we always knew when they were coming.

the world would grow cold. that cold became second nature to us: we'd freeze the moment we realized our breath was coming out like smoke, slide apart slowly as though trying not to frighten a wild animal. the teasing, joyful glint in tay's eye would fade like an exhale, mareena's ever-contagious laughter drifting back into oblivion. we became scared, hiding creatures whenever they came; we'd turn from hunters to prey in the blink of an eye.

i was eight years old when they first descended upon our small, largely forgotten village. it was in the midst of a hot summer storm, rain beating against our rooves. when they came the rain stopped, and we all rejoiced. none of us noticed at first how cold it had become.

nobody quite knew what they were. some believed them vengeful spirits, while others thought they were nothing more than wind and superstition. my friends and i called them the soul-eaters, because our parents taught us that those they touched became nothing more than empty vessels: hearts pumping and blood flowing but nothing true inside.

when i was twelve, one touched my sister. i found her sitting at the kitchen table, eyes vacant: a hollow shell of a person.

i screamed when i saw her. a loud, raw sound, cutting through the silence they brought with them like some ill-received gift. my mother came running, but i was long gone, fled to the place in the woods my friends and i had long ago claimed. tay and mareena were already there; they held me while i sobbed violently. how could they? i knew she'd done everything right. i knew her.

hours passed.

the world grew cold.

the others froze. we always knew when they were coming, we always knew what to do. but my sister knew what to do, too, and they'd touched her regardless.

so i stood tall. readying myself for a race, i called:

come and get me.

the last thing i felt was cold breath on my shoulder.