened lump tossed to the side. It sits in a shallow pool, rainwater tinted red, stark against the glint of the slick asphalt.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. But as her reflection peers into Trevor's half-lidded, lifeless stare, she sees nothing. Not the seething anger, not the smug sneer—nothing but emptiness.
Her stomach churns, and she wrenches her head away, but her gaze betrays her, sweeping over the rest of the scene.
A mistake.
Her eyes take in the crushed face. The cheeks caved in, the purple, swollen skin barely recognizable. His lips are split and bloated, teeth—what's left of them—swimming in the blood gushing from his mouth.
"—No," she rasps, the word spilling out as her hand flies to her mouth. She tears her gaze away as she shakes her head, harder and harder, her voice trembling. "No, no, no! NO!"
Her scream pierces through the rain, cutting the air with raw anguish.
Zelda's knees buckle, and she collapses onto the rough asphalt. The impact jolts through her legs, but she doesn't care. Her fists slam into the ground, sending water splashing.
"This can't be happening!" she wails, her voice cracking as her tears mingle with the rain.
She pounds the ground again, harder this time. "It's not true! Take it back!"
Her cries grow guttural, tearing from her throat as she stares at the lifeless body.
"He's just a boy!" she sobs, her fists falling limp as she presses her forehead to the cold, wet pavement. Her voice softens, cracking under the weight of despair. "I didn't mean to… He doesn't deserve this..."
Her words fade into broken gasps and sniffles, her entire body trembling as she crumples completely. Her damp sweater clings to her like a second skin, heavy and suffocating.
"Please…" she whispers, her voice barely audible.
Her body slumps fully, her head resting on the steaming asphalt as her energy wanes. The road vibrates faintly beneath her, but the sensation doesn't register.
Her world narrows to the pounding of her heart and the weight of the storm pressing down on her.
Then, everything fades—A sudden void creeps in, swallowing her world whole.
…
…
Breathe, Zelda… Just breathe.
…
…
Zelda gasps!
In a final burst of desperation, she summons strength from deep within, curling her knees up beneath him. She plants her feet firmly against his chest and, with a guttural grunt, shoves with every ounce of force she can muster.
"Gak!" Trevor's breath explodes from his lungs as her kick sends him tumbling backwards, dislodging his hold.
Zelda collapses, gasping, the sweet rush of air filling her lungs as she coughs violently. Her vision clears just enough to see Trevor staggering out of the bus stop, clutching his chest as rain pelts his back.
He groans, nearly slipping on the wet streets. Pain etches across his face, as he straightens.
Zelda, with renewed strength forces herself upright. Her breath catches as she locks eyes with Trevor who marches back towards her, murder blazing in his eyes.
"Why you—!"
"—Look out!"
Vroom!
The pickup truck hurtles past, narrowly missing them by a hair's breadth. Zelda lunges forward just in time, shoving Trevor out of harm's way.
The ground comes up fast and unforgiving.
They hit the ground hard, water splashing up as they skid across the rain-slick asphalt. Trevor grunts, the sting of his scraped elbows sharp and immediate. His chest feels crushed, a crushing weight on top of him.
The truck screeches to a halt mere feet away, tires skidding briefly before stopping with a jolt.
"Oh, thank goodness!" the driver stumbles out, voice trembling with relief. "Are you kids okay?"
Trevor blinks up at the man, rain streaming down his face, his breath hitching as it dawns on him—he was nearly flattened.
Groaning, he moves to push himself into a seated position, but something keeps him pinned. Confused, he glances down. That's when he sees her.
Zelda.
She's lying on top of him, her arms wrapped around him. For a moment, he freezes, his brain struggling to catch up.
He hadn't even noticed.
Trevor's chest tightens as realization flickers, quickly snuffed out by the familiar surge of anger. His fist clenches, rising instinctively, his knuckles trembling with rage as he glares down at her, rain dripping from his brow.
But then—
Sniff.
The sound is so faint, it nearly drowns beneath the rain.
His fist halts mid-air.
She's sobbing.
Her small hands clutched desperately at his shirt, fingers trembling. Her head presses against his chest, her shoulders shaking violently with each broken breath. The rain mingles with her tears, tracing trails down her already-soaked face.
There's no defiance, no fight left in her. Just raw, unguarded emotion.
His glare wavers, the fury in his eyes dimming as he stares at her. For the first time, he notices how frail she feels against him, how her breaths hitch like sobs caught in her throat.
"—Hello, Safety Patrol? Yes, I need an ambulance—now," the driver's voice cuts through the haze, shaky but urgent, as he fumbles with his phone.
Trevor blinks, his gaze shifting past the girl to the blinking hazard lights of the pickup truck still idling a few feet away. He hears the driver's frantic words, feels the rain cold against his skin, and for the first time, the weight of what just happened crashes down on him.
He nearly died.
His hand lowers slowly, the strength draining from his clenched fist as it falls limp at his side. The anger burning in his chest is replaced by something heavier, something unfamiliar.
She saved him.
The thought makes Trevor's stomach churn. He doesn't say a word. For once, there's nothing to say.
He only listens to muffled sobs against his chest, her words incomprehensible murmurs. Whatever she's saying, it's soaked in relief.
Around them, the world grows still. Trevor notices it first—the rhythmic drumming of the rain is gone. The storm, so fierce moments ago, has vanished as quickly as it came. The heavy clouds begin to disperse, their edges fading into a pale, clearing sky. The Weather Spirit must have finally moved on.
What's left behind is quiet. The air feels heavy with the aftermath, the faint scent of wet asphalt lingering as the city slowly re-emerges.
The scene reveals itself under the glow of streetlights—glimmering puddles, the pickup truck sits idly nearby, its frantic driver pacing around, and two children at the centre of it all.
Curtains shift in nearby buildings, faint silhouettes moving behind glass. Faces press against fogged-up windows, curious eyes peering down at the aftermath of what could have been a tragedy.
Trevor doesn't move, doesn't speak. His eyes stay fixed on the girl sobbing against him, her frail form shaking in the storm.
For the first time, he doesn't know what to do.
*~~oOo~~*
End Scene
Chapter Eight – Storm's End
*~~oOo~~*
A/N: You know it's the writer's job to shock the reader, but I went and beyond and managed to shock myself when writing this!
Before you guys say anything! I've planned all of this shit out 2 years ago, at the peak of Hilda's popularity. This fic follows a larger narrative that is already shown back in Chapter One. And the funny thing is, it's not even the most shocking part. That'll come in three or four chapters later at the end of Book 1.
I'm just writing what my previous self wanted, so blame that prick.
Anywho, sorry not sorry for the visceral descriptions, and Rated M chapter. How else can I ever pique your interest if not for that?
Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Yuletide, Happy Winter Solstice, Happy Boxing Day, Happy St. Lucy's Day, St. Nicholas Day, and all the rest of the festive cheer December brings!
"Oi, Zelda here! Wishing everyone a Happy Stonstanstil and cheers for sticking around for the next bit of my story!" Zelda announces, donning a very festive Mrs. Claus outfit.
From across the room, her sister raises an eyebrow from her perch on the bed. "Who are you even talking to?" Hilda asks, giving her twin a baffled look.
"No one!" Zelda squeaks, her face turning crimson as she slams the laptop shut in a panic.
Problems: This chapter was originally planned to hit over 10k words, but as usual, I decided to split it into two separate chapters for release. That might've been part of the problem. I also hit a bit of writer's block while wrapping up this arc, but no matter—I'm powering through. Finishing the story remains my main goal!
Est. Word Count: 6200+
Published Date: Dec 30, 2024
*~~oOo~~*
Reviews
*~~oOo~~*
Leave a Review! My reply will be in the respective chapter you posted the review at! As Fanfic writers, we do this shit for free and in our own volition!
Kudos to: DEV, Tziput13, Crazycartoons5488, and MagiDarkness
DEV: "Interesting turn of events. I wasn't expecting that to happen to Zelda. Normally, seeing visions of the future is not an ability associated with fairies, but with Hilda's world, anything can happen. Or this could have been something else. The vague nature of this event is what made this interesting. Also nice to see that Trevor made it and Zelda managed to be his hero. Zelda shows that she can be brave when the time calls for it, like her sister. I hope the family can be reunited soon and that Trevor can take the first step to being a better person.
A really good job on the chapter. Keep up the good work."
- Yeah, I completely agree—anything goes in Hilda's magical world! Glad you enjoyed the chapter, especially the twist—I didn't originally plan it, but here we are. My writing tends to be a bit all over the place, but I like keeping things vague for now since I want the answers to come together at the end of Book 1. I'd like to hear more of your thoughts regarding it.
As for Zelda, she'll step up when it matters, living up to her namesake. The family reunion? You'll see it in Chapter 9. And yes, this is just the first step toward Trevor's redemption… or is it? Wink.
Tziput13 : I've replied and had a nice chat with you through inbox (Private Messages) to keep this footer tidy, especially for responses to guest accounts.